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Part Two

The days melted into weeks, fall quickly sliding into winter. Anyone who spent any time in New York state knew enough to be leery of what was to come, but many of the students at Xavier's were new to either the school or the area and thus gleefully anticipated the oncoming winter as nothing more than one months-long snow day.

Hands on his knees, taking a moment to catch his breath after his morning run, Logan scowled as he watched yet another delicate maple leaf twist off its branch, carried to the ground by a gust of wind. To him the change in the seasons was bittersweet, calling up memories that mingled the familiar with the unknown. He had grown accustomed to the biting cold of Canada, after a while even taking solace in it, but thinking of that place only reminded of him of all that he didn't know. Everything, at least in his waking mind, was surrounded by snow. Over the years it seemed the chill had seeped into his bones, into his blood, leaving him frozen and empty in the process. At least until he'd inadvertently taken a certain Southern charmer under his wing and then thrown his lot in with these misfits.

Fuckin' soft, that's what he was now. Hiding out here as if the rest of the world didn't exist. Hiding from his past, from his secrets. Any contentment he might sometimes feel was a sham, a pretty lie he told himself because he was too afraid to face who he was.

The mighty Wolverine, scared of his own shadow.

He growled at nothing and everything, lip curling up in a snarl as he jerked himself upright and headed toward the back of the mansion, no real destination in mind as dead leaves crumbled underneath his feet. It was what he was best at anyway, right? Running from his issues? Pretending everything was just fan-fucking-tastic while rage and confusion always simmered, threatening, just underneath the surface ...

The first thing that broke through his self-flagellation was her scent, cinnamon and vanilla and indefinable flowers, always surrounded by the faintest, stirring trace of ozone. A heartbeat later he rounded the corner and spotted her, back to him as she bent over her garden, jeans smeared with dirt and long hair pulled into a ponytail that swung over her shoulder with each fluid movement. White as the first snowfall; pure, before it could be tainted. Logan came to a sudden halt, not sure whether he should be pissed or relieved that she'd derailed his train of thought - however unintentionally. Crossing his arms he leaned against the brick, content for the moment to go unnoticed.

Truth was, he'd found himself watching her more often than could be called coincidental these days. Ever since that mission, really, but especially since their talk that night in the arboretum. Logan couldn't have said why if anyone asked - and as far as he knew, Ororo hadn't even noticed - but there was something about her that spoke to him ... he knew her, in some fundamental, instinctive way he couldn't have explained to anyone else, and barely understood himself. And she was still suffering. He knew that, too, without needing to be told. Oh, things were better than they'd been at first and she functioned well enough, showing up for every class, making the token appearance in the kitchen or the expected comments during staff meetings. She knew just what to do to deflect attention or avoid rousing suspicion. To Logan her little game was as obvious as a neon sign in Times Square, but apparently it was enough to pull the wool over everyone else's eyes.

Idiots.

"Are you going to stand there staring all day, or are you going to help?"

She hadn't stopped what she was doing or glanced in his direction, but her soft, accented voice was clear as crystal. Logan arched a brow, impressed, then shoved off the wall and strode toward her.

"Depends on what you're doing," he drawled. "I was rather enjoying things from where I was standing."

This time she did toss a look over her shoulder, expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. She straightened, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Winter is fast approaching." She was stating the obvious, but her tone was so full of authority he could believe the change in seasons was caused merely by her own force of will. "I must get these plants covered before the first frost, or I will lose them. It would go much faster with another pair of hands."

She smiled at him then, just a small curve of her lips, and despite his earlier, dark mood, Logan found himself returning it. "Is anyone ever able to say no to you?" he groused, but with a heavy sigh he skirted the edge of her garden and picked up the handful of stakes she'd indicated. It didn't take long to catch on to what she was doing and they soon fell into a rhythm, hammering the stakes into the ground and then fastening the tarp to the stakes. Together the work would go quickly, but Logan thought it would have taken her all damn day to do herself.

