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A faint groan was the first sound that penetrated the haze of her jumbled thoughts as Ororo stirred awake. The voice was too masculine to be her own, but it was achingly familiar.

The whistle of oxygen piped through the air and tickled her ears as it flowed through the cool tubes of the cannula, making the palate of her mouth raspy and dry. “Mmmmmphh.” She tested her voice and her body cried out in protest at her fledgling effort to lift her hand. “Ow.”

“Ororo?” Hank’s voice drifted back to her, and she squinted up at him, hating the glare of the setting sun as it filled the cabin, backlighting his blue fur with sapphire-bright fire as he swam into her line of vision. She managed a smile for him, even though it hurt.

“Hullo, Henry,” she slurred. Whoooooooo…thoughtful, lovely Hank. She experienced a wave of dizziness and blessed numbness as he turned up the dose of her morphine drip. She fidgeted to make her arm more comfortable around the tube of the IV.

“You’re still looking a bit peaked, dear,” he tsked, “but your pretty mouth isn’t quite so gray, thank goodness. It might do Logan some good to know you’re up and around. Well, ‘around,’ anyway. Don’t move, just relax and get some rest until we reach Westchester. Plan on spending the next few days in the infirmary, without lifting so much as a finger until I pronounce you fit for duty.”

“Henryyyyy...” she whined, pouting even as the good sense of his announcement penetrated the blissful fog of the medications. “S’not faiiiirrr. Meanie.” Her eyes were already fluttering shut, and her face softened into slack smoothness as she settled back down.

“Aaaannnd she’s back out. Vitals look good, though,” Hank muttered. He returned to his co-pilot seat. “You can quit snarling at me now, she’s fine.”

“I know that, bub!” Logan’s hands were guiding the Blackbird’s controls competently but with a great deal of white-knuckling as they soared over the mountains. He was too frustrated and upset to enjoy the view.

He had lost the Professor, the one person who gave a damn about helping him untangle the mess of his past and gave him something to focus on that was bigger than his years of pent-up rage. He had lost Jean and failed to stop One-Eye from walking out on them all and preventing his death. A short while ago, he’d come close to losing his emotional anchor to the school, maybe even his anchor to his life, what was left of it.

And right now, he was this close to losing it, because her life, Hank’s and now Scott’s were in his hands as he flew them home as quickly as the turbines would allow. Hank had offered to take the helm, but Logan shooed him back into the cabin as he slapped the headgear into place and radioed Peter with an E.T.A of when they would be back, letting him know to get the medlab ready, because they had two near-casualties coming in, red-hot and popping. He promised him explanations later and closed the connection brusquely, cursing at how they’d been caught so unaware.

Ororo had cried out that Jean was creating that display of fireworks. So that left the obvious question: Where the fuck was Red?

Hank leaned back in his copilot’s chair and reached into the depleted shopping bag and found the last packet of Twinkies. The cloying sweetness of sugar and lard reached Logan’s nostrils and made him wince. “How can ya eat that crap?”

“Nature’s finest food,” Hank boasted, breaking the sponge cake tube apart and lapping up the creamy center with a sigh of contentment. “Or comfort food, anyway. My departed mother used to send me these in my care packages after the Professor collected me and brought me here. Jean, bless her heart, used to stick a few in my Christmas stocking. Although lately I’ve had to fight with Bobby to leave me some, the lad’s incorrigible and has a teenager’s hollow leg.”

“Hope Petey’s gone shopping,” Logan grumbled. “I could eat anything that ain’t nailed down.”

“You’re telling me.” Hank rummaged through the bag and found the nearly empty pouch of beef jerky. “Gnaw on this to tide you over in the meantime, Wolverine.”

“Logan,” he muttered. “Call me Logan.”

“Ah. Good. I was beginning to wonder if you had a first name, or any name, other than the alias Charles provided me with. Er…is that your first name?”

“Ya got me.” He took the proffered jerky pouch and tucked it between his knees, yanking out a withered strip of beef and chewing it endlessly, with little enthusiasm. “I go by Logan. Don’t know how I got the name, but it works.”

“Suits you,” Hank agreed pleasantly. He licked the remnant of cream filling from his gleaming claw and chucked the crinkling wrapper into the bag. He let a few minutes of silence pass between them before he went out on a limb, gazing at Logan with those unfathomable, intelligent yellow eyes. “Is there any particular reason you’ve been teasing Ororo like some schoolyard bully?”

