Chapter Seven: Release
Searching to find a love upon a higher level
Finding nothing but questions and devils
Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Nothing's alright, nothing is fine
I'm running and I'm crying
I can't go on living this way
~Papa Roach
Sweat soaked the sheets beneath her, the panting of her lover blowing air against the flesh of her neck. She arched up into him, accepting more, needing something to drive it all away. Sultry groans and grunts of a bastard form of her name spurred her higher toward release. Maybe this time it would succeed.
His hands groped and pulled; causing her body to react in ways she was steadily becoming better at acknowledging. This was not like her, but something needed to break free. Tension had coiled inside of her, the explosion of her climax bringing her peace for at least a moment.
Andy thrust against her, his back torn by her clawing nails. Ororo smiled against his cheek, sighing in a pleased manner. Never again would she fight Wolverine on his “causal sex” argument. He definitely had a point.
White-hot light flashed behind her eyes, the temperature of the room rising steadily before the heat wave broke. Andy’s pleasured moaning told her he had finished as well. Her legs fell from their place around his waist as he rolled away.
For a moment she contented herself by ooking up at the stucco of his ceiling. She should be at home, for it had been twenty-four hours since she walked out of the boathouse. An evening of racing and parties left her bank account well fed, but she missed Logan.
Thinking his name while still bearing the scent and sweat of sex made her uncomfortable, so she stood up, heading to Andy’s shower. He was already snoring by the time she turned the water on and stepped under the freezing spray.
Her mutation had made the room unbearably hot, but her lover scarcely noticed. That was her trademark during meaningless sex. The room she was in, sometimes even the entire area, would raise to sweltering temperatures. Her body was well cared for now, several orgasms over the last few hours keeping her loose and limber.
Andy was nice enough, she mused, avoiding wetting the tight braids of her hair as she lathered her body with his musky soap. He was polite and agreeable, though his intellect stopped at carburetors and exhaust pipes. She was happy to spend the day working on her car, getting grease and oil all over the jumpsuit she’d donned.
Racing, partying, engines, this could have been her life. She had even given in the previous evening and taken Lazy E’s Ferrari out for a spin. An impromptu drag race took place on the outskirts of Jersey, which she won while the men in the car cheered her on. She’d narrowly escaped a squad car, but the police had given her quite a chase.
The boys -- as she called them -- looked upon her as something just below an equal. She was still a beautiful woman and that made her a piece of eye candy, though she drove better than any of them. Rinsing soap from her body, washing away the scent of sex and liquor, she shook her head.
At least here there was not the constant threat of anti-mutant attacks and injury. She was happy to just let go for now. She still did not know how Logan would react when she saw him again. Never in all the years they had been friends had she taken off for so long without him. She wondered, in the snide, jealous part of her heart and mind, whether or not he had even noticed. No one else did, unless she was not there to play wet nurse to the mutant group.
Ashamed at her petty thoughts, Ororo turned the water off and stretched, reaching for a towel. After drying the water from her body, she glanced at the clock on Andy’s bedside table. It read just after one in the morning. She could slip back into the boathouse without a problem, so long as Logan had gone to bed.
Even if he was awake, she did not owe him an explanation.
Shaking her head again, she wondered what in the name of the Bright Lady was wrong with her. She always took Logan with her when she was feeling off. In fact, he usually suggested it before she knew something was wrong. He was an expert at reading her. Perhaps that was why she preferred being away from him right now. She did not want to be read like an open book.
Checking on the stitches in her hand, she scratched at the edge of the neatly sewn wounds, thinking again that it looked like one of Logan’s claw marks. Why was she here, getting drunk and sleeping with Andy when her friend likely needed her? He was still not fully recovered and after their tussle the other day…
A strange feeling of dread welled in her chest for the millionth time that day. She’d done well at ignoring it when Andy worked with her on the Mazda, the following race keeping her mind on the car and not that odd trepidation in her chest.
Ororo wrote Andy a quick note on the eraser board to call her when he woke. She did not bother to kiss his sleeping lips as she dressed and left his bedroom quickly. A party was still in full wing downstairs. She slipped outside without even bidding Lazy E goodbye. He was used to her arriving and leaving at her leisure. He would never hold it against her.
Climbing into Logan’s Jeep, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror and shoved it away viciously. She was slowly turning into something, someone else. Refusing to think about Magneto and Wolverine was starting to hurt her. She knew it. She hated it. She had not found a way to stop it.
