Chapter Three: Windrider
Someone was talking.
She could hear the faint voices of two very familiar people above her. Frowning, she tried to concentrate on what they were saying. The soft rumble of Henry countered the Professor’s dulcet tones. They were speaking, but she could not focus enough to understand them.
Ororo tried to move, hissing when pain shot through her abdomen and chest. She was lying on something cold and hard. It was a medical bed. Had she been injured?
Memories sketchy, she raised a trembling hand, trying to capture the attention of one of the men in the room. She sighed with relief when Henry’s enormous furred hand grasped hers.
Wincing against the light, she opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry, but she instantly recognized the outline of Henry’s face. Aftereffects of her sedation screamed that she had been badly injured. A trickle of fear crept into her heart.
There had been a mission. She remembered flashes of a boy’s photograph. Flame engulfing a home. Pain ripping through her side. The cold chill of water all around her. Darkness overwhelming her sight. A gruff voice telling her to breathe…
Logan.
“L-Logan?” she questioned, surprised at the harsh crackle of her voice.
Henry nodded, reaching over her body. He spoke, but the words were still garbled. She heard the Professor reply. There was a sharp prick of a needle in her arm and moments later the world came into sharp focus.
“Ouch,” she murmured with a raspy chuckle.
“Better?” Henry asked, his hand squeezing hers.
“Much,” Ororo replied, smiling. “Why does my chest hurt?”
Her friend smiled warmly, leaning down to kiss her cheek in a brotherly fashion.
“Because two very large hands, laced with adamantium pounded on your chest to get your heart beating.”
“That would explain it,” she agreed.
Henry moved to the head of her bed, cranking the knob allowing her to sit up. He made some show of fluffing her pillows and arranging her blankets. Knowing he had been worried, she allowed his simple attentions, turning her head slowly to look at her mentor.
“It is good to see you awake, my dear,” Charles said, moving closer. “You had all of us quite worried.”
Her answering smile was shaky as the narcotics Henry had given her were still wearing off. Charles took the hand Henry had released, his face betraying his relief.
“What was it?”
“A gunshot,” he replied softly. “Logan told us that a human man had been armed with some sort of sniper rifle. He tried to warn you, but it was too late.”
A flash of memory slammed through her. Logan’s frantic gestures, leaping from the safety of the jet onto the winds as her world turned to black.
“Was he injured?” Ororo asked, her voice a bit shrill as she looked about for her teammate.
“Not when he arrived. Young Jeffery’s reflexes were in high gear from the attack on his home. Before he knew what he was doing, he was slowing Logan’s descent. After which, Logan pulled you from the water.”
As if on cue, the door to the infirmary popped open, slamming against the wall to reveal the Wolverine. His eyes bore a hint of barely controlled panic as he silently searched the room for her.
The moment his eyes met hers, a calm came over him. She smiled as well as she could.
“Gonna live?”
She nodded slowly. “You will not be rid of me that easily.”
His lips curved into the hint of a smirk as he came up to the bed. Henry quickly stepped aside, coming around to take the hand rests of the Professor’s wheelchair.
“We’ll be outside. The children will want to know you’re awake,” he said politely, wheeling their leader out of the room.
When they were alone, Ororo looked up into her teammate’s face, her brow furrowed. He had pulled her from the water. He had started her heart again, breathed life into her lungs. For a moment, she was overwhelmed by the loyalty such an act engendered. He had saved her life and for that, she would forever be in debt.
“Thank you,” she whispered effectively breaking the silence.
Logan looked down at her, confusion in his eyes. He took another step toward the bed, standing so close she could smell the leather he wore and the natural aroma he seemed forever cloaked in.
“For what?”
His gruff manner had her biting back a smile. She could only imagine how hard he had worked to keep her alive.
“Saving my life,” she answered.
He nodded quickly. “We’re a team, ‘Ro. Can’t be a team if it’s just me and One-Eye. That’s a duo.”
A chuckle escaped her lips, making her bruised chest and wounded abdomen ache. When she winced, Logan took her hand, looking over her covered form as though searching for any reason she would be in pain.
“Should I get…”
“No. No, I am fine,” Ororo insisted, squeezing his hand. “I am not going anywhere.”
He seemed to accept this. Silence fell around them, their eyes locked as she desperately tried to reassure him that she was not going to die. She would be here. Trying to push thoughts of Jean from her mind, she smiled at him. I’m here.