“Sez who?” he huffed.

“Sez me,” Hank shot back, nudging himself further out from the limb while Logan was still busy steering and unable to carve him a new one. “I’ve listened to you two go several rounds of one-upmanship, pranks, one-liners, pinching fights, tickling fights and Lord knows how many rounds of who has the bigger set of cojones between the two of you…”

“Ya can safely assume that honor goes ta yers truly,” he grumped around a mouthful of jerky. He craved a beer to wash it down but he forced it past his throat with a stubborn swallow.

“If you like,” Hank considered on a heavy sigh; Logan was going to drive him stark raving mad…or rub off on him, if he wasn’t careful. “Why do you like getting a rise out of her so much, man?”

“She makes it so damned easy.” He peered into the jerky bag, then decided what the hell, and wedged another piece into his mouth. “And she’s damned cute when she gets mad.”

“True. She’s cute when she’s in a good mood, too, which you’d realize if you’d quit riding her so hard. She’s a proud woman, Logan. Out here in the ‘Boonies,’ if you will, that kind of behavior’s perfectly fine…but cut her some slack in front of the children.”

“I don’t even cut the kids any slack, most of the time. Ask any of ‘em.” He’d dangled Kitty upside down by her ankles until she turned red in the face when she’d hid his cigar case in the girl’s locker room. It was a pretty shade of red, he reflected. “Ya know, I don’t think I’ve seen a helluva lot of these fabled ‘good moods’ of Storm’s that yer prattlin’ on about lately.”

“What do you expect? She has responsibilities that have virtually tripled since assuming the Professor’s duties as headmistress. The school’s enrollment is higher than it’s been in a long time, Logan. She’s bound to have a lot on her mind. And she doesn’t have many to share those thoughts with anymore.” The air between them felt heavily charged. Logan grunted and scratched his stubbled jaw in thought.

“She’s got you. And Petey. She still calls up ‘Elf once in a while,” he catalogued, although it was a stretch, since Kurt retreated back to his homeland to resume his life at the abbey, pronouncing it a more fit life than one that would likely bring him into the line of fire.

“You heard me when I told you that she’s a proud woman. My responsibilities are divided between the school and White House, my friend. Ororo’s my dearest friend, she knows I’d move heaven and earth if she ever needed my help…but she would never admit to needing it. It chaps my hide when she thinks I’m too busy to listen, when she’s struggling under burdens that make Atlas look like a pussy.” Logan almost choked on his jerky and looked at Hank in surprise. “What?” he demurred. “Smaller bites, my friend.” Then he brightened. “We’re in the home stretch!” he cheered as Logan flew them over familiar landmarks.

“Great.” Anything was better than flying this high-tech cage and gulping back the motion sickness from the turbulence that knocked them into an almost constant jitter as they dropped altitude. “How’s Scooter?”

“Alive.” It was a simple statement, but he choked on it, still unable to digest it. Logan peered around to face Hank and noted the tight posture and the way his pawlike fingers dug into the arm of his chair. “Alive and well,” he amended, “or he will be, once I have the chance to examine him and run some tests.” He swallowed thickly. “As for how he’ll manage, now that…now that’s back with us, I couldn’t begin to surmise.”

“Ya brought him back, Blue. Ya gave him his friggin’ life back. He’ll manage.” Hank smelled the lie but opted not to argue. The day’s events were overwhelming, he was absolutely knackered, and his two oldest friends were lying unconscious in the stuffy cabin of the jet; even his analytical mind couldn’t fathom how the ramifications of what transpired today would affect them and alter their lives.

He’d never played God before. He decided he’d stick to his day job.

Logan brooded to himself the rest of the way back to the school. He’ll manage. Really? Would he? Scooter had been sporting a layer of unshaven growth that made Logan look baby faced, his clothes had hung from his frame, and his cheekbones stood out in stark relief from his lean face. He’d been pretty frank when Logan had tried lamely to get him to open up: “Not all of us heal as fast as you, Logan.” One-Eye just didn’t get it, he mused. Who the fuck said he’d healed at all? The wound was still as raw, gaping just as wide as it had the day he felt Jeannie’s last thoughts fade from his mind when she tossed the Blackbird clear from the dam.

