The world spun off of its axis.
At least that was what it felt like for Ororo. Her world, already off kilter from too much alcohol flew into complete disarray the instant she felt Logan's lips on hers. She clutched the cotton encompassing his shoulders in a death grip, her mouth opening of its own volition beneath the heated assault of his. He tasted so good. More intoxicating than the fine wine and sherry she had indulged in that night.
She stretched up on her tiptoes and returned his kiss full measure; frantically, passionately. For this one moment she allowed herself the luxury of indulging in her most secret feelings and desires--where none other than Logan lay at the heart of both.
The kiss in the upstairs hallway the other night was kids play compared to this, she thought as his tongue stroked hers, encouraging her to explore his mouth in return. Where that kiss had been a teasing gesture with light nips and pleasant sensations, this kiss was a dark and sensual foray that ignited the kindling brush fire that was ever present between the two of them, the one that they both so valiantly tried to ignore.
Logan's fingers removed the delicate pins holding her hair in place before immersing more fully into her satiny strands. He cradled her face between his palms as his mouth--that wonderful mouth--completely took over hers. It only took that moment for Ororo to confirm a fact she already knew to be true. He had far more experience in this area than she did. The man made kissing an art form that rivaled anything da Vinci could put together.
Strong hands slid along her back, lifting her up against him. She gasped when she felt the hard ridge of his jeans, just below his belt buckle, pressing boldly against her stomach. The evidence of his arousal sang through her.
It was Logan that finally ended the kiss, lifting his head away from hers. The dangerous intensity in his eyes made her shiver. Not with fear, but with acute anticipation.
Logan was breathing harshly, his fingers flexing against the curve of Ororo's back. Her damp, pouted mouth drew his hungry gaze. Just a bit more, he told himself. One more kiss and then he'd let her go, before her reason rushed in and her icy barriers came up. Before he did something that they'd both regret.
She must have wanted the same thing because her head tilted up eagerly, her lips brushing his. The fleeting touch scorched him. Never had a kiss affected him so passionately. Not even Jean in her overheated Phoenix mode had made him burn like he was now.
Immediately, thoughts of the redhead brought forth feelings of guilt. He shouldn't dwell there, shouldn't feel any guilt, he knew. After all, Jean had never really been his, but thinking of how her kisses paled in comparison to Ororo's seemed like a betrayal on his part. Wasn't he supposed to forever hold her on an unattainable pedestal? One that should never be reached, much less surpassed.
Logan pulled back once more, letting out a ragged breath. He tried without success to convince his hands to let go of their prize. A quick, humorless, laugh passed his lips when they refused to obey his command. He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, taking a deep, calming breath, and immediately wished he hadn't. No woman should smell so damn good, he thought as his lips parted to allow his tongue access to her pulse.
Taste so damn good.
Look so damn good.
Feel so damn good.
He leaned back and looked into her eyes, now shining an indescribable, beautiful shade of blue due to the smoldering passion that he'd ignited there, and he felt a surge of primitive, male satisfaction. Passion was good, but he wanted a whole hell of a lot more. He wanted things from her that he had no right to want. His mouth twisted, realizing that he was dangerously close to crossing a line that should not be crossed between them. "We should stop." His voice was rough, graveled.
Ororo simply blinked languidly in return, still dazed by his kisses.
Logan's reluctant hands moved to her shoulders, setting her gently away from him. "We both know this ain't a good idea," he elaborated.
Without Logan's warmth pressed close, Ororo felt herself growing colder, feeling vulnerably exposed. "Not a good idea," she repeated dully.
He nodded. "Neither one of us really wants this; or what will come after."
Ororo, though still fuzzy from too much wine and drugged by feverish kisses, was astute and aware enough to know when she was being rebuffed. Her instinctive defense rose up and cool reserve slowly replaced simmering passion. "And exactly what do you think I'm offering you here, Logan?"
Logan pushed his fingers through his hair and let out a heavy sigh. Her sudden chill demeanor annoyed him. "A whole lotta misery, that's what."
Misery? He was saying that being with her would bring him misery? This coming from the man that had spent the past two years pursuing a taken woman and having his heart ripped to shreds was unbelievably insulting. And hurtful. Ororo tried in vain to ignore the sharp blow to her pride.
