Prologue: Chasm
It's been a while
Since I could
Hold my head up high
And it's been a while
Since I first saw you
And it's been a while
Since I could stand
On my own two feet again
And it's been a while
Since I could call you
~Staind
“All right, Ororo, one more lap. That’s it,” the cool voice of her physical therapy instructor was beginning to grate on her nerves, but the white-haired mutant obediently shifted her hands on the metal bars.
Turning slowly, she grit her teeth and took a wobbly step forward. The short walking track seemed insurmountable, as the doctors said it would, and yet she continued. Being bound to bed for weeks had soured her disposition…as well as the weather.
Four months had passed since the accident and shooting that had nearly taken her life. In that time, life at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters had moved on. The children continued their studies, the X-Men went on with their fight for mutant rights. All was as it should have been.
Accept for the fact that Ororo Munroe, also called Storm, was still unable to walk without assistance.
Taking another painful step, she blew out a breath, beads of sweat breaking out on her dark brow. Lying in bed had been a test on her self-control, but attempting to walk through the blinding pain was a test on her will.
“Come on, Ororo. You’re almost there,” the middle-aged woman prompted. “You’re doing very well.”
Irritated now, the mutant woman took two more steps in quick succession. This, of course, was a mistake. With only a grunt to betray the pain, Ororo’s still-weak legs crumpled, making her grasp onto the railing to keep from crashing to the floor.
Holly, the nurse, quickly grabbed hold of Ororo’s back and arms to steady her.
“Are we finished with our temper tantrum?”
“I am finished for today, period,” Ororo snapped back, snarling in a fair imitation of her lover. “You may go now.”
The honey-haired woman snorted in amusement. “Keep at it like this and you’ll never walk again. We’ve talked about this.”
“And I am a grown woman,” came the icy reply as Ororo used her upper-body strength to pull herself standing again, paying no heed to the sharp rivets of pain shooting up and down her back. “I can make my own choices.”
“Your fear won’t help you overcome the pain. Now, finish this lap.”
The tone was sharp, one seldom used by the patient woman. Ororo took a deep breath, grinding her teeth together so that they started to ache. She wished, for the millionth time, that Jean would fire this damnable woman.
Slowly, more cautiously than before, Ororo took three more steps. Gripping the thin metal bar tightly to balance herself, she followed those up with two more. Sweat poured down her face as she took the final steps toward the awaiting wheelchair.
Not content to sit right away, she turned to her blue-eyed nurse. “Are you satisfied?”
Holly grinned sweetly at her patient, taking her hand so the younger woman could ease into the wheelchair her benefactor had provided for her.
“For today, yes. You’re doing much better, but you have to take it slowly. If you push yourself, you’ll do more damage.”
Settling into the chair Charles Xavier donated to her, she looked up at the cheerful woman with a roll of her eyes. She did feel better after completing those laps, even if her back and legs ached terribly.
At least she felt as though she was making progress.
“Now, I want you to increase your exercise time to 40 minutes starting tonight. Make sure you’re not letting your helper do all the work,” she patted Ororo’s shoulder gently.
“I will,” Ororo, still feeling out of sorts, shooed the woman with a slight change in tone. “Until Thursday, then.”
Holly made her exit after neatly scooping her jacket and pocketbook up into her hands. She left the door open behind her, but Ororo remained where she was, staring at the room Charles had converted into her training room.
Learning to walk again was the cherry atop a tempestuous year. With Jean’s recovery, falling for their resident Wolverine and the attempts on her life, there was little time left for Ororo to simply sit and absorb it all.
In the last months, her life had slowed to a dull crawl. Confined to bed for over a month and then to the steel of her wheelchair was difficult for the free-spirited mutant. While her gifts required near-constant control over her emotions, the sudden lack of control of her body strained her already fragile temper.
Storms had ravaged the Westchester area for a solid month while Ororo came to terms with the words “temporary paralysis”. Though she was relieved that her condition was not permanent, now she faced a long, grueling year relearning to do things she had often taken for granted.
