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Chapter Two: Choices


Time seemed to stop as she fell.

Wolverine had seen the rifle with his enhanced eyesight only seconds before the fateful shot was fired.

He had thrown himself out of the jet, trusting Storm to catch him. If he had been able to warn her sooner, she might have escaped unscathed.

As he watched Storm’s body crash into the dark, murky waters of the Chicago River, Logan was dimly aware that the howling winds had abated. He realized that he too was falling. He knew that he would survive the fall, but would he recover Strom before it was too late?

Cold folded into his back before it flowed into his arms and legs, stopping at his chest. Looking up over his shoulder, he noted the boy, Jeffrey; standing in the open hatch to the jet, his hands trained on Wolverine’s rapidly descending form.

The kid was slowing him down.

Wolverine turned his attention to the ground, trying to approximate the exact place Storm had fallen and praying to any deity he could think of for a bit of luck. If he didn’t find her soon, she would die. Just like… He tried to shake the thought away, but his treacherous mind completed it anyway.

Just like Jean.

A beat later, he hit the sopping wet ground. Grunting with the force, though he conceded it would have been a lot worse without the aid of his new best friend, he rolled, clenching his jaw to move through the pain.

It took him only seconds to rush across the slippery grass. He took in a great lungful of air as he launched himself into the water, his body shuddering with the onset of shock at the change in temperature.

He stopped in place for a moment, wanting to growl as his bones and flesh knitted back together. Not a single strand of that signature white hair was in sight. He swam a few meters, stopped, and looked around again.

Nothing.

Lungs screaming for air, he pushed himself back to the surface, breathing heavily for only a moment, he inhaled deeply before plunging back into the shadowy depths.

His mind screamed her name as he searched. Precious minutes had gone by. He desperately swam further, trying to look everywhere at once. Cursing the water’s ability to dilute scents, he swam up again, batting fish and all manner of river trash from his current path. Another lungful of air and he was back beneath the surface.

It was then that his eyes caught a faint trail of blood. Starting violently, he turned himself upside down, his heart attempting to beat it’s way out of his chest.

Storm was only a few meters below him, and sinking fast.

Wolverine kicked his legs as hard as he could, shooting his body through the water in the direction of Storm’s prone form. Panic seizing him, he swam faster, lungs burning with the need for air.

He gripped the edge of her cloak a moment later, tugging her toward him as he turned to propel himself to the surface. Logan brought her still form to his chest, cradling her, praying to anyone that would listen. Five minutes without air was all the brain could take before it suffered permanent damage. How long had she been under? Three minutes? Four?

The water broke above his head, his ears ringing almost instantly. He pulled Storm’s head above the water before looking up, eyes going wide as dinner plates at the sight that greeted him.

“Holy shit.”

Jeffrey Stevenson was right above him, holding a hand out to Wolverine.

“Give her to me!” the kid shouted over the roar of the jet.

Not wasting time pondering how the jet had moved, Logan passed Storm’s body to the frightened teen. When she was safely aboard the jet, he climbed in, pushing the kid aside.

Storm’s face was white as chalk, her blood staining the steel of the jet’s floor. Her long, elegant fingers did not move, and her snowy hair matted with slime and mud from the river.

“Who’s flying this thing?” he shouted as Jeffrey closed the ramp.

“My dad. He was a fighter pilot for the Navy.” Jeffrey answered, coming over to where Storm lay.

Wolverine didn’t respond aloud, but he wondered at Storm’s luck. He definitely wanted the odds on this in Vegas. Taking his gloves off, he straddled the dark woman’s thighs, putting his ear to her chest.

“She’s not breathing,” he muttered, sitting up and placing his hands below her breasts.

Jeffrey didn’t reply as Logan tilted Storm’s head back, opening her airway before he started chest compressions. Fifteen hard pushes on the sternum, two deep breaths into her mouth while holding her nose closed.

“Come on, ‘Ro. Don’t you die on me,” he pleaded quietly, repeating the process.