She was fuming, he could tell by the arctic swirl of her eyes, but he refused to take back what he'd said.
"My apologies if kissing me was such a miserable experience for you."
He didn't take the bait. "You're drunk, `Ro. If you were thinkin' rationally you'd agree with me."
She lifted her chin, hiding her hurt behind the familiar mask of indifference. "You're absolutely right. I'm drunk. What's your excuse?"
"I'm male."
She looked ready to hit him again.
He wanted to comfort her, but didn't, knowing that if he touched her again it would be him that couldn't stop. "'Ro…"
She turned her face, her eyes veiled by dark lashes, still damp from her graveside tears. "Don't worry, Wolverine. I harbor no illusions of anything between us. It was just a kiss." She stepped back, gathered her shoes and hairpins and moved past him.
Logan watched her walk away, his hands clenching at his sides to keep from reaching for her. If she knew how close he was to hauling her into his arms and taking her right there in the hall she wouldn't be walking away from him, she'd be running.
It was just a kiss. Her soft words echoed in his mind. Yeah, right. His body still thrummed with wanting.
He waited until he heard her bedroom door open and close before he went back out the glass doors to the garden. Outside he took a couple of deep breaths, once more following the maze to the back.
He crouched on one knee in front of Jean's headstone, touched the engraving briefly, his gaze somber. He moved a few feet back, seating himself cross-legged on the grass. "I think I may have fucked up again," he said aloud, speaking to Xavier's memorial. "Go figure, right, Chuck?"
He pinched a blade of grass between his thumb and forefinger, contemplating it with the same intensity a scientist would study an elusive find. Although his elusive find and the focus of his thoughts were not the plucked greenery in his hand, but were instead concentrated on the enigma that was Ororo Munroe.
She was occupying more and more of his thoughts lately and even more of his fantasies. Where once he had only dreamed of a pliant and willing redhead, a seductive, snow crowned minx had begun to take up residence. With her delectable mouth, flawless face and curvaceous figure Ororo could tempt a priest out of celibacy.
It was one of the reasons, Logan whole heartedly believed, that Nightcrawler had left the X-Men. He saw the way the indigo elf had stared at Storm. It was a look that no holy man should have on his face except at the feet of God. Nightcrawler's face had been full of such awe and reference that Logan had actually felt a touch of sympathy for the guy. He imagined that was how his face looked when he stared after Jean.
Logan knew he didn't stare after Ororo like that. He didn't lust after her with the same sense of adoration. The way he looked at Storm, when he was certain she was unaware of it, was more of a: "Hello. Could I bend you over please?" look.
If he was completely honest with himself, something he wasn't altogether sure he wanted to be at that moment, he could have broken Jean and Ororo down into categories.
Jean had been the sweet girl he had wanted to save. Protect. Cherish.
Ororo was the woman he wanted to dominate. Posses. Challenge.
That thought disturbed and excited him all at once.
He glanced furtively at Charles' tombstone, somehow expecting it to rebuke him for his rather racy thoughts. But all was silent in the garden. There was no scornful admonishment from the graves. No one telling him that his feelings were wrong, unwanted, misplaced. No one that was--but him.
A soft breeze through the trees brought to him the scent of flowers and rain. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. Damn.
Upstairs in her room Ororo pressed her palm to the glass of her balcony doors, her heavy lidded gaze resting on the man crouched in the garden. She smiled mirthlessly, her own words coming back to her. Even dead, Jean had more of Logan than she could ever hope to have. She quickly turned away from the window.
She didn't know what had possessed her to be so foolish as to encourage Logan to kiss her. It was a mistake. She knew this. But to have him point it out to her was a humiliation that she could have done without.
She had hoped that over time her feelings for Logan, that initial attraction, would fade away, and for awhile it had. Faced with his obvious adoration of her best friend, Ororo had been given little other choice than to bury that spark or carry the torch of longing for someone that didn't want her. She'd even told Jean once, "What I feel for him is small stuff. You two; you're the show."
