“Sage?”
A faint crackle of static slices through the air as Logan’s eye gear emits the strident tones of the team’s living data mine. “Yes, Logan?”
“Clear my docket. I’ll be here in the training gym for the rest of the day. Clear ‘Ro’s docket, too.”
The rasp of more static failed to hide the note of amusement in her reply. “I had already cleared Ororo’s schedule, anyway, Logan. That goes without saying.”
“My spine suffered the injury,” came the deep, lilting purr from across the suite, “which means that I have lost the ability to walk. Not hear. Or speak. Or to be slightly offended,” the wind-rider added under her breath.
“Point taken, fearless leader.” Sage’s voice was still sardonic, perhaps even a bit contrite. The corners of Logan’s mouth lifted a bit as he logged off the transmission.
“All right. Let’s get to work.” Logan loped over to the stereo perched on the weight bench and clicked on the power. The door on the CD tray buzzed slightly as it slowly levered up. Logan wiped off each disc, several of Ororo’s favorites, removing traces of lint and fingerprints with a soft knit cloth. He fed them one by one into the tray, checking the carriage for dust, and pushed “Play.” Ororo studied him quietly, noting his meticulous attention to her CDs and the care he took not to damage them. I’m in good hands, she mused.
“On the mat, ‘Ro.” Ororo sighed low in her throat and bent down to turn the lever on the first footrest of her wheelchair. She was an old hand at it by now. Logan offered no assistance, feeling it best to let Ororo do what she could for herself. She lowered her feet to the floor, flattening her soles against the mat, and then put on the brakes of the chair to hold it immobile. Grasping the armrests, she pushed herself up and slid herself off the chair’s seatpad to the mat. She unzipped her hooded sweatshirt and made herself comfortable.
“It isn’t taking you as long to do that anymore.”
“Practice, practice,” she sing-songed dryly.
The sounds of “Deep Forest” filled the gym at low volume. “I still don’t know what you see in this New Age crap,” Logan muttered.
“You would no doubt have me listening to honky-tonk drinking music instead. I happen to like this ‘New Age crap.’”
“Whatever floats your boat, chickadee. I’m still gonna make ya work today, make no mistake. Don’t let the easy listening music fool ya.”
“Who said I had?” There was a hint of steel in her voice. Logan smiled more widely; the gritty edge didn’t bother him. If anything, pushing Ororo’s buttons might make her work that much harder, just to prove herself.
The X.S.E. needed their leader back. Ororo had been the X-Men’s leader once without her powers, but her body had still been strong and whole. She had been wily and quick on her feet.
It was too tempting for Ororo to fall back on using her powers. Sure, she could still fly if she wanted to. But that was a cop-out. Rebuilding her strength, regaining her feeling throughout her limbs and relearning her mobility, learning how to function again, was essential.
That was where Logan came in.
“Floor work first.” Charley had given Ororo a clean bill of health after scanning her spine and assessing the level of healing. It was her muscles that needed waking up. “Lay on your back.” The floor mat was cool. Ororo didn’t flinch; her powers still kept it from affecting her.
Logan positioned himself before her, kneeling by her legs. “Lift up. Let’s stretch out those hamstrings.” Chuckling, he added “All three yards of ‘em. You look even taller stretched out like this.”
“I would credit all the milk my parents made me drink as a child…” Ororo’s voice trailed off tellingly.
“Except you seldomly drink milk.” He didn’t give voice to what they were both thinking; that Ororo’s parents never saw their only child grow to adulthood. “Must just be good genes.”
“Or mutated ones, at any rate. Superior ones,” she bragged, “if the classification ‘Homo Superior’ means anything.”
“Only to the ones with an inferiority complex who need lame labels to console themselves.” Logan’s tone was light, belying the serious expression.
“Blessed Goddess, Logan, if I didn’t know better, I would swear what sounded like psychobabble just passed through your lips!” Ororo teased. “I thought you didn’t buy into ‘touchy-feely” stuff like that. Or so you’re always telling me.” And anyone else who would listen.
“Ya live here long enough, ya hear enough of it to start speaking it in yer sleep. I’ve been to enough happy hours at Harry’s with Hank and Kurt to learn more than my fair share.” Ororo winced as Logan leaned against the back of her legs, grasping her ankles as she pulled her legs, mostly straightened, in toward her chest. She hissed out a breath as the stubborn muscles stretched.