Nothing happened. For nearly a full minute, Wolverine worked on her, trying to force air into her lungs, her heart to beat, ignite in her a will to live.

He could hear someone moving behind him, but he never stopped his pace. Every reason for her to live ran through his mind. They couldn’t lose another one, not so soon. Not because some asshole with a sniper rifle decided to take a shot at her.

“’Ro, breathe, darlin’. Breathe!” he begged gruffly, putting his lips to hers.

She twitched.

Pulling back, he watched Ororo cough, moving to turn over. Quickly, he rolled her onto her side, thumping her hardily on the back to help her expel the water she’d swallowed.

“Hurts,” she groaned, vomiting water onto his uniform.

“I know, darlin’, don’t worry,” he reassured her, rubbing her back.

“B-Boy?” she stuttered, spitting up the rest of the water in her body.

“He’s fine. Let’s look at where that bastard hit ya. Lie still,” Wolverine ordered, wondering how many divine favors he owed to hear her voice again.

“Tired,” Ororo whispered as she lay on her back.

“Just sit back, I’ve got ya.”

Her blue eyes opened halfway, a smile forming on her lips.

“I know.”

When her eyes closed again, Logan placed his fingers to the pulse point at her neck. Her heart was beating, but it was weak. She had lost a good deal of blood.

“Kid, comere,” he snapped. “Get me the first aid kit from under that chair.”

The boy snapped into action as Logan looked over his shoulder. “Hey! You know where you’re going?”

Mr Stevenson answered immediately. “I just spoke to a young man named Summers. He’s guiding me. How’s the girl?”

Snikt.

Jeffrey appeared with the first aid kit just as Wolverine unsheathed a claw, slicing Storm’s sopping uniform to get to her wound. The hole in her mocha flesh told him the bullet had gone deep, blood squirted from the wound with every beat of her heart. Without medical attention, soon, she would bleed to death.

“Alive, for now. Get One-Eye on the horn again and tell him we’ll need a medic. Now!”

~@~

He sat in the War Room for hours once the jet had returned home. The big, blue mutant named Henry had whisked Storm away almost before the jet’s engine was off. Logan had released her reluctantly. She looked so weak, so fragile. Was she really the same person that had lifted four people to safety by controlling the wind?

Sitting in the War Room, alone, he had time to think over the entire damn thing. The fire. The mob. Storm’s uncanny ability with the wind, the rain, and the cataclysmic bolts of lightning burned forever in his memory. Hadn’t she said only a few months ago “I can’t control it like that”? Where had that control come from?

She’d been unbelievable. Riding the winds as though she were some kind of ancient goddess, carrying them all to safety as a mother would her little ones. The faith he’d had in her, no matter the consequences. He had never had that for another person.

Wolverine toyed with the bit of leather he had torn from her uniform. It was stained with her blood, the stench of it misting into his oversensitive nose. Storm had nearly died in his arms. The thought alone made him shiver. How close had he and Cyclops come to being the only X-Men?

A glance at the clock told him it was far past two in the morning. Storm had been in surgery for four hours. He went back to his study of the leather, catching a hint of Storm’s scent mingled with that of her blood and the river.

Their last conversation came back to him. She had said something about choosing sides again. That he could chose to live in the now or concede the point.

A life here with us or a life that ended with Jean’s.

Only hours ago, he had taken offense to that statement. How could she say that to him? He had remained at the mansion when everything in him had wanted to flee in the aftermath of Jean’s death. Everything here reminded him of her.

He had stayed for Rogue. She needed someone she could connect to. Sure, she’d formed a bond with the fearless leader of the X-Men and with ‘Ro. But what the girl needed was someone who wouldn’t sugarcoat the situation. He would give it to her real. And, as long he was being honest with himself, after loss of Jean, he didn’t trust anyone enough to protect her. She had started him on this long road to rejoining the living.

As long as he was being completely honest with himself, ‘Ro’s little “At least I’ve chosen a side” speech had some sway with him as well. They were an all right group, for a bunch of geeks.