So she had dug deep and buried her feelings. But like most things, they hadn't remained buried. Even before Jean's miraculous return Ororo had begun to find her thoughts drawn more and more to the Institute's resident feral. She wouldn't deny her attraction, but she had been able, up until tonight, to deny she harbored any real emotions for him.
That all changed with one hot, hungry, unbridled kiss.
She leaned her forehead against the cool wood of her wall. She was falling in love with Logan, and she had better find a way to stop it, because she had the distinct impression that he wouldn't be there to catch her if she did; and a fall from the enamored height she was at could likely prove fatal.
A few thousand miles away Bolivar Trask sat on a luxury four-poster bed in a Detroit hotel room, his deep set eyes reading the classified papers before him. The documents were meticulously detailed and organized, which was no surprise considering who had put the package together. Henry Gyrich had been an anal retentive prick when he was alive, but a more compulsively organized person would be hard to find.
Trask took a sip from his glass of Kentucky Straight whiskey beside him and set the papers down. He drummed his thick fingers atop the nightstand, his sharp mind already formulating strategies to locate funding, security, business alliances and potential partners.
Although most of Senator Robert Kelly's ideas had never been brought to fruition, they all had merit. Especially the one Bolivar had just reviewed. Trask took another swallow, his heavy brows drawing forward. He had hoped to avoid such extreme measures, but with McCoy proving to be an even bigger obstacle than anticipated, he was left with little alternative.
It was his job to protect the people, the law abiding citizens, of this country that he had sworn allegiance too, and by God, he'd keep that oath. He'd be damned if he'd let a bunch of soft headed politicians, safe and secure in their cushy mansions--thanks to him--deter him from delivering justice to those that ran amuck over it.
With one last glance at documents on the table Trask clicked off the bedside lamp. Project Wideawake would not be easy to launch, but he was determined, and when he was determined, he was even more unstoppable than that freak Cain Marko. With that thought he closed his eyes and slept easy.
Alicia Vargas rolled from her blue furred lover, pushing back her sweat slicked brown hair with a soft exclamation of, "Oh my God, Henry!"
Hank smiled broadly, a smile of pure contentment, turning to his side, his large hand caressing her bare arm. She had taken his strategic repositioning rather well, considering. He knew she wouldn't be joining him immediately in New York. She still worked for the White House and would be reassigned to a local official, at least until her request for relocation went through.
After a long, breathy silence Alicia turned towards him, circling his waist with her arm. "I'll miss you." It was the most vulnerable the hard-ass bodyguard ever let herself be.
Henry, knowing very well that "I'll miss you" translated into "I love you" for Alicia, kissed her slowly, reverently. "And I you, but this parting is not such sweet sorrow. I will make a few phone calls and have your paper work expedited."
She raised herself up onto her elbow, her hazel eyes searching his softer blues. It wasn't like Henry to use his pull for such a trivial thing. "You're worried." It wasn't a question.
Hank nodded, revealing to her what he would reveal to no one else. "More so than I care to admit."
"Trask is harmless. All bluster." She attempted to soothe.
Hank gave her a quizzical look. She knew better than anyone how determined, ruthless and cunning Bolivar Trask could be when his back was against the wall. Alicia had worked closely with the Secretary over several years before Henry had come onto the scene. She was at one time considered his protege.
Realizing that Hank saw through her as she did him, Alicia said quite seriously. "If it comes down to it, you know whose back I've got."
"As always, you are my ray of sunshine."
She sighed, resting her head under his chin. They lay that way throughout the remainder of the night, neither one sleeping.
"Whoa!" Ororo was forced to lift her breakfast plate over her head with both hands in order to avoid having its contents knocked to the floor by a haphazardly running Rahne.
"Sorry!" the girl called over her shoulder, disappearing out the side entry before Ororo could so much as mutter a hello.
Ororo turned, shaking her head in gentle amusement, her lips parted in a smile. It was good to see Rahne adjusting to the Institute so well. She imagined it was the first real shelter the girl had had in a long while if her frail appearance and raggedy clothing were any indication.
Ororo remembered all too well the hunger and feeling of helplessness associated with living on the streets. Not to mention the humiliation and the realization that a person would do just about anything to put food in their stomach.
Still lost in her own thoughts Ororo didn't notice Logan enter the kitchen until he was right behind her and announced his presence himself. "Mornin', darlin'."