Ororo was intent on her work - or intent on ignoring him, Logan couldn't be sure. Every once in a while a breeze would tug on the tarp, earning a faint frown and dismissive wave of the hand from its mistress, but even that smallest of gestures impressed Logan. Such fine control ... the action was barely a conscious act, an instinctive reaction, but it made sense to him. If he was anger and fury and destruction, then she was subtlety and grace - but for both of them, their mutations were more than simply having some sort of ability or power they could turn off like a light-switch. It was tied to everything they did, everywhere they went. Inescapable, even for a moment, and if they hadn't found their own ways to contain it, it would have consumed them. Still might. Maybe in a lot of obvious ways they were polar opposites, but Logan was starting to think they had far more in common than he ever would have believed.

"What is the saying?" Ororo broke the silence, turning her dirt-smeared face toward him as she crouched down. " 'Penny for your thoughts?' "

"Ain't worth that much." Logan knelt beside her, holding the tarp taut as she looped the string around the stake. "Just thinkin' how little you've been around."

The smile faded, just a shade. "What do you mean? I have not gone anywhere."

"Guess that depends on your perspective, then." He swiped his arm across his forehead, sweating a little despite the cool temperature. "From where I sit, not much has changed since our little talk a couple'a weeks ago. Hell, I'm startin' to get used to seein' you around in the wee hours."

It was a feeble attempt at a joke, and it wasn't enough to fool Ororo. He felt her stiffen - and if he didn't know better, even the air seemed to grow a bit heavier. "Since you seem so fascinated with my sleeping patterns, Logan, perhaps I should inquire about your own." She pounded the stake a bit more vigorously than was needed, the toned muscles in her arms tight. "What is it that keeps you skulking about the mansion's halls? Nightmares, I presume?"

"Watch it, 'Ro." Logan growled lightly in warning, his mood rapidly darkening as he didn't expect their conversation to take this turn - at least not so damn quickly. Ororo, however, ignored him completely.

"But you so dearly want to know my own secrets, yes?" She yanked on the tarp's string so hard that it snapped, and Logan could have sworn that he heard her curse under her breath. And he also could have sworn the wind had suddenly kicked up, sending ripples along the canvas. "I hardly think that is fair."

"I ain't tryin' to snoop around on ya." Clearly they were done with the garden now. Logan stood and sent the remaining stakes tumbling noisily to the ground. "But I ain't stupid, either. Don't forget that I'm the one who found you there, darlin'. I'm the one who had to talk you back long enough to drag your ass out. I'm the one who listened to you cryin' about someone bein' dead, and about some sort of cold - which made no fuckin' sense. It was hot as a furnace down there, and Cyke just had a bump on the head." His voice was rising despite his intentions, driven by the challenge of the blank, chilly look in her brilliant blue eyes. "I'm not some fuckin' telepath, and I don't know half the shit Jeannie knew, but I know panic when I see it. I know fear. And you, darlin', are full of it."

She was standing ramrod straight now, seeming to grow taller with every word, her fists clenched at her side. There was no question the wind had wrapped itself around them both, pulling her hair free of its ponytail and tugging at her well-worn, Xavier-issue T-shirt. It whispered in his ear as it whistled past, words he could not understand. White warred with the blue of her eyes, and above them the sun faded, obscured by the sudden arrival of dark clouds. He was right - he knew he was right - but still he started to wonder if he'd gone too far. Anyone who said memories faded were full of shit - he knew better than anyone that they held the power to bury you. If someone had just done this to him, they'd probably have a gut full of adamantium right now.

Still silent, Ororo closed the distance between them until all he could see were her tortured, fascinating eyes. Her power engulfed her, and Logan could feel it licking against his own skin, thrilling and disturbing. She might be able to kill him, he realized for the first time. With his metal-laced skeleton, a mere thought from her could melt his bones, and there'd be nothing he could do to stop her. But it wasn't fear he felt ... awe, maybe. Respect. And the beast stirred within him, rising at the lure of the wildness just out of its reach ... arousal. Oh, yeah ... as Logan steeled his gaze and met this formidable woman without flinching, he knew that, too.