Sighing, she raised her hand to the navigational knob that controlled her chair and whipped around effortlessly. She’d had three months to master the controls, giving her all the time in the world to wind her way through the mansion without breaking furniture.
She sat for another few moments, closing her eyes and breathing slowly. Logan would be searching for her soon, and if he did not locate her, Jean would. Wanting to be alone, she tried to think of an excuse to rush out the back door and into the freezing gardens, but nothing came to her.
“Hey.”
Startled from her musings by the familiar voice of her old friend, Scott Summers, she opened her pale eyes and managed a small smile.
“Hello.”
Scott’s lean form entered the room quickly, sliding the door closed behind him. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Hiding out?”
Her smile widened. Oh, how well he had come to know her in all their years together. Closer than any flesh and blood brother, she shrugged her shoulders gracefully.
“Feeling down today, is all.”
She could see the skin surrounding his ruby-quartz eyeglasses tighten into an expression of restrained concern. He took a few more steps toward her, resting against the bars she used to exercise her legs.
“I don’t blame you. Jean’s in a mood and I think I saw Logan scowl at Rogue when I left the kitchen.”
“Ah, so I am not the only X-Man hiding, am I?” she teased.
Scott grinned from behind his glasses. “Guess not. I was thinking of taking a walk through the gardens, but it’s like below freezing out there right now.”
With a toss of her snowy hair, Ororo smirked smugly. “The cold does not affect me.”
Her friend smirked back at her. “That won’t matter to either of them.”
“I do hate it when you are right,” she paused, not wanting to think about how her lover and best friend hovered constantly. “How was the training session this morning?”
Scott gave her a look that clearly said he knew she wanted to talk about anything but her condition and eagerly filled her in on his team’s progress. She listened intently, adding her comments where it felt needed and remaining silent the rest of the time.
Before they could get in to talk of new Danger Room sessions, the door opened quietly. A tall, slender girl of nineteen entered the room, looking surprised to see Scott and Ororo talking.
Over her shoulder, the girl called out, “No, Ah don’t see her in here, either!”
Thanking young Marie with a smile, Ororo nodded to Scott as he excused himself, following the younger X-Man out of the room.
When she was alone again, Ororo turned her chair toward the window and stared out of the thick paned glass into a cloudless sky.
~@~
She managed to find her way to the bedroom she once nearly shared with Logan without further incident. It took a good deal of patience and resting to lift herself into her bed and fold her legs under her bottom, but she did it without any assistance at all.
Taking up the hand-bound book of poetry Logan had given her just weeks ago, she flipped to her favourite page and stared at it. Her eyes did not move to read the memorized lines, nor did she turn the page as the minutes ticked by.
Lost in her thoughts, she found that pretending to read while “resting” in bed kept her hovering bodyguards from pressing too terribly much. And today, Ororo felt a deep need to simply sit and think.
Jeremy Stevenson, the “spy” within the mansion had vanished the day the team returned from their excursion in Colorado. No one had been able to locate him or his mother, and she knew for a fact that even Charles had called in favors from the government for help.
Logan seemed to think the kid would try something again, but Ororo was certain he had merely been frightened and vanished as so many troubled teens did. She hoped that one day he would return to them, so she could speak with him.
Though many thought she had lost what remained of her mind when she voiced this, so she learned to keep those thoughts to herself.
Her eyes darted to the bedside table on her “side” of the bed, where a photograph of her beloved Wolverine rested in a polished wood frame. She had snapped the picture herself, when he happened to not be looking.
It was her favourite. Her brooding lover had donned his leather coat and cowboy hat as he leaned against the outside wall. He was in the process of lighting his cigar, his hands cupped protectively around the flame.
She took up the frame in her hand tenderly, as one would caress a lover, allowing her fingers to trace the outline of his body.
Four months ago, she would have thought them inseparable.
Now, however, she could feel the gulf between them widen with every passing day. Why it had happened, or even when was still a bit hazy to her. Some time after his return from the Rockies, Logan had begun to draw himself away from her, pushing her gently until she no longer knew where she stood with him.