"Jesus." She whirled, her plate falling from suddenly clumsy fingers. Scrambled egg and broken ceramic decorated the red tiled floor. She bent down immediately hoping to conceal her flushed face, a shade she was certain that matched the tiles. With hurried movements she began to scoop up handfuls of yellow egg.
"Here." Logan crouched down, picking up the larger fragments of the broken plate.
He smelled good, she thought as he leaned beside her. Like soap and something altogether masculine and...wild. Against her will, her eyes strayed toward him. He was dressed in his usual 'uniform' of broken in jeans, tank and a light blue and gray flannel. She couldn't help the flutter she felt in her stomach as the muscles beneath the cotton stretched the material taut with his motions. Such a simple action should not get such a heated response, she thought, helpless to fight it.
He caught her stare. Unspoken current flowed between them.
"I'm all set," she said icily, the first to break eye contact. She reached out to snag the pieces of her plate from him and in her haste she inadvertently sliced her palm. Ororo inhaled a sharp breath, drawing her hand close to her chest.
Logan gave her an exasperated look. "Now look what you've done. Ya've gone and hurt yourself."
"I'm fine," she argued despite the drop of blood that splotched her khakis.
He held out one tanned hand. "Lemme see."
"I said it was fine." She stood. Ignoring his reproachful glower she wadded some paper towels from above the sink into the center of her hand.
Logan got to his feet as well, a scowl marring his handsome face. "You're a stubborn broad, you know that," he snapped.
Too busy trying to pretend he wasn't in the room she refrained from responding.
Logan rubbed the back of his neck and decided to shoot the elephant in the room. "Look `Ro about last night--" he began only to be stopped by her raising her good hand.
"No," she said flatly, still not looking at him. "There is nothing that needs to be said." At least nothing that she wanted to hear. She didn't think she could take the rejection in the broad light of morning. Or worse, some sort of awkward "it's not you." speech. She pursed her lips.
She'd been dealt a blow to her feminine pride and the old adage of a woman scorned flashed in Logan's head. He really didn't fell like testing that out with a woman that could summon lightning.
He tried to reason it out for her despite her obvious want to avoid the subject, hoping to take the hurt from her eyes--a hurt he was unsure that she was even aware was showing. "You're a woman, I'm a man. It's only expected that at some point nature'd rear its head."
"Anatomy lesson noted," she replied, her tone acidic. She took a breath, knowing she was acting childish and said, much more sedate, "If you don't mind, I'd rather forget the whole thing ever happened."
He smiled ruefully, wondering how the hell she planned on doing that, because he sure as hell couldn't get the way she felt pressed against him out of his mind. The way she had tasted. The small breathy sounds she had made pressed up against him. He intentionally bit the inside of his cheek hoping to deflect his wayward thoughts and the growing hardness in his pants.
"Excuse me. I think I'll go find a bandage."
Logan watched her go, doubting if he'd ever be able to not put his foot in his mouth where Ororo was concerned.
Ororo sighed, her head bent over her wounded hand. It was a small cut, nothing to fret over, but that wasn't what was causing her discontentment. Her face scrunched into a distasteful scowl at her own behavior. She had no right to be so callous toward Logan; he was after all only giving her the truth. What had she wanted him to do? Lie to her? No. That wasn't the way between them. If nothing else they had always been frank and honest--sometimes brutally so--with one another.
Ororo taped the gauze into place, closing her bathroom's first aid kit and returning it to her medicine cabinet. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Kitty's head popped through the wall behind her, reflected in the mirror.
"Kitty!" Ororo turned, her eyes flashing.
Kitty grinned. "Sorry about that. I just wanted you to know that a real expensive looking limo just pulled up."
Ororo nodded. "You may want to consider knocking next time."
"I suppose I could, but where's the fun in that?" She was gone again.
Ororo rolled her eyes.
A moment later Kitty's head reappeared, much to Ororo's consternation. "Didjya know that Logan meditated in the nude?"
Ororo's eyes widened. "Katherine!"
Her full name did nothing to remove the impish smile from the younger girl's face. "Just thought you might be interested in that little tidbit. Bye now."