“Let me know if you can go any further.”
“Not…yet.” She exhaled and drew in a shaky breath, then pulled her legs in another four inches. “Good,” Logan encouraged. Ororo relaxed her legs as Logan leaned aside, assisting her slightly as she lowered her feet back down to the mat. “Four more reps.” Ororo stifled a small groan.
The stretches continued. “Not too shabby, and not bad for a woman that spends most of her time up in the air.”
“I’ve been spending some of my time in the pool.”
“You will today, too.”
“Slave driver,” she grunted.
“Up,” he commanded. “Spread ‘em.” Logan seated himself, spreading his own thighs apart and inched himself toward Ororo, resting his soles against hers. His feet felt hot to Ororo; she was grateful to feel them at all pressed against her. She was grateful to feel anything.
“Come in toward me a little further. That’s it.” Lifting herself up a bit on her fists, Ororo eased in toward Logan, facing him, opening up her straightened legs to the widest degree that she could manage.
“Nnnnngh…I can’t go in any further.”
“Try.”
“I can’t, blast you,” she huffed, narrowing her blue eyes into slits, suppressing a full glare.
“Pull on my hands, then, as hard as you can. Lean back and pull me toward you,” he ordered, nonplussed. Ororo obeyed. The two of them synchronized the stretch, rocking forward in a wide circle as Ororo took control of the stretch, then Logan. They reversed the circle and did five reps going each way.
“Use those long arms of yours, lean in farther.”
“Oof…”
“I heard that.”
“I’m not as young as I used to be…”
“Sister, yer preachin’ to the choir, except I can’t even remember how old I was on my last birthday. Or even when it is.” Ororo’s gaze softened slightly.
“Sorry.”
“I’m not. Only one alternative to gettin’ old.” The two of them were mostly silent over the next hour as they worked through the entire worksheet of physical therapy exercises. Logan still looked fresh as a daisy by the time they wrapped it up. Ororo was soaked in her own sweat.
Logan stood and retrieved an ornately carved wooden cane from the weight bench. Ororo despised the long, four-pronged, gait-supporting cane that was ordered for her by the PT clinic. “I’m only unsteady on my feet. This makes me look like I’m on my last legs and at death’s door,” she had complained.
“Looks aren’t everything. Beats being confined to a chair.”
“Yet it begs the user to have blue hair, orthopedic shoes, and a purse full of butterscotch candies. I need something with a bit more style, please.” Logan smiled to himself, remembering the trip to the African import boutique as Ororo oohed and aahed over the wallhangings and furnishings. One cane and several thousand dollars later, Ororo wheeled herself from the boutique, having ordered enough new furniture to redecorate her entire loft.
Logan watched Ororo now as she laid back and stretched again, bending her knees slightly and reaching up, lacing her fingers together as she straightened her arms.
“I know it’s a stupid question, ‘Ro, but are ya sore?”
Ororo made a small sound of disgust. “Goddess, yes! I hate this, “ she complained. “I just want to be whole. I want my life back.”
Logan measured her for a moment, considering what she said. He scooped up a clean white towel and tossed it to her. Ororo reached up and deftly caught it, using it to blot her glistening chest. Logan sank to the mat beside her. He raked his fingers through his dark, thick waves of unruly hair before he spoke.
“Seems t’me like you’ve already got yer life back, ‘roro.” Ororo’s hand relaxed for a moment, forgetting about the slick sweat cooling on her flesh. “Ya survived, this time around. Like ya have before. Like most of us have before. Yer damaged, but yer in one piece. Under the circumstances, yer pretty lucky.”
“You know what I’m talking about, you blasted man,” Ororo spat as she pulled herself up, resting back on her elbows. Logan glanced briefly at her chest as it rose and fell, trying without success not to focus on her breasts.
God, they were perfect. Sometimes I like her this way, he thought. When she’s a mess. Makes me wanna mess her up some more.
“I want to lead. I’m not just going through all this trouble to be mobile again. The X.S.E. needs me,” Ororo continued, staring at her knees. Anything not to meet his direct gaze.
Lately, looking directly at Logan, looking him squarely in those intense brown eyes of his…
It did something to her. Something frightening and strange.