Logan turned, pulling what she thought to be a chair over to the bed. He sat quickly, his hand never leaving hers. When he was comfortable, he turned back to her, leaning on the edge of the bed as though he were going to tell her a secret.
“I thought about what you said. About choices,” he said at last.
Ororo remained silent, wondering what he was going to say.
“I had feelings for Jean, feelings I’ve never had before…at least, not that I remember.”
“I understand,” she replied softly, silently urging him to go on.
“When I opened that door, let her in, I expected to be let down. I just never thought she’d up and die on me.”
Pain, the psychological sort, echoed with his words. Ororo wanted, so badly, to make that pain go away. If she could heal someone else, perhaps she could find some measure of peace. She knew a bit about people leaving. Everyone in her life had left at some point.
“But you’re right,” the gruff man went on. “I have to choose between letting myself stay open to pain or letting myself die along with her. I opened myself up and I got burned. It’d be easy to just let that part of me fall away.”
He paused.
“I guess what I’m sayin’ is…seeing you fall. Knowing that you could have died, left all of us like Jean did, made me realize that you, One-Eye, the kids, accepted me. Maybe not completely, but you’re all I’ve got, even if you are a bunch of geeks.” He gave her a quick smile. “I don’t wanna lose that again.”
Ororo turned slightly, stretching her free hand to touch his face. Pride exploded within her. She had reached him. Perhaps, someday, she could reach Scott as well. She needed an ally. Backup. In the war with death, she had won an important battle.
“I’m tryin’, ‘Ro. That’s all I got ta give ya for now,” he finished quietly.
“That is all that I ask, Logan.”
His eyes closed and he leaned into her hand for an instant. Comfort was a rare commodity in their world; at last he was realizing how much any person needed it.
“Get some rest,” he said abruptly, standing from his perch on the chair. “I’ve got class.”
Brow furrowed, she let her hands fall away from him, her skin tingling with the aftermath of contact. It had been a long time since anyone had allowed touch. With the pain of loss, it seemed as though everyone kept themselves within an invisible bubble. As though keeping one another at arm’s length would protect them.
“Class?”
Logan’s face broke into a feral grin. “Yeah, didn’t Chuck tell ya? I’m Professor Logan until you’re healed up.”
“Oh, dear,” Ororo laughed.
“That’s what the kids said,” he quipped.
Ororo was still chuckling as Logan left the room. He paused in the doorway, giving her a rare smile. She waved a little, assuring him once more that she was going to be fine. Without another word, he walked out of the infirmary.
~@~
Three weeks had passed since the disaster in Chicago. Ororo had been moved back to her rooms after a week in the infirmary, but was restricted to light duty until Henry gave her a clean bill of health.
She took the downtime to catch up on her reading, and to pester Logan mercilessly about his teaching career. He took her jibes with good humor, a smile more frequently found on his lips as the children finished up yet another school year.
Jeffery and his family had been relocated to New York, and the boy who had helped save her life would be returning in three months to begin school. He was training with the Professor during the summer, stopping by every other day for hours of practical lessons. He had blushed the color of a ripe tomato when Ororo had thanked him for his help, and she felt there would always be a bond between them from their first meeting.
It was the beginning of June now, the air fragrant with blooming lilacs .The children whom did not live at the mansion year round were sent home, while those that remained relaxed on the extensive grounds.
Scott was slowly climbing out of the darkness that had overwhelmed him. Every passing day his step became lighter, his hidden sense of humor showing a little more. He and Logan had fallen into a pattern of shared taunts and insults; though Ororo thought they had more to do with habit that any real hatred.
Rogue, Bobby, Peter Rasputin, and Kitty Pryde had all finished their schooling at the year’s close. Kitty would attend New York University in the fall, but the others had decided to stay on at the mansion. Apparently their encounter with Stryker had left them more determined to fight than ever.
Logan and Scott had somehow designed a way to train them in dangerous combat situations without putting them in actual combat situations. Even the Professor was excited about this new project, but none of them would tell her what it was.
Things were settling at the mansion, life was moving on.
Ororo walked slowly to the deck, smiling when she heard a few of her friends laughing in the grassy hillside that served as their playground. She could smell cooking meat nearby and guessed that dinner was in the capable hands of their resident Wolverine. Again.