Ororo should have reprimanded her more but the image of Logan, naked and meditating, momentarily stole her breath and her full attention. She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, a headache already forming. It was going to be a long day.
Outside in the courtyard Logan pulled a cigar from his front pocket, watching the impressive figure of Hank McCoy, Fur-ball to him, striding towards him. Gone was the three piece suit that the larger man usually wore and instead a tee shirt and dark jeans were the politician's choice of attire. It was a bit disconcerting to see.
Logan stuck out his hand, shaking Henry's in a hearty grip. "What brings you by?" he asked.
"Ororo didn't tell you?" Hank inquired, releasing Logan's hand.
"Tell me what?"
"I'm moving back into the Mansion."
Logan's brows went up. “No shit?”
“I most assuredly shit you not,” Henry replied with good humor.
Logan chuckled. “'Ro never mentioned it.”
“Hm.” Henry made a noncommittal murmur.
Both men were interrupted by a joyful, "Henry!" from the woman in question as she started towards them, her arms open for a hug.
Logan had the absurd notion to shove Hank aside and take the embrace himself. He restrained the urge. Barely.
"I wasn't expecting you so soon," Ororo said, squeezing her friend affectionately.
"I thought it best not to wait too long, given the circumstances."
"I agree," Ororo replied with a nod.
"What circumstances?" Logan wanted to know.
Henry gave Ororo a speculative look. "You haven't told him yet?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. I had planned to tell the X-Men in our next training session. The students need not be concerned, they've been through enough."
Henry agreed. The students of Xavier's had endured far too much in the recent months, they need not fret over a situation that may turn out to be nothing.
Logan met Ororo's gaze then flicked his attention back to Henry, waiting impatiently for either of them to fill him in. Henry took the honors, telling him in succinct and brief detail what had thus far transpired and why he was moving back into the Mansion.
Logan, hearing the information retold, grew rigid, his nostrils flaring. "They want to press charges against the X-Men?" he all but growled.
“Henry has put himself on the line to ensure that won't happen,” Ororo pointed out with a healthy amount of pride and gratitude in her tone. She returned her attention to her blue furred friend. “What is it you'll need to set up your office?”
“Not much. As it is all I really need right now is a computer and a phone. I'll also need you to go over some paperwork with me a bit later.”
Great, more paperwork. Ororo grimaced a bit, but nodded. “Of course.”
“The movers should be arriving later this evening with the bulk of my possessions. Is my old room still free?”
“Yes. Charles always said one day you'd return,” she smiled gently, gripping Hank's hand. “It would appear he was right.”
“He usually was,” Henry replied, patting her hand. He noticed the bandage. “What happened?”
Ororo felt color flush her cheeks, reminded of her own rash actions, ones that had nothing to do with the plate. “An accident.” She began walking towards the front doors. “Come, let's get you settled.”
Logan hung back, contemplative. McCoy was far tenser than he was letting on. He was hiding it well, but Logan had scented it. It made him wonder what Hank knew that he wasn't sharing.
He glanced up in time to see Ororo cast him a worried look over her shoulder. It seemed she too had the feeling of all not being quite right. He nodded once, letting her know that she wasn't alone in her assessment.
She disappeared through the doors with Henry.
late evening…
Ororo signed yet another form that Henry handed to her, the quick swirl of her pen the only sound in the library. She leaned back in her chair, raising her arms over her head to stretch, her pale blue shirt lifting to provide a tantalizing view of her flat abdomen.
Henry perused the documents, insuring that all the proper places had been initialed and signed. “That's the last of them,” he said shuffling the pile.
“Good,” Ororo responded with a roll of her eyes. “Because if I see one more piece of paperwork…” she let the threat trail off.
Henry chuckled. “Buried in it, are you?”
She held her hand to her eyebrows.
“I should have stayed to help--” he began.
She interrupted. “Nonsense, Hank. You've done so much for us, for all mutants,” she reached across the desk. She waited until his eyes met and held hers. “You've done good, Blue.” She used an old nickname that she'd given him in the early days.
Those early days, of cocky attitudes and black and white right and wrong seemed so long ago. The years had not been easy for those that had stayed on at Xavier’s, but the friendships formed were unbreakable. Even Charles’ and Erik’s, Ororo mused silently.