If she thought about her best friend, she could only feel guilt for letting him get hurt, for losing her cool and abandoning him. When she thought of Magneto, twin sides of her warred. She hated him for what had happened to Logan, but in many ways he was still her baba.
Sighing at herself, she roared the Jeep’s engine to life and eased it out of the driveway. There was something eating away at her and rather than deal with it, she drowned it out. It was too much, too painful. Her hands ached whenever she remembered her brutal beating of Magneto. Logan had been right, had she killed him, it would have been something she regretted all of her life.
Turning onto the highway, she pointed the Jeep toward home, wondering if anyone had missed her. She sighed at herself, knowing it was a petty and selfish thing to think. They were likely going insane, wondering if she were hurt or angry with them all. No, she amended. If they believed that, the Professor would have contacted her already. He, above all others, could locate her in moments using Cerebro.
Ororo turned up the radio to full blast, bouncing her head to the throbbing voice of TLC. Singing along with the lyrics of an old favorite, she drove through the empty streets, drowning out the responsible voice in her head that continued to berate her childish behavior.
The station continued playing R&B the entire way home, keeping her mind from speaking over the generous tunes to which she knew all the words. Logan always teased her about singing with the radio, not really knowing why she did it. It was a defense against thoughts she did not want to dwell on. Her throat was sore by the time she reached the south gate of the mansion’s grounds. Punching in her code, she eased toward the boathouse.
“Damn him,” she hissed, noting most of the lights were on.
Though he had likely heard the Jeep, she blazed past the boathouse and parked on the other side of the lake, letting her head fall back. Most of the lights were off inside the enormous home, so she gathered her courage and opened the Jeep door.
Jogging across the short driveway, she stowed the keys to Logan’s Jeep into her pocket and slipped into the unlocked mansion. All was quiet, though she could hear George watching television. The boy rarely slept and the swift changing of the channels told her he was having just another fit of insomnia.
Not tired and unwilling to run into one of the X-Men, she slipped into the wide elevator that would take her below the surface. In the lower levels, she could head for the Danger Room to work herself into exhaustion or simply loiter in the War Room. She sighed in relief when the motion lights came on as she stepped out of the elevator.
Obviously no one else was wandering in the X-Men’s inner sanctum. Ororo wandered through the slick, metallic halls, no destination in mind at all. Within a few minutes, she found herself outside of the med-lab. Curious, she stepped inside the waiting room, glancing through the thick glass of the window.
Magneto was lying on the bed, his eyes closed. Unlike Wolverine’s recovery, there was no one sitting resolutely at his bedside. No one was here to wait for him to wake. Taking a deep breath, she opened the inside door, moving toward the prone body.
He was thinner than she remembered, his face covered with cuts and bruises, left by her hands. Her fingers trembled as she drew closer. He did not look like Magneto here, he reminded her intimately of Erik.
“Baba.”
“He cannot hear you.”
Ororo whipped around, hating herself for getting caught. Professor Xavier was sitting in the silent dark, his wheelchair rolled against the far wall as he waited for Magneto to recover. She had been wrong; someone did care if he woke up. For some reason, that was a comfort.
“Professor.”
“Ororo.”
Unsure what to do or say, she turned her back on him, intending to simply leave before he could question her. The man had an uncanny knack for wrestling the truth from her, no matter how badly she wanted to hide.
“He woke just a few hours ago,” Charles continued, making her halt immediately. “His injuries are more severe than we thought.”
She did not reply. Charles did not move.
“When he woke, he could not remember so much as his name nor that he was a mutant.”
A tear, unbidden and unwelcome, slipped down Ororo’s cheek. Sorrow, acute and strong, tore her heart within her breast. She wished she had stayed with Andy this evening, she did not want to face this. What had she done? Had she ruined her beloved Erik?
“The amnesia may not be permanent, but for now…” her mentor paused, sighing. “Ororo, he is lost and confused. He has no memory of attacking Wolverine or your brutal revenge.”
Another tear snaked down her cheek, her chin quivering with emotion. This was too much. She could not bear the disappointment and sorrow in her friend’s voice. She had loved Erik more than anyone and felt his betrayal directly to the depths of her soul.
“Do you honestly believe your behavior will make this all go away?” he said softly. “No matter how you run or seek to destroy yourself, you will have to live with your actions. Is your hate enough to sustain you alone?”
“What are you talking about?” she hissed, not liking the way her voice caught.
“Charles?”
