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Ororo fumed all the way back to the women’s locker room. She grasped the door handle and wheeled herself backward, yanking open the heavy door. She awkwardly wheeled herself through, practically getting wedged in the doorframe in the process. “Dratted, blasted man, curse his eyes! Sure, manage fine without Ororo, then! Fly the Blackbird yourselves, pick your own bloody locks!” Ororo grumbled her way to her locker and spun in the combination numbers in swift, angry clicks.

“Make it rain, while you’re at it,” she muttered, continuing her pity party. Raising up her hips, Ororo divested herself of her sweats and panties and chucked them into the locker. Lowering her feet from the footrests, she slid them into the legholes of her favorite black one-piece Speedo sports suit with the school emblem on the hip. Ororo fumbled with her sports bra, jerking it up until it got tangled in a coil of her hair, bunching it up in a wad within the Lycra band. “Ack!” She leaned forward in her chair, breasts flopping forward almost into her face as she wrestled with her bra again. Her sweat made the Lycra cling to her like a second skin, causing the fabric to roll and twist as she struggled to pry it off.

She worked one arm lose “ BANG! “ as her hand snapped back and flew into the locker once she freed it. “Ow! Damn it!” That didn’t tickle. The other armhole was perhaps more stubborn, now that the whole band of fabric was even more tightly twisted around her shoulder. Ororo took a deep breath and heaved her other arm out with a grunt, cursing the cumbersome chair and tight space between the bench and the locker row.

Her sweat-soaked hair picked just that moment to snarl itself around the offending garment. Ororo winced at the tearing sound as dozens of errant strands were yanked out of her ponytail as she tossed the brassiere into her locker.

She raked her fingers through the frothy, damp tangle of waves at her nape “ “Ooooh! Smarts!” and began rearranging it back into some semblance of a ponytail. Her brush was upstairs…and it wasn’t worth the trouble to wheel herself into the lift to go get it. Ororo grunted indelicately as she pulled her hair up at the crown of her head and secured the clip. Like everything else about the day so far, the clip seemed to pull on her, rubbing the wrong way on her nape, but she didn’t care.

And that was how Logan found her.

“Hey, ‘Ro…”

“GODDESS! Logan!”

“GEEZ! ‘Ro, I’m so friggin’ sorry…gads, this is awkward,” Logan muttered from behind his hand as he shifted from one foot to the other, weighing the option of walking back out in the direction that he came. Logan heard Ororo’s muttered curses and a hectic snapping of elastic and spandex as Ororo struggled to cover herself.

Guiltily, Logan savored the blush that rose up his tanned cheeks, as well as the memory of what put it there. Sure, ‘Ro was angry at him. That still didn’t diminish the glory of seeing her in repose like that, arms stretched up over her head as she gathered up her gleaming spill of thick white curls. The working of her slender arm muscles, and the slight arch of her back thrust her sweat-kissed breasts forward, bathing the tops in the glow of the stark overhead light.

Yup, he felt guilty. Not sorry, per se, but definitely guilty.

“Um. ‘Ro? Y’know I didn’t mean…well, maybe I shoulda knocked first, y’know?” Logan sputtered. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to catch you in the all-together, an’ all.” He cleared his throat, still covering his eyes with his palm. “You decent yet, ‘Ro?”

“Well…not quite.”

“Oh. Right. I’d better skedaddle…”

“No.” Her tone was abrupt, and clipped. “Actually, Logan…”

“Yeah, darlin’?

“I need…your help. This is a bit…awkward. My suit’s kind of…stuck. Help!” She finished, hating the childish note her voice had taken.

Logan eased his hand down from his eyes.

Ororo was still seated in her chair. Her black suit was pulled halfway-up her torso, but the straps weren’t quite where they were supposed to be, he realized lamely. Ororo’s arms, raised to enticingly above her head before, were now crossed over her chest, shielding her bounty. Her hands clutched at the straps of the suit to keep them from rolling down any further.

“This is a bit of a struggle. I don’t have enough room to maneuver; this is easier when I can stand up,” she admitted miserably. “Everything’s…easier when I can stand up.”

“That’s fine. Say no more.” Logan circled the bench and came up beside Ororo. She felt her chair being tilted slightly and turned so she was parallel to the bank of lockers now, giving Logan more room and a better reach. “Here ya go. Lift up a sec, darlin.’”

Ororo obediently released her arms, leaving herself vulnerable as she leaned her elbows on the armrests. Logan took no liberties as he reached for the bottom half of the suit and jerked it up neatly, unbunching the fabric so that Ororo was no longer sitting on it. A faint tingle warmed him, sweeping over his flesh as his fingertips grazed her hips. He kept his eyes on the long, smooth expanse of her back as he reached for one strap, beckoning for her to feed her hand into it as she worked on the other.

“M’sorry, ‘roro, it shoulda been Sage or Rogue doin’ this…”

“It’s all right,” she cut him off. Finally decently covered, Ororo looked up over her shoulder at him with wary blue eyes. “Why did you come in here?”

“Yer headed to the pool. I didn’t wanna intrude, kiddo, but I still wanted ta make sure ya got out there okay.”

“I have my glasses, if I need to call anybody, Logan. I’m sure you have other things to do, I don’t want to trouble you.” Logan chafed at the dismissal as he searched her gaze.

Yup. She was still angry at him. Not quite as much, but that bruised pride and those ruffled feathers were still there. He didn’t try to stop her as she wheeled herself toward the exit.

“Who said it was any trouble?” he muttered. Ororo did her level best to ignore him as she turned the door handle to let herself out.