The security lights were blazing brightly as Logan maneuvered the jet back into the landing bay once it rose up from the basketball court. It was late; he knew they’d missed dinner, but all he wanted was to get Ororo and Scott safely settled in the infirmary, all in one piece. He caught himself and indulged in a rusty chuckle.

…all in one piece. Damn. Poor Cyke.

What the hell did Jeannie do to the poor bastard?

Peter was already letting himself inside the hangar, already good and lathered. “What happened, Hank? What happened to Ororo, is she…” He froze as Hank backed his way out of the jet, descending down the ramp to prevent the gurney holding Scott’s limp form from rolling too fast. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, thunderstruck. He staggered back a step and leaned on the doorway a moment as he continued to stare.

“I briefed you before we took off,” Hank reminded him politely.

“Seeing is believing. He’s really back.” Peter’s face was less chalky as he looked down at Scott’s face, deceptively peaceful in slumber. “Will he be okay? Is he okay? What’s wrong with him?”

“He just came back from the dead. Give him a little time ta catch his breath, Petey.” Logan had quietly followed Hank down the ramp, wheeling Ororo’s gurney whisper-smooth and dragging her IV pole with great care. Peter’s brow furrowed as he approached her side.

“She looks like hell.”

“Lightning. Lots of it. Don’t ask. Better yet, make us some coffee, if ya wanna be helpful, bub.” Peter assisted them in getting their two charges into the infirmary and transferred Scott gently into the bed, raising the rails and covering him with the crisp white sheets. His skin was flushed with goosebumps from the night chill; Logan thoughtfully shuffled him into a spare pair of his boxer shorts and one of his white undershirts to keep him decent and modest for the trip home. Having any of the kids that were likely to still be up at this hour see their headmistress and long-lost teacher coming home in banged up shape would be upsetting enough. They didn’t need to see Scott starkers, too. Neither had he, but he’d keep that thought to himself, thank you very much.

Peter lumbered upstairs to start a pot of coffee and to reheat the evening’s meal. Logan busied himself making Ororo more comfortable to the extent that he could. Thankfully she hadn’t been wearing her uniform, but her long-sleeved jersey was tattered with burn marks and holes, and her jeans had seen better days. Deep bruises ringed her eyes, and a lingering fuzz of static jumped from her hair when Logan attempted to smooth it back from her forehead. She was still so pale.

“I hate this,” he muttered.

“She’ll be all right. Rest. Take a shower, you’ll feel better.”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he grumbled. He lifted Ororo tenderly from the gurney and laid her on the bed, arranging her comfortably against the pillow, even giving it a fluff for good measure. “She’d be better off in something else than those jeans,” he pointed out.

“Take them off,” Hank agreed. “She won’t want them back, they’re in tatters. The rest of what she has on will do for now.” Hank turned back to the cabinet and reached for clean towels and antiseptic. Logan began the careful work of removing Ororo’s boots, thankful that they were simple, ankle-length, and had a zipper to make removing them easier. He gently rubbed some circulation back into her bare feet, noticing how slender they were. They were surprisingly nice feet; her arches were high and she had slim little ankles and a narrow heel. It amused him for some reason to see that he second toes were as long as her big ones, and that she had polished the nails a shocking shade of electric blue. Who’d have thought? It unnerved him to work on the button on her waistband next; the act was too intimate, and he hated undressing a woman without her express permission…or her enthusiasm and willingness to help.

Her eyes fluttered open and stared at him briefly as he tugged the fastening free from its hole. His hand stilled, then pulled away from her, resting on the rail as he met her gaze.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” she managed, trying for flippancy but only managing dazed.

“How do ya feel?” She shook her head slightly to quell any further questions, then winced at the lancing pain that action caused. He ventured one more. “Want outta these?” He nodded to her jeans.

“Uh-huh.” Her hand fumbled for the zipper, and she sucked in air at the effort to tug it down before Logan covered her hand with his. His palm felt warm against her skin, something that comforted her.

“Easy. Lay back, I’ll handle this, just gimme a sec.” His hand slid away as he made his way to the foot of the bed, reaching for the pants cuffs and tugging them down the length of her legs. He tried not to stare and failed miserably. Wow. Sculpted, tapering thighs and dancer’s calves met his hungry gaze. He felt color creep into his cheeks, grateful that the hem of her shirt covered her tiny panties and the treasure they hid from the world, or he’d have been completely lost. Whatever ya do, darlin’, he mentally chided her, don’t raise yer arms…if ya don’t want me ta have a heart attack.