Hank lifted her fingers to his lips, delivering a gentlemanly kiss. “He would be very proud of you.”
Ororo didn’t need to ask who Hank referred to. She smiled softly. “Forge said much the same thing.”
“The man is a certified genius,” Hank pointed out.
A throat cleared in the doorway. “Interrupting?” Kitty asked quietly.
Ororo turned towards the doorway. “What are you doing up, Kitten? Curfew was three hours ago.”
Kitty's face, normally full of vibrant energy, was drawn in concern. “I think Jimmy is having a nightmare, but I can‘t get in. The door‘s locked and he‘s not answering.” Jimmy's room was against one of the outside walls so he had a view, and pressed against the corner of another and though the position was a desirable one for Jimmy, it made it hard for Kitty to phase in from any way but the front. It made it difficult for anyone to reach the boy, which was the point.
Ororo was immediately on her feet. “Excuse me, Henry.”
“Of course.” He said with understanding. “Tend to your flock.”
She took the stairs two at a time. She rounded the second floor corner at a dead run, her heartbeat accelerating when she noticed that Jimmy's door was no longer closed, but ajar, and there was no sign of the boy.
“Jimmy!” she cried, shoving the door open so hard it rebounded off the wall, nearly slamming into her face. She drew to a halt inside the room, her mouth opened on a startled gasp of horror. “Oh, God, Logan!”
Logan lay on the floor, his face pale beneath his scruff and his lips were a grisly shade of blue. He didn't seem to be breathing. “Hank!” Ororo screamed, rushing to Logan's side.
Jimmy was huddled in the closet, his eyes squeezed shut, rocking back and forth, saying over and over, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”
Ororo bent over her fallen teammate, rolling him onto his back, checking his airway for obstruction. Finding none she began mouth to mouth. “Come on, Logan,” she commanded. “Breathe.” She placed her hands over his chest and froze. How did you give compressions to something that wouldn't compress? Logan's adamantium skeleton prevented the action. She screamed for Hank again, but he was already in the room.
Hank, calmly and efficiently switched into Doctor mode, easing Ororo out of the way. He checked Logan’s vitals. “No pulse.”
“He’s not breathing either,” Ororo informed him, fear making her voice shake.
Hank looked up to where Jimmy sat. “My boy, you need to leave this room. Immediately.”
Jimmy’s wide eyes, so innocent, tore at Henry’s heart. “I didn’t mean to,” he repeated weakly.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Kitty calmed him, bending down and pulling him up close to her body, hunkering him against her slender shoulder. “It’s okay, they know. But we gotta go now, ok.” She led him towards the door.
Ororo’s scream for Hank had drawn several students from their rooms. “Stay back,“ she ordered them, policing the room, not wanting them to see Wolverine down; and also needing to do something to keep herself from panic.
Questions came at her from the curious onlookers. What had happened? Were they under attack again? Fear and tension mingled with avid curiosity.
Marie shrieked when she saw Logan’s fallen form. “Logan!” The southerner cried out, trying to shoulder past the others to get into the room.
Ororo restrained her. “No. Everyone back out of this room. Now!” The command was punctuated by a roll of thunder.
“You can’t make me leave him,” Marie argued vehemently. She shrugged off Bobby’s comforting hand stepping forward to go toe to toe with Ororo.
Ororo knew the girl was upset, but she was a distraction. One that could not be afforded at the moment. Ororo took one step back and slammed the door in Marie’s face.
“Is he gonna be all right?” Jimmy asked quietly, his eyes awash with fresh tears.
“Don’t you worry,” Kitty said reassuringly, with false cheer. “You know Storm, she won’t let anything bad happen to him.” Kitty hoped using Storm’s name would alleviate some of Jimmy’s misplaced guilt.
Ororo on the other side of the door felt the tidal wave of responsibility crashing over her. They had lost too many lives, she was not losing Logan.
“I believe he has severe metal poisoning,” Hank said. “Damn, I wish I had my kit,” he grumbled, though in his heart he knew there was nothing in there to really help.
Ororo hollered through the door, “Kitty! Med kit!”
“On it!” she heard the muffled response.