"You wish to know what I am feeling, do you?" she whispered, voice quiet but full of ice, not touching him but commanding his full attention. "Then I shall tell you. The darkness holds me down. In my room. Every time I close my eyes. The darkness steals my breath and crushes me, keeps me still so I cannot move. Renders me utterly helpless. The darkness, the small, stole my parents when I was but a child, leaving the cold, lifeless body of my mother over me as a reminder of its power. In that place where you found me it was all I could see, all I could feel. Her blood, dried on my skin. The sound of her rattling breath echoing in my ears. My throat raw from screaming for help that never came. The metal that would not move and the dust that coated my lungs. I wanted to die when I was still that child and I wanted to die in that building. I was trapped and alone, then and now. The only time I am free from that is when I can feel the sun on my skin, see the freedom of the sky."

Ororo took a deep, shuddering breath. Logan didn't move, didn't speak, too stunned to do much of anything but stare into her eyes, shining now with unshed tears. A lock of her now-unbound hair whipped against his face, soft as a caress. "Tell me, Logan. It has been more than 20 years since that fear was first born inside of me. Now that it has reawakened, I am asking you. Just how do I find a way to sleep through the night again? How do I learn to tolerate the confines of the rec room on an evening when it seems every student at the school is packed into it? The metal prison of the elevator? The cold, dead steel of the subbasement? You seem to know so very much, Logan, why do you not tell me that?"

They stood like that for a long moment, locked in on one another so completely Logan wasn't sure another attack by Stryker could have distracted them. Rage welled inside of him and he fought it back - rage against himself, and the pain he could see and smell and feel ... he hadn't been in that place with her, but he knew her story. He had lived it for fuck knew how long. Her words made the skin surrounding his blades itch, the hair along the back of his neck stand up. Why was he pushing this? Sometimes he thought he'd sacrifice anything to banish the horrors that taunted him in his dreams ... he'd never wish the same on anyone else. Especially not someone he cared about.

Ororo exhaled sharply, breaking the pregnant silence, and blinked rapidly as the passion seemed to fade a bit. Embarrassment began to edge out the fury, and standing this close to her there was no mistaking the blush that crept into her cheeks. Logan wanted to reassure her - make some sort of gesture or say something that would make him seem less of a complete asshole, but he did nothing.

"Please forgive me," she finally said, and to Logan her voice sounded as small as a child's. "You are clearly correct - I am not handling this as I should. I cannot be so quick to anger." Her eyes slid shut, hiding her from him, and she stepped away - a moment later the wind had once again settled into a soft breeze.

"Thank you for your help with the garden." The words were hollow and awkward as she was clearly looking for an excuse to leave. Logan raised a hand as if to stop her, but she effortlessly sidestepped him to gather up her supplies. "If I do not hurry, I will be late for my classes. Perhaps I will see you at lunch, yes?"

And with that she was gone, disappearing into the mansion's garage and leaving Logan alone with newfound guilt and self-loathing. What right did he have to push her that way? All he'd done since he arrived here was destroy things. He'd brought his enemies to their home, allowed his fascination with an unavailable, unattainable woman help get her killed, and in the process destroyed the two people here Ororo called her friends. Who did that leave her to turn to when she needed help? Him? Logan snorted derisively. Hell of a lot of good that was doing her.

His claws unsheathed themselves of their own accord, and clenching his fists Logan tilted his face into the sun, unimpeded once again. I'm sorry, Jeannie. So goddamned sorry ...

* * * * *

Ororo didn’t make it to lunch that day, or dinner. The scene with Wolverine in the garden had shaken her badly, and outside of the obligation of her classes she tried to avoid anyone and everyone. She even postponed her yoga session with Rogue, which she was loathe to do. They had been making real progress toward getting the teenager to open up, to be more trusting around others, and Ororo was hoping that they’d soon be able to make inroads on controlling her mutant gift. But today there was no hope that she’d be able to regain her focus, and if Rogue noticed anything amiss Ororo wasn’t feeling up to deflecting questions.