Stepping into the warm sunlight, Ororo shielded her eyes with a hand, doing a mental headcount of the group in the distance. Kitty, Henry, Peter, Bobby, Rogue, and Scott had assembled the volleyball net and seemed to be laughing more than actually playing the game.
“Shouldn’t you be sittin’ down?” a gruff voice called to her from the grill.
Smiling widely at her new best friend, as she called him now, Ororo shrugged, moving to the steps that would take her to him.
“It is too nice a day to spend indoors. I thought I would rest out here,” she replied, gripping the railing of the deck to ease down the steps.
Her wounds had been healed, but she still became sore if she moved too quickly or was on her feet too long. Stairs still proved a grueling task. She was not surprised when Logan abandoned his culinary masterpiece to take her arm, leading her down the steps.
“In that case, where do you want to sit? I’ll get ya a chair,” he offered when her bare feet finally hit the soft earth.
Ororo laughed when Henry fell face-first into the small sandpit that served as their volleyball court before answering.
“Just there, under that tree would be lovely, thank you,” she told her bodyguard. “I’d like to watch the game.”
“Give me just a sec, don’t wanna let the meat burn,” Logan said, leaving her side to fetch a patio chair for her.
She would never, ever admit it aloud, but the attention she had received over the last weeks was adorable in a strange sort of way. Henry, Scott, and even the Professor treated her as Logan did, as though they were afraid she would keel over from strain if she did anything herself.
Perhaps some women, in the pursuit of equal treatment, had forgotten the feminine thrill of having men behave with something akin to chivalry. Not Ororo. She did an inward tap dance of joy every time one of her friends reached into a cupboard, opened a door, or fetched her a chair. Though she was eager to return to her duty as an X-Man, she savored the long-thought dead treatment.
Carefully, Ororo assessed the situation of the evening meal cooking on the open-fire grill. She took up the sharp fork Logan had left and turned thick slabs of steak and chicken to ensure they would not burn. Proud that she managed that on her own, she turned in search of her knight and protector.
Logan had set up her chair under a large willow tree, but he had not stopped there. Enlisting Peter’s unsurpassed strength, the men had moved the picnic table and benches complete with the rest of their meal, to the tree. It was apparent that they did not want Ororo to move over much while everyone enjoyed the sunlight.
Henry appeared at her side as the game took an unofficial break. Without a pause, Ororo roped her arm with her furry friend’s, allowing him to help her to the group under the tree. The day was warm, nearly too warm and without the hint of a breeze. But the sun was shining all its glory in the cloudless sky. It was the sort of day when nothing seemed to bother her.
Just as Henry and Ororo found their way to the tree, Peter released his gift, turning himself from his steel plated skin to his normal vulnerable self. Rogue and Bobby were nosily downing bottles of a sports drink the children were fond of as Kitty flirted with Colossus.
“Storm? It’s very hot out here, think yah could whip up a breeze for us?” young Marie asked, pouting a little as she wiped sweat from her forehead.
Ororo settled on her chair as Henry began to chide the sweet Southern girl about requesting such things while Storm was recovering.
With an impish wink to her friend, Ororo gathered her will, releasing a light breeze through the grounds, much to the relief of her companions.
“Ah, now that’s betta. Come on then, boys, let’s finish our game!” Rogue winked to Storm as she dragged her friends back to the volleyball net.
Noting that Logan had gone off to tend his grill, Ororo sat back in the comfortable patio chair, watching the others play a ridiculously undisciplined game. They crashed into one another, fell down, flopped into the net and did all manner of things to make one another laugh. Ororo watched them, chuckling all the while.
Logan returned a few minutes later, setting plates of meat on the groaning picnic table before taking a beer and throwing himself onto the bench beside her chair, pushing his cowboy hat back with the long neck of his bottle.
“Looks like a bunch of monkeys trying to change a flat,” her friend said with a snort.
Ororo raised a white brow to him, nodding toward the net. “I would like to see the infamous Wolverine do any better.”
He took a long draw from his bottle, turning to her with an eyebrow raised in response to hers.
“Is that a challenge?”
Primly wiping at her skirt, Ororo shrugged. “Take it as you will.”
He shook his head, setting his beer down. “Not today, darlin’. I’d just end up poppin’ the ball and then everyone would be unhappy.”
They sat for a while in companionable silence, laughing together when their friends would do something rather entertaining on the volleyball court. Ororo closed her eyes after a time, placing her head back against the headrest of her chair.