He chucked the pants into the metal trash bin and retrieved some sheets from the linen pantry. Hank already had a blanket in the warmer and was opening up his medical bag. He hung the stethoscope around his neck and eased Ororo’s sleeve up her arm to wrap it in the blood pressure cuff.

“You scared us, young lady.” Ororo listened to the pumping sound of the cuff as Hank squeezed the bulb, squeezing her arm enough to protest that she’d already had enough of a beating for one day. Having her arm squished didn’t help any, no sirree.

“Don’t do it again,” Logan added.

“I’ll try not to,” she promised. “I don’t think I could if I tried. It wasn’t all my doing.”

“So ya said.” Logan seated himself beside the bed on a small wheeled stool and let Hank work interrupted. Hank’s fingers were gentle as he felt her lymph glands and checked her pulse. His fur tickled, but thankfully it wasn’t enough to irritate her nerve endings. Her skin was still charged with static, making her feel almost oversensitized, but the painkillers were helping. “What happened to ya, kiddo?” His tone was soft rather than gruff.

“One moment I was summoning lightning, just a low charge,” she mused, “enough to look pretty but not enough to do any damage.” Logan chuckled, and she answered it with a sly smile.

“And it was pretty,” Hank agreed, humming tunelessly as he turned her face toward him to look under her lower lids, tsking at the broken capillaries on her skin.

“The next…it was like someone just yanked it out of my hands.”

“Got away from ya, did it?”

“Yes,” she replied dryly. Hank shot Logan a warning look, but Logan chose to ignore it. “All of it got away from me. I even got away from me. I felt her.”

“You felt Jean?” Now Hank was hesitating in his ministrations, resting the stethoscope beneath her collarbone but nearly forgetting about it. “How?”

“It’s difficult. When Jean was…alive, we had a connection. We always did. Empathy. An emotional connection that always let her know how I was feeling. It was a deep, wonderful bond. She was like a sister to me.”

“Yes, she was,” Hank agreed. He unwrapped a sterilized tongue depressor and beckoned to her to open her mouth. Logan, however, was interested in hearing more.

“Anything like ever happen before?”

“Nev-ahhhrr ‘ahk dahs,” she garbled around the tongue depressor, never seeing it coming as Hank peered at her tonsils with his penlight. She cleared her throat, “Never like this,” she repeated. “Every once in a while, Jean would have a case of night terrors after a mission, and she’d hit me with the feedback from it. The most that would happen was Scott complaining at me the next day to help him knock the icicles off the eaves of the roof so no one would get hurt when they melted and fell.”

“Icicles?” That didn’t seem too bad.

“In the middle of July,” she qualified.

“Gotcha.”

“Jean used to project what she was feeling if she was on a short tether. At her core, she was a telepath and a telekinetic,” Ororo explained, “but to a lesser extent, she was also an empath. Through the connection that she and I had, I could pick up on her feelings whenever she let them ‘leak.’ Scott was similarly privileged with that trust. Except that he was her anchor. I was just a life jacket, when the need arose.”

“Everyone needs one sometimes,” Logan mumbled. “She was lucky ta have ya.” He surprised himself by thinking that out loud. A life jacket. That was Ororo to a tee. He felt her mood shift before he saw the surprise in her eyes at his admission. Hank turned away before Logan could catch his own look of disbelief.

“She never intentionally forced me to use my powers, or used them for me so dramatically before. It was always my own instincts that triggered my power in response to my own moods, or occasionally, her. This…was unique. And terrifying.” Hank fetched her a soda and popped the tab, handing it to Logan as he excused himself to go upstairs.

“Stay with her.”

“I ain’t budgin’ an inch, bub.” He nodded to Ororo. “Can ya sit up?”

“Kind…of “ ooh!” She winced sharply at the discomfort that caused and rolled to support herself on her forearm, forgetting about the IV in her elbow. “Smarts,” she complained.

“Quit doin’ that, then, lemme help ya a sec.” Logan nudged her back against the pillow and looked for the controls to raise the head of the cot. “How d’ya work this gizmo?”