She had tried, desperately, to get him to discuss the events of those three days they had been parted after her near-fatal accident. Every conversation ended by him leaving the room or simply changing the subject until she was forced to give up.
Her slow recovery had not helped the damaged relationship. Unable to move without blinding pain, no matter how medicated she allowed Jean to keep her, Logan had taken to treating his one-strong love as though she were delicate crystal. She, in turn, began to resent his presence and drove him away from her.
Days of stolen kisses and nights of uninhibited passion had turned to avoidance at all costs. Logan still sought her out to ensure she was well cared for, but his once frequent visits to her room became few and far between.
Then he stopped coming all together.
Though any perks to the relationship had faded into the winds, Ororo was certain Logan was still as loyal to her as ever. As she was to him. She loved him, more deeply and completely than she had ever thought possible, and yet she found herself unable to confront him about all that had gone wrong between them.
Instead, she played her games, keeping herself busy and making up excuses.
Sighing, she replaced the photograph on the nightstand and grasped each of her legs in turn so she could shift her position.
Tunza, the now enormous Mastiff Logan had given her as a birthday gift, lay on his faded canine bed he dragged about her room, looking up at her with his dark, soulful eyes. As though he were a child, he had taken the gradual separation of Ororo and Logan the hardest.
He still howled whenever he heard Logan pass by her room and he constantly shot her accusing glares, as though he wanted the ability to speak, so that he might tell her exactly what his feelings were about the situation.
Still, the loveable pooch was loyal to his mistress. He heaved his sandy body up from his place beside her bed and padded over to her. Laying his black muzzle on her thigh, Tunza whimpered pitifully.
“I am quite all right,” Ororo assured him, reaching over to scratch behind his floppy ears.
He snorted.
Ororo raised her eyebrow at him, sighing as she patted the bed beside her.
“Come on up. I think I should nap before dinner.”
The huge puppy stepped carefully onto the bed, being sure to not jostle her too much. She often wondered about this dog. He seemed much too intelligent and caring for an animal.
She shifted herself again, lying gingerly on her pillows and forcing her legs to move of their own accord until she was mostly comfortable. Her eyes once again drawn to the beautifully clear day just outside her window, she did not even notice when she fell asleep.
~@~
The water was cold.
It was so cold she could feel it seeping into her bones, ice taking the place of warm flesh. So cold.
There was blackness. A thick, inky darkness that kept her vision clouded. She was reaching, but all her freezing hand found was more of the suffocating water.
Pain. Pain etched into her side. The metallic projectile had lodged itself inside her. Metal seeping into her skin, like the cold, like the water.
She opened her mouth to scream, but no words would travel on the frigid tide. No one could find her. The darkness would consume her.
Alone.
Come so far to be alone. Her life given to the hungry dark that had forever threatened to consume her. She was alone.
Would die alone.
Where were the hands? Those impossibly strong hands to lift her from the water. Why did he not come? Had he forsaken her as she had him? Would he ever come again?
Thick, syrupy dark crept closer and closer to her heart, poisoning what little life she had left.
Dark. Cold. Pain.
Death. Dying.
Logan.
She woke with a muted gasp, as she always did. Shaking, shivering with the imaginary cold, she pushed the suddenly overwhelming blankets aside and struggled to sit up.
Her room was darker than pitch and she fumbled for the light switch blindly. Something on the nightstand fell, the sound of shattering glass making her jump in her skin.
Finally forcing her fingers to manipulate the switch, she blinked the spots from her eyes. Looking over the side of the bed, her heart clenched at seeing her beloved photograph of Logan broken on the floor.
A whimper from the foot of the bed was silenced with a soft command in her native tongue and she brushed the locks of brilliant white from her eyes as her breathing regulated.
The creak of a door opening down the hall made her breath catch. Silently praying that Logan had heard her erratic breathing and the glass breaking and was coming to check on her, she held her breath.
Another eerie creak coupled with a faint click told her someone had decided to stay in his own room and her heart fell to her the floor with the photograph.