Ah, what the hell, Logan sighed to himself. He rushed forward and grabbed the handles of Ororo’s wheelchair, stilling her for a moment as he reached for the door handle. He twisted it and flung the door open in front of Ororo, giving her a straight path into the hall.

Ororo bit her lip as she glanced up at him. “Thank you,” she grated out.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured.

Yup. He definitely needed a cold beer.

Upstairs, Bishop busied himself peeling some red onions for a salad as Sage pulled a large stainless steel bowl from the cabinet. “Dress the bowl for me, will you? Thanks,” he smiled at her. She didn’t return the smile. She seldom did. She simply held his eyes with a subtle nod as she crossed to the refrigerator and took out a lemon and a clove of elephant garlic from the crisper drawer. Deftly Sage held the flat side of a broad kitchen knife against the clove, swinging her fist in a neat arc to pulverize it. She then sliced the lemon in half and ran it inside the bowl, coating it generously.

“Don’t forget ““

“The virgin olive oil. I know,” she reminded him. Sage drizzled a narrow stream of it into the measuring cup on the counter and scraped the minced garlic from the cutting board, adding it to the dressing. “I’m letting it marinate while I start the bread.”

“Multitasking. I like it,” Bishop commented dryly as he resumed chopping the onions. The knife flew rhythmically, the blade barely skimming the edge of his fingernails as he cut the halved onions at a perfect slant, in nearly uniform width. Sage allowed the faintest hint of a smile to grace the corners of her mouth, admiring his work with the blade.

She was interrupted from her reverie by Logan’s thudding footsteps as he hauled himself to the refrigerator. Sage took in his hair, sticking up in tufts in the back, as though he had been running his hands through it. His whole posture was tense. “Tell me we have beer,” he growled, yanking open the door and setting the condiments on the shelves to jangling in their respective bottles.

“Bottom shelf. There’s one left.” Bishop silently thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t drank it already when he’d been in the mood for one earlier. Logan neatly squeezed the cap between his thumb and forefinger, ignoring the crimped edge of the metal biting into his flesh, and pried it off the bottle, flicking it into the trash bin. He sucked his gashed thumbed into his mouth for a second before taking a long, thirsty gulp of brew. “I’m that close ta’ throwin’ in the towel,” he swore as he dragged the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Is the patient being a wee bit testy?” Sage chirped. Logan shot her an evil look over his beer bottle.

“Seems to me like you volunteered to help with Ororo’s rehab,” Bishop reminded him. “That means you take it on full-throttle, warts and all. Including all the abuse and temper tantrums.”

“Eeeerrrgh.” Logan’s growl was blanketed by another fortifying gulp of beer. Bishop chuckled.

“You knew you couldn’t just put a Band-Aid on it and pronounce her all better.”

“Shit. Ya think I don’t know that, Sage? It ain’t her physical progress that’s the problem. It’s her reasons why. FUCK!” Bishop quirked his eyebrow at the profanity, but Logan rambled on. “She’s wearin’ herself out! She’s wearin’ ME out! All she wants t’do is get back in the saddle and lead the pack again, slayin’ all the dragons that land on our doorstep.”

“What do you plan to do, Logan, duct-tape her to the wheelchair? Lock her in her loft? She’s an adult; she’s wearing her big-girl panties now.” Logan nearly choked on his next gulp of beer at this announcement.

“Cute, Sage. Real friggin’ cute.” Logan set his beer on the butcher block table and ran his hand through his hair again, resting his other fist on his hip. “I just want her ta take it easy, fer cryin’ out loud. That was a killing blow that Viper gave her with those claws,” he fumed. “She walked away from it, Lord bless her, from a stroke that would have even left me in bad shape. At least for a while,” he mused.

“Hank says she’s getting better. Slowly, granted, but she’s past the initial danger,” Bishop murmured as he began dicing carrots into perfect medallions. As long as she doesn’t tax herself…”

“But she is taxing herself. ‘Ro doesn’t just wanna walk again, she wants to fight. It’s just…she doesn’t wanna be a burden ta any of us. She doesn’t want anyone t’have to protect her.” Sage took in his flared nostrils with a mixture of amusement and pity. “If the Sentinels landed in the living room right now, ‘Ro’d be right there, crutches an’ all, tryin’ ta take ‘em out with her lightning.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Bishop admitted.

“You know you’re the last person to complain about anyone else pushing themselves too hard, Logan.” He looked up sharply at Sage as she began tearing the rinsed lettuce into bite-sized leaves. “How many times have we seen you abuse your healing factor? How many times have you flung yourself into the leading edge of a hail of bullets, regardless of the physical cost? Just because you can walk away from it, and just because you can heal from it, that doesn’t mean we don’t worry about you, too.

You’re also a poster child for restlessness, Logan. This is the longest we’ve had you in one place in months, you know. People might talk.”

“Shaddup, Sage.”

“Make me,” she tossed back. “You know I’m right. If you and Ororo have one thing in common “ anything at all “ it’s that you both want to be everywhere at once. And you loathe anyone telling you that you can’t.”

“If ‘Ro an’ I have anything in common,” he mimicked with disgust. “Please. Only thing Boss Lady an’ I have in common right now is that we’re gettin’ sick o’ each other.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” Bishop was silent as he extracted a loaf of sweet French bread from the paper sack, preferring to let Sage have her say. “You wouldn’t have agreed to stay, you wouldn’t have stayed this long, and you wouldn’t be this upset. It’s okay to admit you’re worried about her, not just her recovery, Logan.” Turning back to the counter she muttered “So stick that in your pipe and smoke it.”

“Pppft,” Logan huffed through his teeth, grasping the neck of his half-finished beer and stomping outside. Nosey frail, he snarled.





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