“The button with the little ‘up’ arrow on it,” she suggested helpfully. The twinkle in her velvety brown eyes that accompanied this theory was enough to convince him that she’d live. He punched it and watched the bed adjust itself until she motioned for him to stop. He tucked the straw into the soda and wrapped her hand around it, steadying it when her grip faltered slightly, spilling a thin stream onto the sheets. She sucked the much needed moisture through cracked lips, groaning and falling back against the pillows when she’d had enough.

“Thank you.”

“Sure.” He set the can on the table and felt constructive conversation escape him, no matter how hard he chased it. Fuck. That left him tap dancing around the elephant in the room, then…

“Uh, I’ve been meanin’ t’talk to ya, Stor…Ororo. Shit. This ain’t easy…”

“You’re stammering. This is a first. Why are you stammering, Logan?” She waited for him to get his act together, wondering at his clenched knuckles and the way he ranked his fingers through his tousled peaks of hair. It was late, she knew he had to be starving and craving a shower; her own skin was crawling with layers of dust and grime from spending half the week outdoors and on the Blackbird.

“Quit it! I’m tryin’ t’get my point across here,” he snarled at her, bequeathing her his Sunday-best scowl. She kept her own face serene. Just figuring out what my point is, in the meantime…it’s around here somewhere. “Back at Alkali, in the woods, y’know, when we running around, goofing off in the dark, and Blue was yellin’ at us ta knock it off ““

“He said he was going to throw us both over his knee. Don’t put it past him. Go on.”

“Look, Ororo…yer a woman.”

“Yes I am. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Lemme finish. Yer one helluva fine-looking woman, and goddamn it, I’m male and sometimes, I think with the wrong head. Especially when there’s somebody underneath me…”

“I got the drop on your sorry butt for a minute, don’t leave that out. It was one of my finer moments.” She was secretly pleased at the grudging compliment he had given her, but she wasn’t in a mood to simper.

“Ya ain’t gonna make this easy, are ya?”

“If you’re going to say what I think you are, I don’t want to.” She drummed her fingers silently against her blanket-swaddled abdomen. “You’re about to tell me that kissing me was a mistake, that I shouldn’t take it the wrong way, and that we should put this behind us.” Just like that, she took the wind out of his sails. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“Fuck. Ya don’t wanna cut a guy a little slack?”

“Should I?” Her gaze held him and made him feel truly naked, as though she’d wrenched him around to find what he was smuggling behind his back like a naughty child. “I wouldn’t have to cut you some slack if you weren’t trying to blow off what happened.”

“I’m tryin’ ta blow ya off?”

“Yes. Yes, you are.” He ticked off the alarms that rang in his head, one by one: Matter-of-fact tone, stony eyes a mere shade away from killing him, stubborn tightening around that mouth, and emphatic finger drumming. Yup. She was pissed, and she was just getting warmed up.

“I ain’t tryin’ ta do any friggin’ such thing. Fer cryin’ out fuck’s sake…I ain’t blowin’ ya off. I’m trying ta explain what happened.”

“You did. You were thinking with the wrong head.”

“Uh-uh. I could barely think at all.” He shook his head and reached down to still her fingers mid-tap. “Quit that. It’s frustratin’ when ya do that. Ororo, something in me saw you lyin’ there, lookin’ good enough ta eat, and I wanted a taste REAL bad. Ya can’t blame me fer stealin’ one. Not under the circumstances. I could feel ya, darlin’, every inch, and ya felt so damned right. And ya didn’t exactly fight me, either. Ya might be mad at me right now, and ya might think ya’ve looked at this from all the angles, but I know this: Ya liked me kissin’ ya. And I don’t think ya wanted to stop.”

“Braggart,” she huffed. “Arrogant, cocky, braying…”

“Uh-uh-ahh,” he scolded gently, waving his finger in a classical “naughty, naughty” gesture. “Can’t tell me I’m braggin’ til ya let me put my money where my mouth is.”

“What, ‘put up or shut up,’ is that it? Let’s go with the latter. We aren’t having this conversation anymore,” she replied coldly, but he saw the spark of pique and felt a flare of arousal beneath her anger that triggered a rush of heat in his vitals.

“Fine, then.” Logan had a dangerous look in his eye, and his pupils were dilating with something that she couldn’t name. His other hand came down against the mattress, boxing her in as he dipped his head to silence a half-formed protest that formed on her lips, effectively cutting it off.