Nightmares had ever been her companion, but these were getting out of control. Flashbacks of the Friends of Humanity’s attempts on her life had been upgraded to complete panic attacks in her dreams.
Her unconscious mind ensured that she was never rescued from these horrible memories. Instead, she was left to die, alone in the dark.
Now there was not even the comfort of Logan’s warm embrace to soothe away the demons of her sleep. Only a sleepy Mastiff and her own sense of self. Neither of which was going to keep her nighttime terrors a secret for much longer.
Ororo gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bed, grasping the pole they had installed to help her move about her room. She pulled herself to standing, wobbling only a little as she did so. Carefully, muffling grunts of pain by worrying her lip between her teeth, she forced herself to the open balcony doors.
With a vicious gust of wind and a sting behind her eyes, she shoved herself into the waiting night, running from her dreams.
From herself.
~@~
Logan lay awake in his bed for a long time after she left the mansion. His first instinct had been to follow her, to make damn sure she didn’t hurt herself flying around in the dark.
Course, he never acted on those instincts anymore.
There wouldn’t be any more sleep for him tonight, not until he was positive she’d returned to her room unscathed. He’d keep his ears open and smoke a cigar.
She was never out too long. While she hated her physical therapy and the very thought of needing help to do anything, ‘Ro knew her limitations. She would be back within the hour, probably a lot calmer than if he’d gone into her room and tried to chase away the bad dreams.
He hadn’t allowed himself to do that in so long, he could scarcely remember how she felt in his arms.
It wasn’t entirely her fault. He’d made some mistakes, kept himself locked away from her after promising to be honest and open. It wasn’t as though he wanted to drive her off. He just didn’t have the heart to tell her what he’d done, to admit that his hands were just as stained as her attacker’s had been.
They’d never talked about it. The once rock solid relationship had gradually faded away until he couldn’t remember any of the reasons she wanted him around. He’d filled himself with doubt, giving him more excuses to lock himself back inside.
When he’d become too concerned, watched her too closely, she’d started pushing him back. Somewhere along the way, they had both pushed too hard.
Back in his old room, he spent night after night listening for sounds that she needed help from down the hall. Once or twice, he’d actually made it out of his room before his brain caught up and he slipped back into his lair.
He continued studying his ceiling, ears trained in the direction she had gone off in. She’d be back before anyone else knew she was missing. She wouldn’t say anything to anyone and he was too ashamed to admit he still kept close tabs on her when he couldn’t bother to say more than “Mornin’” and “Night” to her.
Turning onto his side, he reached for the half-smoked cigar he’d stashed there earlier and the Zippo lighter Ororo had given him months ago. The brass plating was engraved with his name, codename and a large “X”. She’d surprised him with it and no matter what happened between them, he couldn’t leave it to sit in a drawer.
Without turning on the bedroom light, he deftly flicked the lighter open, pinching the cigar between his teeth. Inhaling deeply, he set the lighter back down and lifted a hand to crack open the window above his bed. He could hear better with it open and One-Eye wouldn’t bitch too much about the smoke smell in the morning.
He tucked the arm back behind his head, letting the chilly breeze caress his bare chest…Damn, why did it have to remind him of her? Anything that vaguely had to do with the elements brought the image of her face to his mind.
As if reading his thoughts, his fingers located the worn and faded bit of leather he’d cut from her uniform that fateful day nearly a year ago. Logan took a deep breath, not pulling the piece of cloth from behind his head as he remembered pushing his hands into her chest, begging her to breathe.
That had been the start of it all. He wished, for the millionth time, that he could go back and start it all over. She would have been safe from Stevenson, they wouldn’t have drifted so far apart.
She would still be in his arms and not embracing the night alone.
Shoving away the morose thoughts that always seemed to run rampant in the dead of night, he kept his ears trained on the window, waiting to hear the telltale sounds that would herald her return.
It was not until he heard the winds rise and fall, coupled with Tunza’s happy panting that he finally turned over, put the cigar out and fell back into a restless sleep.
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