A weak and weary voice broke between the mentor and student. Ororo’s eyes closed at the tone, the alien words seeming to dash any illusions about Magneto she may have carried. A wheelchair creaked as Charles moved closer to the bed. Ororo heard the sheets rustling and dared not turn around, fearful that she would only break further.
“Yes, Erik, I am here.”
“I had strange dreams,” the voice of Erik said softly. “But I cannot remember why they are important.”
“It may be your memory trying to resurface,” Charles soothed his friend.
Unable to remain, Ororo moved to leave the med-lab, surprised to find herself turning toward the two men. Her eyes shed more tears and she wondered if the heavens had opened for her. Erik had his hand clasped in Charles’, his usually cold eyes filled with fear.
Clutching her chest at the ache in her heart, Ororo gasped for breath. What had she done? What had she become?
I didn’t want ya havin’ this ugly thing inside ya. Logan’s words came back to her unbidden. Here, now, she saw the bitter fruit of that ugly part of her soul.
Without thinking, without a single care as to the consequences, Ororo moved to Erik’s bedside. She took up his free hand, giving him a teary smile as she brushed locked of silver from his forehead.
He turned to her in surprise, his unfamiliar gaze looking over every feature of her face.
“Baba,” she whispered, gently touching one of the stitched cuts on his cheek.
Erik’s gray-blue gaze met hers and he gave her a smile. It was not the cruel smirk of Magneto, but that familiar, paternal gesture that made her heartache even worse.
“You,” he whispered with sudden clarity. “I know your face.”
Startled, Ororo drew back, sobs caught in her throat.
“I know you, I do,” he continued, trying to tug her back. “My Windrider.”
“Oh, God,” Ororo gasped, a wracking cry escaping her lips as she shook her head. “Oh, Goddess, no.”
Heedless to both men calling her back, Ororo turned and fled from the med-lab.
~**~
She slipped into the boathouse near dawn; her clothing caked with mud and rain. Her eyes were dry now, though the guilt still wracked her body with seizure-like trembling. How could she have done that to Erik?
How could she forgive Magneto?
Putting her hands to her head, she fell against the closed door, unable to cope with what was happening in her head and heart. Two different men were one and the same. She had tried, over the years, to forget about the man she loved as a father. Believing him dead was better than dealing with his betrayal.
She did not notice that the boathouse was occupied as she fought with her inward grief and gut-wrenching self-loathing.
“Storm?”
Looking up sharply, Ororo leapt to her feet, only now noticing the many X-Men ensconced in her living room. Blinking rapid and attempting to draw her signature calm around her, she looked from one to the other.
Cyclops. Psylocke. Angel. Beast. Rogue. Iceman. Shadowcat.
“What are you all doing here?” she demanded sharply. “Where is Logan?”
“Funny you should ask that,” Scott said, his tone flat, even unfriendly. “Where in the nine levels of hell have you been?”
“Are you my father or my husband?” she shot back angrily. “I did not think so. Get out of my house.”
“No.”
Surprised that the single word came from sweet, adoring Angel, she glared at him. “I beg your pardon.”
“I said, no. Is that a hard word for you to understand?”
Shocked and completely confused, Ororo heard thunder crack above their head. No one even blinked.
“What is going on here?” Ororo demanded, not liking the way each of them looked at her as though she had just converted to evil and killed her best friend.
A cold shiver ran the length of her spine at the thought. Where was Logan? He should be here screaming at her.
“Where is Logan?” she demanded again.
“Why do you care?” Scott crossed his arms defiantly. “You’re going for the selfish bitch award today, so I figure you shouldn’t give a rat’s ass.”
“Cyclops…” Psylocke warned, looking startled.
“No, fuck that!” Scott nearly shouted. “She beats Magneto, takes off to God knows where and comes back looking like a well-fucked two dollar hooker and we’re supposed to care?”
“Whoa, man,” Angel said, taking Scott’s arm. “Overreaction much?”
“I believe Angel is right, Scott,” said Henry, speaking for the first time. “We must remain calm.”
Confused and more hurt by Cyclops’ words than she wanted to admit, Ororo looked to her big, blue friend.
“What is going on?”
“Logan was injured on a mission,” Henry said slowly.
Ororo felt her already wounded heart fall to her feet at Beast’s words. Unable to breathe, she put a hand over her heart, gasping airlessly.
“Ororo?”
She felt Scott take one of her arms and the furry claw of Beast take the other as she stumbled back. Lack of air was causing her mind to blank out for a moment before returning. She could not deal with all of this. First Magneto, then Erik, then Logan…it was simply too much.