Sequestering herself to her room, however, wasn’t exactly working, either. It was the only place in the mansion she could be sure to avoid any company, but it did nothing for her restlessness. Frustrated with herself and her lack of control with Logan earlier, Ororo dropped back onto her bed, arms splayed and hair an unkempt tumble.

What bothered her the most was why she had lost it so completely. She had spoken the truth to Logan, but she had never revealed to anyone what had happened to her parents – nothing beyond the fact that they had died when she was very young. It was all anyone needed to know, and the rest was irrelevant. Even in her own mind, she had tried to lock it safely away so it didn't creep into her waking thoughts. Jean had tried once to get her to open up about it, shortly after Ororo arrived at the mansion, but gave up once she realized she wasn’t getting any response. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her teammates, but it was hard to break a habit that had been so integral to her life for so very long. Weakness could be exploited. And perhaps even worse, her emotions compromised her control ... and she didn’t have any right to be so selfish as to give those emotions free reign and damn the consequences.

So why Logan?

Ororo rolled to her side and tucked one arm beneath her head, staring blankly at the bedroom wall across from her. If she was especially quiet, she thought she could hear voices from the floor below – a sure sign that dinner was over and the students were starting to separate into their respective corners and cliques. Sometimes she couldn’t help but envy them ... movies and malls and friends and crushes and sleepovers, all things she’d never had, never even really knew existed until she was too old to enjoy them. It would probably be hard for any of them to understand, her intense need for privacy. But pride was all she had owned for most of her life, and asking for help - needing anyone at all - had never been a luxury she could afford.

Her mind wandered then, skirting over parts of her past she hadn't actively thought about in years. Life before the mansion, before the X-Men, seemed so distant, but Ororo knew it was because she needed it to be that way. New Orleans, Kenya ... Cairo ... if she concentrated, she could feel the echo of the blazing sun against her skin, the sand that got in her hair no matter how short she cut it or how carefully she covered it ... her first heist, just a wallet from a tourist but Goddess, how she'd eaten that night! ... Achmed, teaching her how to survive, trying to force her past her fears ... small cold can't breathe ...

She awoke with a gasp, arm aching from its awkward position, and it took her a moment to realize that she'd dozed off. The mansion was truly quiet now, and a glance at her window verified that it was well past the students' bedtimes. Frustrated with herself, Ororo climbed off her bed and went straight to her dresser, yanking out a T-shirt (emblazoned with something in German, borrowed from Kurt and never returned) and track pants. She pulled them on hastily. She needed to work this out, force these feelings away before they consumed her. And there was only one place she could do that safely.

On silent, sneakered feet Ororo made her way down the stairs, past the students' rooms, past the classrooms ... the television in the rec room threw ghostly light onto the ceiling as she passed, but it earned nothing more than a passing glance. Someone had either left it on or couldn't sleep. Nothing unusual. She passed the kitchen and her stomach growled, a reminder she'd once again skipped dinner, and she thought perhaps if she felt better after her session she might see what she could swipe from the staff kitchen.

There were no stairs to the lower level - something Ororo had grown accustomed to but which now terrified her once again. She didn't pause to think about it, striding into the elevator and punching the button for the subbasement before she could stop herself. Closing her eyes and gripping the railing, Ororo focused on breathing until after what felt like an eternity the metal doors opened and she could step out into the marginally more welcoming metal hallway.

Normally she would pause to check the Danger Room records to see if anyone was inside, or check the observation tower, but it was late now, and she was driven. Her status on the team allowed her, along with Scott, to override anyone's code. It was a safety precaution implemented by Scott after the first time they'd found Robert and Rogue trying out one of the Danger Room's more lethal programs without permission.

So it was that Ororo walked in on something that looked like it was straight out of one of Robert's horror movies. With a small gasp she stepped back against the door she'd just walked through, hand over her heart, and blinked rapidly, trying to decipher what was happening.