“That’s it? The X.S.E., huh? That’s all yer beatin’ yerself half ta death for?”
That made Ororo look up. Logan’s brows slanted over his eyes, darkening his face into a piercing scowl.
“Stop playin’ the good little Girl Scout, ‘Ro. I know better than that.”
“Logan, what ““ Logan cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“Save it. I ain’t had my say yet. I’ll let ya know when I have.” Logan looked down and cleared his throat before he continued. “’Roro, we’ve both been on this team a long time. I know yer a proud woman. That’s part of what draws folks to ya, I won’t lie. There’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ proud, unless ya stop askin’ people fer help. Ya always feel like yer not s’posed ta need help. Ya always wanna be the one people turn to. Ya want ta rescue everyone, twenty-four-seven.”
“That’s why I’m here,” she cried, matching his scowl before she rolled to her stomach and began inching toward her chair. She stopped when a hot, firm hand clapped onto her shoulder, stopping her from moving any farther.
“No. Yer here ‘cuz Charley asked ya t’give up yer life as a goddess to save mutantkind. You were already helpin’ people right where ya were. I’m on the same boat, Charley convinced me ta give up my old life, too. Only thing is, I left behind a life that wasn’t a life at all.” Logan held her gaze steadily, unblinking, until Ororo had to look away. Logan wasn’t satisfied. He reached out to capture Ororo’s fine chin gently but firmly in his grasp, lifting it up to face him. “From the word go, ‘Ro, you’ve been playin’ den mother to all of us, even me, which made no sense at all, considerin’…you’ve never allowed yerself t’just have a life.”
“Even when Forge’s friggin’ gun took yer powers, you still had to lead. Not bein’ able to fly and fling lightning bolts didn’t stop ya from kickin’ Cyke’s ass and handing it to him “ which I was all for, don’t get me wrong, darlin,’ Scott’s still a tool in my book “but ya threw yerself back into the team full-throttle without missin’ a beat.” Ororo’s heart beat a strange, erratic tattoo as Logan swallowed again. His frustration wrapped itself around them both. “Ya never stopped ta consider the flamin’ consequences.”
“Which consequences? That I could die? That I was a liability? That I couldn’t pull my own weight?” Ororo’s voice was uncharacteristically hard. “I didn’t always ride the winds, my friend. And right now, I’m using the term ‘friend’ very, very loosely. Don’t test me.”
“Sorry, darlin,’ but ya gotta hear me out. Even if ya hate my guts when I’m through. I know yer tough, ‘Ro. When the chips are down, yeah, I want you in my corner before I want anyone else. But I want ya in my corner all in one piece, and that means yer spirit, too. Back when ya lost yer powers, at least you had some down time. You went back to Africa fer a while, saw some local color, took a well-needed break.” Ororo snorted inelegantly. “What?”
“Some vacation. Andrea Strucker shot me in the head, I was midwife to a woman in the village for a difficult birth, and I watched a man will himself to die the same night.” Ororo shook her head sadly. “Which proves my point. Powers or not, someone will always need me, and I won’t turn them away. I can’t.”
“Even if the one who needs savin’ is you?” Ororo clenched her fist.
“Logan…when my powers were taken away, that didn’t stop any of our enemies from attacking, just because Storm couldn’t come out and play. I knew the risks.” Logan snorted this time. “I did. I knew that I was potentially the weakest link. Yet I also knew how to keep the team together, in my own way. I knew how to fight. I knew how to shoot. I knew how to break my way in where we needed to go.”
“We appreciated it. But we would have understood just fine if you hadn’t.” Ororo shot him a funny little hurt look that twisted his insides.
Nice going, genius.
“Ro,” he began, struggling to take it back. Or fix it, somehow.
“So I shouldn’t have bothered? Throwing myself back into the fray to help my team and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves or their own right to live was unnecessary? You could manage just fine without me?” Ororo smacked Logan’s hand away as he reached for her arm to make her stay. She dragged herself up into her chair, releasing the brake and flinging her towel back at him, hitting him squarely in the face.
“That’s not what I mean, dammit, ‘roro, that ain’t what I mean! Will you get back here?!”
“No. Leave me be. I’m going somewhere else to be useless without your help.”
A rush of aggravation and helplessness washed over Logan, raising his hackles.
“Stuck yer foot in it again, Patch.”
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