“Logrrrrammphhh!” Ororo balked at her brain’s urging to just tell him to haul his hardheaded ass upstairs and take his “we weren’t thinking, it’ll never happen again” speech with him; he tasted too good for her to manage more than parting her lips a little to let him inside. She whimpered and squirmed, ignoring her body’s myriad discomforts to better focus on his touch. She became aware of his fingers combing through her tangle of hair and making a sound of approval in his throat. She drowned in the feeling of him, the faint rasp of his stubble rubbing her skin and making her tingle.

Logan followed her suggestion his own way. He put up, and she shut up. For the moment, that suited him fine.

When she was up and around, however, they were going to revisit this. Heck, yeah.

Mindful of her ordeal that evening and its effects, he kissed her with tender care, brushing his lips over hers as though he were catching the drips off an ice cream cone, not wanting to miss one precious taste. Ororo’s fingers snaked their way into his hair before wrapping themselves around his nape, unwilling to let him go.

She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or outraged that he stopped. Damn you, Logan. Damn you for making me feel like this.

“Scoundrel,” she muttered.

“What???”

“That was where I left off before I was so rudely interrupted,” she snapped, recovering herself from the blissful haze she had settled into during their…whatever that was. She licked her dry lips, tasting Logan’s irresistible flavor and Sprite.

“Is that all, Yer Highness?” He imitated the pose she’d favored him with so frequently, feet set widely apart and planted, with his hands on his narrow hips, with that wicked cock of his eyebrow.

“For now.” Her brain added more adjectives to the list that she’d never utter aloud. Sexy. Earthy and rugged. Sensual. Masculine. Bad brain, she chastised; where were you when I was here making a fool of myself, kissing him again? Her brain didn’t answer, but her nerve endings and libido were crying out for another go. He grunted and turned away from the bed.

“Logan, are you leav-“

“Chill out a sec, ‘Roro,” he muttered. “I told Hank I ain’t budgin’; I just wanna fix something that’s botherin’ me.” He rummaged in the tiny metal drawers and withdrew a small tube. The school was equipped with medicines and all the comforts and necessities of a school nurse’s office aside from the surgery and lab suites. There were samples of lotions and topical creams on hand and within easy reach. Logan unscrewed the tip of the tube of Lubriderm cream and squeezed out a tiny tab. He took her jaw in his large hand and cradled it, tipping her face up to rub the cream into her cracked lips, ignoring the tiny frown lines between her brows until he was finished.

“Felt like sucking face with an iguana,” he lied. That shot down any possibility of letting her ask why he was being so nice.

“That’ll teach you,” she shot back. “If you’d given me half a chance, I could have gargled in cod liver oil and garlic, just for good measure.” Her brown eyes sparked with defiance, bringing her beauty back with it and undoing some of the ravages of her exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t put it past ya, Sunshine.”

“Don’t think I won’t get my own back for that name once I’m back on my feet.”

“I’m countin’ on it.”

Their exchange came grinding to a halt when Scott moaned in anguish from his cot a few feet away. Ororo’s cheeks flushed; had he heard what just transpired between them?

Goddess, she hoped not.

Scott’s face was twisted in anguish, and his hand was scrabbling about his face, trying to jerk the cannula out of his nasal passage. “No,” he gasped, “don’t, Jean… please. Don’t…” His voice had risen steadily with each word, still hoarse from lack of use, but his words became a litany of pleas, which escalated to a bellowing cry that made Logan and Ororo’s hair stand on end.

“JEAN! JEAN, DON’T LEAVE ME! I NEED YOU! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Jean, no…can’t leave…don’t leave me…IT HURTS!” His body twisted and wrenched itself off the cot, and he landed on the cold tile with a sickening splat before Logan could reach his side and prevent it.

“Shit,” Logan breathed before crying out, “HANK! GET YER ASS IN HERE, BLUE, NOW!”

“What’s happening to him, Logan? Please, help him, don’t let him hurt himself,” Ororo cringed, leaning over the bed rails as far as she could reach.

“Don’t get yerself into a lather, ‘Ro, calm down. It’s okay, I got him.” That was easier said than done. Scott’s limbs flailed, and his eyes were panicked, unseeing as his face whipped around, taking in his surroundings. He fought Logan as though his life depended on it, ripping out the IV line of saline from his arms. A thin stream of blood flowed freely and splashed Logan’s already desperate-looking flannel shirt as he scrambled away from Logan, backing himself into a corner. He was shivering, whether from his lack of warm clothing and the cold tile, or from fear, Logan couldn’t tell.