“Breathe, Ororo,” Henry was saying soothingly.
“Next time you feel like going off,” Betsy said scathingly to Cyclops. “Don’t.”
“What?” Scott demanded of the telepath.
“Look at her! She’s obviously having issues!”
“STOP!” she shouted, the heavens screaming with her by way of rolling thunder. “Stop. Just stop. Where is Logan?”
“Upstairs,” said Iceman warily. “Jean’s with him.”
Ororo broke free of her friends and scrambled toward the stairs. Her muddy sneakers slipped several times, squeaking on the hardwood floor as she tripped. None of the others followed as she stumbled up the staircase, her breathing again restricted.
Jean was leaning over Logan’s still form, a stethoscope pressed against his chest. She could see the deep laser burn and several cuts and bruises on his bare torso. One of his arms was swollen and purple. As Jean shifted, she saw that Logan was awake, smiling slightly at the pretty redhead.
“Logan?”
Both mutants turned to look at the wet, dirty woman standing in the center of the loft bedroom. Jean whispered excuses to Logan and moved away, squeezing his hand gently before she turned from him.
The look Jean shot Ororo as she passed was filled with disappointment and sheer loathing. Ororo felt tears well up in her throat again, but she turned toward Logan as Jean stepped slowly down the stairs.
“Was it worth it?”
Startled and ashamed by his quick comment, she remained across the room.
“You won’t talk to me, gone more than a day so ya can avoid me an’ go get fucked in the middle of all this,” he continued harshly. “I’m askin’ ya, was it worth it?”
“Logan, please…”
“I’m not done, darlin’,” he continued as though he were drowning her voice out. “Not even close. It was so important ta run off, win a race, have a drink, and get off. Ya know how worried I was? I went to the Professor.”
She did not react to this; his talking to the Professor about her mental state was the last thing on her mind. Ororo watched Logan sit up and resisted the urge to move toward him.
“I told him how I was worried, how ya were actin’ like nothin’ happened,” he continued. “I went on a mission, got hit. Sucks, but I know my limits now. I waited for ya. I waited for ya to come home and make sure I wasn’t dead. But ya didn’t.”
“I did not know,” she attempted to defend herself.
“Yeah, figured,” Logan grunted. “I’m gonna ask this one time, Ororo, just once. Ya listenin’?”
She nodded silently, unable to think of anything to say.
“Why’d ya run from me?”
The simple hurt in those five words cut her deeper than any knife or claw. Whimpering at the pain and confusion in her head and heart, she sank to her knees, covering her face with her hands.
“I cannot think,” she ground out. “My mind is completely useless.”
“’Ro, baby, comere,” Logan said, his tone suddenly soft, gentle.
She only shook her head.
“We’re still at the ‘Pain bad. Rain pretty’ stage, eh?”
Ororo nodded, her mind shutting down. “Pain bad. Rain pretty.”
“Ok. Get undressed, come lay with me.”
His easy commands appealed to her weary mind and Ororo immediately moved toward him, stripping out of her wet clothing. She donned one of Logan’s old t-shirts, discarding her undergarments as easily as her shoes.
She slid into bed beside him, careful to not upset his injuries as she laid her head on the pillow beside his.
“Sleep. Talk tomorrow.” He continued with his simple demands, flipping the lamp beside the bed off.
In the darkness with Logan’s familiar, safe embrace all around her, Ororo slipped into a deep, coma-like sleep.
~**~
When she woke, it was slow, unlike the sudden shock she had expected. Warm, cheerful sunlight bathed the sleeping duo from her eastern window as she blinked. Her mind was groggy, though not from drink or coital afterglow. Everything was so jumbled, she felt as though her thoughts were in a language she could not understand.
Rubbing her forehead with her fingertips, Ororo looked toward the open window. How could so much be wrong with a morning like this one?
Grunting, she attempted to sit up, smoothing her palm over her hair. Unfortunately, a very heavy arm currently pinned her in place. There was no room to maneuver with Logan’s long limb tossed so nonchalantly over her midsection. Though it was painful to think of him, she resolutely turned her head.
He was deep in sleep, likely with the aid of Jean’s plethora of medications. Ororo reached toward him, gently tracing the line of his mouth. He’d had a bruise there, last night, but now it was gone completely. Only his smooth skin remained, unmarred and preternaturally beautiful.