Kitty turned to Marie. “Watch him,” she gestured to Jimmy.
Marie regarded the boy warily. “Did he do this to him?” she asked.
Bobby placed his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “We got him.”
“It was an accident. Not so different than the one you had,” Kitty said sharply. She gave Jimmy a supportive squeeze, stepped a few feet back and dropped through the floor, not stopping until she reached basement level.
Inside Jimmy’s room Hank swore.
Ororo shot her friend a apprehensive look. Hank rarely swore. “Hank?”
“I’m sorry, Ororo.” He sat back on his haunches.
Dread clutched Ororo’s heart. “Don’t say it,” she hissed. “Because no, Hank. Ok, just--just no!” She scrambled to Logan’s side again. “I know you can hear me, Logan. You have to fight, alright? Fight.” She pinched his nose and began to breathe for him.
“The toxic levels in his blood--” Ozone caused the fur on his body to stand on end.
“I said no, Henry.” She repeated with quiet determination.
It was clear he didn‘t like delivering the news, but he reaffirmed, “Ororo, his heart’s stopped. I can’t defib him, not with his metal bones, I’ll cook him from the inside out.”
She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “I. Will. Not. Lose. Him.” She enunciated each word carefully. With a firm grip on his shirt Ororo ripped it wide open.
“Storm, what are you doing?” Hank asked uneasily.
“I need you to tell me how much to juice,” she said, her now white eyes focused on the center of Logan’s chest. Her slender hands hovered, crackling. “Hank.” She made it an order.
“Three hundred joules. Low peak current,” he responded, hardly daring to hope that her insane idea would work.
Ororo focused on channeling her energy specifically, through Logan’s ribcage, without touching his bones. It was a near impossible feat, but one she had to try. She couldn’t lose him. She just couldn’t.
Logan’s body arced in spasm then dropped. Hank picked up his wrist. “Nothing.”
Ororo’s expression didn’t flicker. “Clear!” she commanded.
Again, nothing.
“Ororo…”
“No, Hank!”
He opened his mouth but the look she shot him silenced anything he wanted to say. Not even Xavier’s death had put such a look of desolation on his friend’s face. He nodded at her. “Four hundred joules. Low peak current.”
Ororo focused. Logan’s body arched, dropped and remained unresponsive.
“Damn you, Wolverine,” she said, tears evaporating from her heated eyes. “Don’t you die on me, you jerk!”
Kitty shot through the floor. “Here!” She moved to hand the kit to Henry, but knew before he reached for it, that it was a useless tool.
Hank, however, saw another tool. He grabbed Kitty. “Child, can you control the level of your phasing?”
She blinked rapidly. “Yes.”
He tugged her to the floor beside Ororo. “Reach into his chest and grab his heart.”
“What?” Kitty looked terrified.
“I want you to stimulate his heart. Pump it for him.” Hank explained rapidly.
Kitty looked panic stricken. “What-what if I kill him?”
Henry’s tone was grave. “He’s already dead. It’s up to us to bring him back.”
One look into his soulful eyes and Kitty felt instant trust. “Okay,” she agreed.
Step by step Hank led the women through the series of pump, shock, breathe. Over and over, with Kitty manipulating Logan’s heart, Ororo providing a current to keep it pumping and Hank breathing for their feral friend.
It had only been six minutes since Ororo had found Logan on the floor, but it felt like an eternity. Each second feeling like an hour, each breath echoing in her head. Each beat of her heart that she wished she could give him thundered in her ears.
Don’t you dare die on me, Logan. The kids need you. I need you. Come back. Please. Come back.
A broken sound came from the man on the floor, a spluttering and retching sound that was the most beautiful thing Ororo had ever heard. Kitty carefully withdrew her hand, openly weeping as Henry turned Logan onto his side and helped him vomit out a thick black bile from his stomach.
Ororo, knowing that Logan was far from in the clear hastily opened the door and ordered someone to bring a stretcher.
As they were strapping Logan onto the stiff platform he lifted his eyelids partway open, his bloodshot eyes seeking out Ororo. She smiled down at him.
“You said please,” he whispered before slipping into peaceful unconsciousness with the help of the morphine shot Hank administered.