“Please,” he stammered out, “please just…tell me where Jean is. Just tell me, that’s…that’s all I wanna know. Where is she?” He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to school their shaking as Logan drew slightly closer.

“Cyke…”

“Who?”

“Cyke…Cyclops.” Logan tried again. “Scott,” he muttered, deciding that any of his usual favorite nicknames for the X-Men’s intrepid leader weren’t gonna help any in his current state. “Yer back. Yer home, safe and sound.”

“No,” he insisted. “This isn’t home. Answer me! Where’s Jean?”

“She…she ain’t here, Scott. Not anymore.”

“I don’t believe you! Sonofabitch, where’s JEAN!” A loose fleck of spittle flew out from his lip as he edged his way up the wall, struggling to stand.

“Easy…”

“Listen to him, Scott. He’s trying to help you; you’ll hurt yourself if you try to…”

“Don’t,” Scott spat, staring at Ororo long and hard. “Don’t you tell me what to do.” Deep-set cobalt blue eyes pinned her in their gaze, measuring her and finding her wanting. “You didn’t help her. You didn’t save her. You didn’t let me save Jean.” His tone was accusatory, but he wasn’t shouting anymore. He raked his hand through his rumpled chestnut hair, clutching it in his fingers as his memories began to fall back into place.

“Scott, please…”

“No. You didn’t. You…you just sat there, doing nothing. You didn’t do a damned thing, Storm!” It stung, hearing her codename spoken in such rage and denial, especially the one who treated her like the sister he never had from the moment they met. “I found her, damn it! I found Jean at Alkali! We have to go back. We HAVE to GO BACK!” He struggled and tried to push his way around Logan, who was attempting to use his broad body to wall him off from the lab’s exit. “Let me go, asshole!”

“Nothin’ doin’, bub! BLUE!”

“It’s all right,” Hank rumbled from the doorway, out of breath from his jog from the elevator. Peter was coming up behind him, deciding that if Logan was yelling for help, that they would likely need another pair of hands.

He couldn’t speak when he saw Scott standing and clinging to the counter for balance, looking like an angry, scared animal, glaring at Logan with deadly intent.

“Don’t tell me it’s all right,” Scott grated out. His tone cut into Ororo, forcing bitter tears onto her lashes as she bit her knuckles anxiously. “I want Jean. I want the woman I love, you can’t stop me from going back to get her.”

“You’re in no shape to go anywhere right now, Scott,” Hank reasoned. “For God’s sake, man, you just came back to us. You have to excuse us, Scott, but…we’re all a little overwhelmed right now. You’ve been gone for months.”

“No,” he argued. “I just left. I…I took the bike. I was at Alkali, I was just taking a break. Couldn’t stop…thinking of Jean.” The wind slowly deflated from his sails, but his eyes still held that wild look. He plowed both hands through his hair and leaned over the counter, resting on his elbows. Ororo cursed her limp legs and the wires and leads requiring her to remain in bed; she itched to go to him and lend her support. She hated seeing him so miserable and wrapped in anguish like that. “A-and I found her, she was right there in front of me, I had her in my arms…it was perfect.” Logan closed his eyes against the flood of resentment and frustration. He knew how it felt to hold her; oh, God, how he knew, albeit only briefly. It still chafed him and left him raw. “She was everything. She was back.”

“It’s all right, Scott. Go on,” Hank encouraged. He edged forward, with Peter in tow, and Logan moved aside to let the doctor approach his oldest friend.

“I was holding her, and touching her again, which should have been impossible. I felt her die. I felt the woman I love die…she was in my thoughts and she just slipped away. Then I was back at the lake, and she just rose up…she was too good to be true. Then she told me…”

“What, Scott?” Ororo quivered, her voice low, bracing herself for him to lash out again. She knew what he’d lost, better than anyone else could fathom, and she wouldn’t defend herself from his feelings.

“She told me…’I want to see your eyes.’ S-she took off my goggles like it was no big deal, told me to trust her…” a loud sniffle cut his words off, and Logan and Hank smelled the distinctive tang of saline before they saw tears dribbling off the tip of his nose, resembling spilled silver in the low light of the infirmary. “Where is she, Hank?”