Curious, Ororo let her hand drift down to the thick white bandage covering his burn mark. Pulling at the tape gently, she sighed with relief. The mark was gone, leaving only faded pink new that had grown back. She removed the bandage completely, tossing it away. Inquisitive fingertips traced the line that she knew would leave no scar.
He had scars, of course. Thin, silvery markings betrayed the places where is flesh had been torn during Magneto’s vicious assault. He had them on his chest and back, his skull, limbs, even hands and feet. They were barely detectable to one not paying attention, but Ororo knew. Each mark put a tear on her heart; one that bled freely every day.
“Ya know, I could scream rape,” Logan’s sleep-heavy voice did not startle her. “But that feels good.”
Keeping her fingertips on the healed flesh of his belly, Ororo kissed his whiskered cheek fondly.
“No one would believe you unwilling,” she teased softly.
“Huh,” Logan grunted, not opening his eyes. “Gotta point there.”
Ororo laid her head back on the pillow they’d shared the night before as his dark eyes opened. He winced at the bright light, so she slid carefully from the bed. Not bothering to blush that his t-shirt barely covered her backside, she closed the curtains. When he thanked her, Ororo came back to her bed, slipping under the covers with him.
Her pillow smelled of him, that sweetly spicy scent of old leather, cigars, and nature. She inhaled deeply, shifting so her legs brushed his.
“We over the ‘Pain bad’ stage yet?” he asked tiredly.
“Perhaps,” Ororo replied thoughtfully. “Logan, I am sorry. I should have been here to keep you from going.”
“Yeah, ya shoulda,” Logan agreed, yawning as he stretched like a cat. “But ya weren’t an’ I’ve got lots more free time now.”
“Logan.”
“Storm, what’dya want? Public flogging?” his tone was irritated, his left eyebrow sky high. That was never a good sign.
“Cyclops…he seemed to want more than that,” she whispered, lying on her back to stare at the ceiling.
“Scooter was worried and on edge, I’d leave it alone,” Logan replied gently, his rough palm swatting her bare thigh gently.
She fell silent, letting him take her stitched hand in his. He flattened her palm with his fingers, turning so he could inspect the back of her hand. Her eyes half-closed at his gentle attention, letting him trace the lines of her palm while she enjoyed true peace for the first time in days.
What had she been thinking? Sure, the sex with Andy had been fantastic, but this was true peace. Sighing contently, she watched him play with her hand.
“Why’d ya go an’ leave me, darlin’?”
Logan’s question was honest and heartfelt. She let her breath catch before she spoke.
“I wanted to stop,” she replied quietly. “My mind was so confused. Magneto…Erik…he is in my head and in my heart.”
Her last words were spoken in an emotional whine, though she had tried desperately to keep control of her pain.
“I hate Magneto,” she continued after several deep breaths.
“But ya still love Erik just as much as ya did the day he left,” Logan finished, holding her hand gently, staring at their linked fingers.
“Yes,” Ororo swallowed hard. “He has no memory, Logan.”
“What?”
He turned those dark eyes on her, dragging both of their gazes to the clasped hands held up before them.
“He remembered few things of his life,” Ororo explained. “I saw him last night. He knows nothing of Magneto or Erik…but he looked at me. He knew me.”
“Damn, ‘Ro,” her friend leaned closer, pressing their foreheads together. “That’s rough.”
“How can you say only that?” she demanded, using her free hand to scratch her nose.
“Huh?”
“He…after what he did to you.”
Logan shrugged at her. “Ya know, I don’t get it either. I should be ready ta kill him with my bare hands…but I’m not. When I saw ya beatin’ on him, I sorta decided that was enough. Ya took my vengeance out, too, darlin’.”
“What can I do?” Ororo pled, looking into those smoky eyes. “How can I live with what I have done? How can I hate someone with every fiber of my being and yet still believe that the man I called father still lives inside him? I cannot stop thinking of it, trying to put it all into logical order.”
“Stop it,” Logan whispered, kissing the tip of her nose. “Yer drivin’ yerself nuts, ‘Ro.”
“I know,” she nodded. “I need your help. Logan, I truly need you now. I do not know what to do.”
“I been waitin’ for ya to admit that, baby,” Logan pulled her into his embrace with his free hand, keeping the other joined with hers. “We need each other this time. I gotta heal my body, you gotta heal yer heart. We can do it together, like everythin’ else.”
Ororo dropped her head onto his chest, letting the beat of his heart soothe her as turbulent emotions finally quieted in her mind. Running from the mansion, from Logan, had only made things worse. He was right; they would find a way to heal.
Together.