Sentinels ... or that was the name on the file the professor had somehow managed to obtain from the government. Prototypes of machines designed solely for the capture and restraint - some documents suggested the destruction - of mutants. Allegedly the project had lost its funding and support after what happened with Stryker, but none of them wanted to take any chances, and they'd recently incorporated the machines into their team sessions. It took Ororo a moment to see past the blinding brightness of the lasers, the mangled metal and sparking circuits from disembodied arms and legs - some the size of tanker trucks - littering the floor, to find exactly who or what the robots were fighting ...

And it really wasn't a surprise, once she did.

Wolverine, bare-chested and sweating from exertion and, she could see even from this distance, covered in long, erratic slashes of angry red. The injuries, she presumed to be from flying shrapnel, were healing before her eyes, but still Ororo had to resist the urge to run to his aid. He was furious, screaming things she could not make out and moving with a lightness that she wouldn't have thought possible with his weight, leaping and striking before the monstrosity could get its bearings and fight back. This was the first time she had seen him go after them by himself ... and despite the fact that as second-in-command she should probably reprimand him for running a program without the safeties, she also didn't think it was wise to disturb him now. And as much as she abhorred violence, and knew she should be revolted by this display, she couldn't help but be impressed. Often she felt Logan was holding back from them - she would catch it sometimes, in a glance or a seemingly casual comment - but seeing him like this, when he didn't have to be concerned about protecting others or working as a team, was breathtaking. Wolverine had just single-handedly taken down an entire platoon of Sentinels and was going to walk away, virtually unscathed, as if he had done nothing more this evening than take a stroll in the garden.

With a final shower of sparks the last remaining Sentinel started to tip over - or rather, its body started to follow its head, which had just tumbled to the Danger Room floor with the cringing sound of tearing metal and dying circuits, hissing and angry. Wolverine stood atop the chest of another felled Sentinel, claws extended and chest heaving, never taking his eyes off his opponent until the last bit of electricity flickered out.

Silence filled the cavernous room then, broken only by Logan's harsh panting and the occasional creak of simulated metal as it settled and shifted. Still in awe, Ororo nevertheless stood tall and tried to appear stern - though she doubted after that workout that Logan would see her as any sort of threat. With a vigorous shake of his head Logan cracked his neck, and for the first time turned toward her, dark eyes peering out from behind sweaty, disheveled black hair.

"Can I help ya with somethin', darlin'?"

Ororo was surprised by how subdued his voice sounded, strange amidst all this destruction. Gracefully he bounded off the evil thing's corpse and crossed the few steps over to her, ignoring his surroundings and clearly unabashed by the fact that he was half-naked ... a fact that Ororo herself was finding surprisingly difficult to ignore.

She did, however, manage to keep her eyes from wandering, which was no small feat. "I did not realize you were here," she answered, impressed by how calm she sounded herself. "Otherwise I would not have intruded. However ... " Suddenly nervous, Ororo crossed her arms and tried to brace herself. She couldn't let the opportunity pass - as strange and unexpected a setting as it might be - but she hadn't rehearsed what she might say, either. "Since I did happen to run into you, I want to apologize for my ... episode in the garden. I am not truly angry with you. I know you were just trying to help - or at the very least, you were not trying to offend - and I should not have reacted as I did. If anything, you proved your point in spades." She laughed, but it was short and empty and without real humor.

Logan's hard, dark gaze seemed to burn a hole in her, and Ororo shifted under its intensity. She got the distinct impression that he was analyzing her - every scent, every movement, every breath ... it was unnerving, and at the moment she could completely understand how some people could be so intimidated by him.

"I can't pretend I didn't hear what ya told me." He didn't even blink, but his voice was surprisingly soft.

"I am not asking that, but it is not your burden and I had no right to put you in such a position."