She felt something softly tingle at her mind, a presence remembered from years with an old friend. Frowning, she winced, keeping her eyes closed. The feeling had come to her quite often in the last months. Professor Xavier had explained that it was Storm’s mind, reaching out for any sign of Jean.
It had not happened since Chicago and she fought to clear her mind of the strange feeling.
“Hey, ‘Ro?” Logan asked using the nickname she had grown fond of.
“Yes, Logan?” she replied, not opening her eyes.
“What does your name mean?”
Startled by the question, she blinked her eyes open, turning to look at him. He had an interested look on his face, one she had seen frequently when he asked for help while he taught her History and Calculus classes.
“Beauty,” Ororo replied after a moment. “My mother and I, are descendant from a line of African priestesses, all of them had the white hair. She named me after one of her ancestors.”
“Oh,” he said roughly. “I hear you were a goddess in Africa?”
Blushing a little under her dark skin, she nodded, the breeze kicking up around them as her nerves began to get the better of her. She did not enjoy talking about the Windrider, as she had been called. Foolishness of adolescence was hard to explain.
“There was a tribe, my mother’s actually, that worshipped me. My mother’s line all had some sort of prowess for “magic”, though that could mean they were mutants. I was young; impressionable…I would have remained in that childhood fantasy had Charles not come looking for me.”
It was the most she had ever said to one person about her former life. Logan’s eyes penetrated her, as though searching for the reason his calm, unflappable teammate would succumb to the trappings of idolatry.
“I can see why,” Logan stated, as though it were a common fact.
Luckily, the arrival of hungry mutants halted the line of questioning. As they fell on Logan’s carefully prepared meal, Ororo found herself watching the man they called Wolverine. He showed no discomfort as he ate beside her, but she could not help wondering why he had given her such a…compliment.
When dinner was over, Ororo took her leave, the clouds darkening above them. With a shrug, she maintained that the gathering storm was not her doing, and headed inside as the others proceeded to clean up their mess before the storm broke.
For some reason, she could feel the heavy weight of Logan’s gaze on her back as she made a smooth escape.
Once in her room, she closed the door, bolting it behind her. The clouds had broken above Westchester, drenching the previously beautiful day. Ororo moved to her balcony, opening the large French doors and stepping into the steady downpour.
No, the storm was not her doing, but that did not mean she could not revel in it.
She moved back inside, touching the security panel by the bedroom door. Once she flicked through the images, locating her friends and the Professor, she allowed herself a wicked smile.
Discarding her clothing in favor of a light sarong that she knotted at her shoulder, she stepped back onto the terrace with bare feet, closing her eyes when the wind kicked up as though greeting her.
She manipulated the winds, smirking to herself at the thought that Henry would murder her if he learned about this. Once the wind was strong enough to support her weight, she slowly ascended, sighing with relief as she unleashed part of her restrained power.
The storm intensified, raging around her as she hovered above the mansion, finally allowing the grief she kept locked within her to break free, just enough to take the edge off. Keeping scarcely enough wind at her command to stay aloft, she drifted, allowing the storm to take her into its majestic fold.
While others not gifted with her powers would have cringed from the fierce storm, Ororo welcomed it, a peace wrapping about her like a thick wool blanket as the storm carried her, rolling her through the skies as though she were a part of it.
No one could understand the freedom that came with nature. Here, she could release herself, let her wild side loose without fear of property damage or injuring someone. The elements were at her command, but even for Storm, they had rules. She could let go here, in this natural element, and the storm would not alter its course if she asked it.
For hours she tumbled through the air, breathing in the heady scent of wet earth and heavy raindrops. Nothing could touch her here. This was solace. Through the black sky, she could see flashes of lightning; hear the booming rumble of thunder.
Home.
When the storm finally abated, Ororo forced herself to return to the mansion, feeling more rejuvenated than she ever had. Windrider, she thought with a smile as she crept into her room, sopping wet.
I can see why.
Logan’s words echoed in her mind as she changed into dry clothing and settled into bed. What would he say if he had seen her? The ice queen loving a storm as though it were flesh and blood. Would he be appalled, or would he understand more than anyone else, a child of the primitive earth as well?
Pushing thoughts of Logan away, she inhaled the remaining scent of rain from her hair before drifting into a peaceful slumber.
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