The door to the War Room opened, revealing his least favorite person in the mansion. Cyclops.

“Any word?” he asked quietly.

Not wanting to speak with him, Logan shook his head sharply, tucking the piece of leather into his uniform.

“No.”

To his dismay, Scott plopped into the chair opposite him, his red-lens covered eyes trained on the table.

“What the hell happened, Logan?”

Feathers ruffled, he straightened in his chair, glaring at the young pup that dared call himself a leader.

“It went to hell. We got there too late and my teammate got fucking shot!”

Scott looked up at him, a set line to his jaw as though he were trying to contain his temper.

“That’s not what I meant. What happened with Storm that she was so upset?”

Stunned silent, Logan could only stare at the younger man, his customary scowl affixed to his face.

“The kid said she used wind to get you all to the jet. Storm doesn’t have that kind of control unless she’s wielding a lot of power. Her power comes from her emotions. So, what the hell happened that got her so riled up?”

He hadn’t known that about her powers. How could he? He’d never bothered to ask her. Calming down once more, Logan thought over the woman’s behavior over the last several weeks, mentally flipping through images.

Scott was right, he conceded grudgingly. Storm never lost her cool. Not even when that bastard Sabretooth had her trapped in the torch of the Statue of Liberty so many months ago. Not even when they had battled Stryker. She kept herself controlled.

“I don’t know, One-Eye. She’s been pretty normal to me,” he said at last.

“I’ve known Storm a long time. She only gets that wrapped up in her powers when something’s bothering her,” Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Jean was always the one that knew how to talk to her.”

Irritated that the whelp was interrupting his musings, Logan spoke before thinking.

“Well, Jean’s not around to take care of it anymore,” he spat. “We’re gonna have to figure it out, aren’t we?”

The pain that crossed Scott’s face made him want to claw himself. No matter the issues between them, it was a low blow and he knew it. Rather than apologize, Logan looked away, chewing on his tongue. God help him if Storm found out about that little incident.

“All I’m saying, Wolverine,” Scott said as he stood. “Is that we need to figure out what’s going on. Last time she was able to control wind like that, she blew up and we damn near had a hurricane right here in Westchester.”

Before Logan could retort the man was gone.

As the door swung closed, a furry blue hand caught it, pushing it open. Logan could see Scott in the hall, staring at the man called Beast. Wolverine stood slowly, clutching his hands into fists.

“Ororo is resting now. The bullet nicked her liver, but it was easily repaired. A few of her ribs were bruised, but it was not serious. She should be awake in a few hours and on her feet in no time,” the painfully cheerful man reported.

Logan released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He moved around the table, shaking the enormous hand much more amicably than he had several hours ago.

“Thanks,” he nodded.

“You did well, Wolverine. You were lucky you found her when you did.”

Scott excused himself to report to the Professor, obviously wanting some kind of escape.

Henry looked at Logan, closing the door as he entered the War Room fully.

“Ororo said something before I sedated her,” the huge man’s eyes pinned Logan where he stood.

“About me?”

“Yes,” he paused. “She wanted to know if you had made a choice yet.”

Logan nearly choked. Of course she would think of that at a time like this. She was a natural teacher and there was, obviously, a lesson to be learned here.

“When she wakes up, tell her…”he faltered. “Tell her “soon”.”

The big blue doctor nodded, looking a bit confused. “I will relay your message.”

He didn’t pause as he left the War Room. In fact, he didn’t stop walking until he was in his room, ignoring the whispered conversations going on in the kitchen as he passed. Rogue, her boyfriend, and that girl named Kitty were talking about Storm.

Once in his room, he ripped his uniform off and sat heavily on the bed. Storm wanted to know what he’d chosen. With an inward sigh, he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. If he concentrated, he could smell a hint of Jean’s perfume. He could hear her voice, feel her inside his mind.

The pain was not as bad as it had been. It was like a scar on his heart, fading slowly with each day. Could he do it? Could he open himself up that little bit and let someone besides a girl he thought of as a cousin in?

And if he did, how would he survive if he lost again?





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