Logan continued to study her, his breathing having already returned to normal. He had not moved an inch since they started talking, but Ororo sensed some sort of change between them, subtle but almost palpable. He was staring at her, unflinching, but his eyes were not without emotion. Something lurked there, shifting and calculating, behind the dark blue.

"My nightmares are of heat." Ororo found she was holding her breath when he finally spoke, barely more than a growl. "Everything's full of fire. When they ripped into my skin. When the metal first hit my bones. When the rage slams into me with all the force of an exploding sun, and all I can see is red. It feels like my veins are on fire. I can't control it - can't even hold it back. There are people I remember killing, 'Ro, every fuckin' detail. Too many to even count. Enemies, marks, people who thought I was their goddamn friend, it doesn't matter. I can feel their blood and flesh on my hands and taste their fear. It drives me. Battles and places and lives that I can't fully recall and I can't forget - and even behind that I know there are years of violence and anger I can't begin to imagine. I dream of dragons - flamin' dragons, and I think it's Japan, but I don't fuckin' know. I think I might've had family there once, maybe a wife or kids, if you can fuckin' believe that, but the instant I try to hold onto that image it explodes again and all I can register is screaming and pain. And maybe it's a lie - maybe the whole goddamned thing is a lie, but that doesn't stop it from comin' every time I close my eyes."

There was nothing Ororo could say, no words that were even remotely adequate. Unshed tears filled her eyes at his tortured expression, knowing how much it cost him to tell her even that much ... she knew, because she might have had the same look on her face when she faced him just hours before. It was a wound, as real and raw as anything physical, and the one part of himself that Logan wasn't able to heal. His jaw was clenched, as was his fist at his side, but otherwise he stood as if frozen - in time, in memory ... in fear?

"So I can't tell ya how to destroy your demons, darlin', and I know you can't destroy mine. Like it or not, it's always goin' to be part of who we are. But I got a few years on you, a little more experience, and I can tell ya that when someone comes into your life who's willing an' able to share that 'burden,' you gotta take it. You trusted me, an' now I'm trustin' you back. Deal?"

Ororo felt one traitorous tear escape as she nodded, not even flinching when Logan shocked her once again by reaching out to wipe it away with startling tenderness. It wasn't that she didn't trust her friends, her teammates ... they were the closest thing to a family she'd had since her parents passed, and they held her life as dearly as she held theirs. But there were parts of her she couldn't explain, couldn't even really understand herself, and by the grace of the Goddess here was someone who not only saw those parts of her but embraced them, without hesitation ...

"Why'd ya come down here, anyway?"

Logan barreled on as if nothing unusual had passed between them, sparing her the impossible task of coming up with either sympathy or thanks, and Ororo quickly blinked back her tears.

"Oh ... I was just hoping to release some pent-up energy." She quirked a smile at him, amused by her own understatement after what she had witnessed from him. "I thought that if I tired myself out enough, I might be able to sneak in a few hours of sleep before dawn."

"Heh. Sounds like a plan. Hope you don't mind some company?"

"Not at all." Her smile had grown, and she even got one in return. It was sly and wicked, as it always seemed to be, but now Ororo thought, perhaps, there was something private in there just for her. "First, allow me to clean up your mess. Computer?" she called out. "Start new program." Instantly the robots disappeared, replaced by the impossibly smooth and undamaged metal of the Danger Room. "Run Storm, Setting 218, Level 6."

It took just a couple of seconds, then the pair found themselves in a hot, crowded street, surrounded on all sides by bartering vendors and jostled by stray children and dogs dashing around people's legs. The air around them was tainted by windblown red clay, and the relentless sun beat down on them. It seemed to take Logan a heartbeat to realize where they had to be, and once he did he arched a brow at her, intrigued. Suddenly gunshots broke the barely controlled chaos and soldiers were running toward them, scattering the suddenly panicked crowd.

Seeing the predatory anticipation etched into Logan's rugged features, Ororo couldn't help but laugh a little. "Make that Level 8," she amended, earning a muttered "that's my girl" from Logan before she threw herself into her winds.





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