“Scott…Jean’s gone. We brought her home,” Hank continued, hating himself, hating his inability to cushion the blow of cruel truth, “and something went wrong. We lost her.”

“No,” Scott insisted, “you’re lying. I know she’s alive! She just came back to me, you can’t tell me she’s gone. I saw her with my own EYES, I touched her. I kissed her! It wasn’t a trick, I’d have known if, if it was some kind of mind game! I know the difference,” he told them, banging his fist against the counter, making Ororo wince with the impact. “I’ll find her again. You can’t stop me from going to her,” he informed them coldly, daring Logan in particular to argue with him.

“I ain’t gonna stop ya, Scooter,” he assured him, holding his palms up in a gesture of surrender. He kept talking as Hank brushed past him, rummaging through a small drawer. Peter lingered by Ororo’s bed, his hand on her shoulder as he caught the ruined expression on her face, tears leaving jagged trails down her cheeks. “I know ya wanna head back there and get her.”

“Fuck off, Wolverine. I know that’s what you want to, don’t stand there and feed me that line of shit. We all know how you feel about her. You wish you were the one that found her, huh? Don’t you?” Scott’s eyes were hard chips. “Don’t you, Logan?” His voice rose and challenged him, but Logan had no intention of rising to his barb. “You just wanted to steal her away and have your jollies, didn’t you, Logan?”

“It wasn’t like that. I cared about her, but don’t make this into something it wasn’t.” He tried to keep his voice level, felt everyone’s eyes on him now, and he cursed himself for how his confession must have affected Ororo.

“Make it into what? I didn’t make it into anything. You lusted and chased after her like a damned dog, for everyone to see, and you’re just telling me you cared about her? Was Jean being my girl a turn-on for you, Wolverine? Huh? Did the fact that she was mine make you want her?”

“Scott…don’t do this shit. This ain’t the time.” He pounded another nail into his coffin with that statement, but he had to keep Scott distracted for another moment or two.

“When is the time? Do we rehash this again when I find Jean, right before you try to steal her again? Will you try to fuck her in our bed this time, just for kicks? Take her out for a spin on the bike? Or in the Blackbird?” An ugly smile twisted his full, slightly chiseled lips.

“That wasn’t all I was in it for,” he corrected him. “It was never just physical…”

“Maybe it was for her,” Scott crowed, flinging his arms wide. “Don’t think you ever meant any more to her that that, asshole,” he warned him. “Never think that. Jean loved me, damn you, she loved ME.”

“Now, Peter,” Ororo murmured, her voice soft. Her tears were still drying on her cheeks, and when Logan whipped around at the sound of her voice, her eyes were full of resignation and contempt as she started back.

“What “ let go of me! HANK! Don’t…DON’T!” The prick of the syringe stung as Hank depressed the plunger, emptying the sedative into Scott’s vein. He put up an admirable struggle under Peter’s bear-like grip, but he collapsed against him, limp as a rag doll.

“Rest, Scott,” Hank murmured. He reached out to stroke Scott’s hair from his forehead, gazing into his eyes as his lids drooped and grew heavy. “You’re not yourself. This is too much for one day, and you’ve given us quite a fright…and some things to think about.”

“She loved me,” Scott whispered weakly. “She loved me…so much…Hank.”

“I know that, Scott,” he agreed grimly. “Sleep now.” Peter scooped Scott into his arms as though he weighed nothing and laid him back onto the cot, tucking him back in with an extra blanket. This time he buckled a wide leather security strap loosely across his chest and raised his bedrails.

“Logan,” Hank grumbled, “I suggest you head upstairs and eat something now. Have a shower, get some rest.”

“Uh-uh. I was gonna make sure Ororo was ““

“I’m fine,” she snapped, bristling from the words that Scott forced from him. “Go. Hank is here, I don’t need anything else.” Her tone was dismissive and clipped.

“Sure. Sure ya don’t.” He stomped out of the suite. Ororo stared stonily at her hands in her lap as Peter followed Logan up, shooting her one last curious glance. Hank tsked under his breath as he moved to clean up the small spill of blood and IV fluids on the floor.

“Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do,” he huffed under his breath, reaching for a towel and disinfectant.

Amidst all the hub-bub, it never occurred to any of them that Scott met their stares head on, his eyes wide open…and his spare pair of goggles were still hanging from their hook on the wall.





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