Chapter Text
The walk back to the mansion took longer than it should have.
The woods were quiet now — that fragile quiet that follows a storm. Mist clung to the branches, sunlight slicing through in fractured lines that made everything shimmer faintly, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Ororo’s steps grew smaller the closer they came to home. The air that had felt cleansing a moment ago now pressed heavy in her lungs. Each breath scraped against her still bruised ribs, deep and rhythmic. She said nothing, jaw tight, shoulders rigid — as if silence itself could keep her from unraveling.
By the time they reached the base of the mansion stairs, her lips had gone pale.
“Should’ve told me when it started hurtin’,” he muttered.
She shook her head, too winded for pride but unwilling to yield. “I can do it,” she whispered, breath coming in short bursts that didn’t quite reach her lungs.
He sighed. “Not the point.”
Her hand found the railing. Three long flights of polished oak stretched upward, sunlight spilling over them like a dare. Her room was at the top — she’d chosen it for the open balcony, the sky she could see without barriers. She needed that now more than ever. But the stairs looked endless.
She lifted one foot. Then another. The third step sent a flare of pain through her ribs that made her wince.
“‘Ro—”
“I said I can do it,” she snapped, her voice too sharp, too brittle. The moment the words left her mouth, she flinched — the echo of her own tone felt foreign. She pushed on anyway, one hand gripping the banister so hard her knuckles whitened. Every step was a battle between will and breath.
By the fifth step, her vision tunneled. The hall blurred, her body floating somewhere a second behind itself. She blinked hard, willing it to stop, but the edges of the world tilted anyway.
Her foot slipped.
Strong arms caught her before she hit the stairs.
“Easy,” Logan murmured, voice low, steady. “Gotcha.”
Her body sagged against his chest, trembling from somewhere deep inside. She could hear his heart beating — slow, heavy, too loud. Her own pulse hammered in her ears, frantic, uneven. She couldn’t tell if it was pain or fear that made her shake harder.
“I’m sorry,” she managed, voice cracking.
Logan adjusted his hold, one arm beneath her knees, the other braced at her back. “Don’t apologize,” he said, the words rough but gentle. “You’re breathin’. That’s what matters.”
She wanted to tell him she could walk, that she didn’t need this — but the protest caught in her throat, dying under the weight of exhaustion.
He carried her up the stairs. The motion was slow, deliberate. Every creak of the steps seemed to echo louder than it should, and each echo made her chest tighten. She focused on the rhythm of his steps, trying not to think about how it felt to be carried — trapped between gratitude and discomfort.
By the time they reached her room, her head had dropped to his shoulder.
He set her down carefully on the bed, mindful of her ribs. The brush of fabric against her skin made her flinch — too light, too sudden.
“Get some rest,” he murmured, pulling the blanket up.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. “I don’t— I don’t want to sleep.”
“You need to, you’re safe here” he said softly.
Sleep hadn’t felt safe in weeks. The dark was where the voices lived — where her own mind turned traitor. But her body had no strength left to fight. She let her eyes close, though every muscle stayed tense, waiting.
He lingered a while, watching the rise and fall of her chest — shallow but even. The first steady rhythm he’d seen from her in days. When he left, he left the door open a crack. Habit. Instinct. Promise.
At first, it was peaceful.
Warmth pooled behind her eyelids, soft and golden. The sound of the breeze through the curtains. A heartbeat. Her own, maybe.
Then — the air shifted.
It thickened. Heavy. Wet. The faint scent of rain and iron bled into the air. The walls began to press closer, the ceiling lowering until she could almost feel it on her chest.
You thought you could shut me out?
The voice slid through the dark like smoke — familiar, poisonous. The Shadow King.
Ororo tried to move, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. Her fingers twitched uselessly at her sides. Her breath came fast, shallow, stuck high in her chest.
You let me in once, the voice whispered. You wanted peace. You wanted rest. You still do.
Her heart slammed against her ribs — too fast, too loud. She tried to scream, but the sound wouldn’t come. Only light. Silent, white-hot lightning flashed behind her eyelids.
Her body jerked. A strangled sound tore out of her, half-breath, half-sob.
The air itself seemed to vibrate with static — the hum building until it was all she could hear.
Then —
The door burst open.
“‘Ro!” Logan’s voice, low and urgent.
Her eyes snapped open — but the dark didn’t leave. For one awful second, the silhouette in the doorway wasn’t Logan. It was something else. Broad shoulders. A shadowed face. Eyes gleaming where they shouldn’t.
Her body moved before thought.
“Stay back!”
Lightning cracked through her hand and lit the room, a white explosion cracking through the room.
The current hit Logan square in the chest. He grunted — a sound of surprise and pain — as the charge tore through the metal laced in his bones. The air filled with the scent of ozone and scorched fabric.
He hit the floor hard.
Ororo gasped, shoving herself upright, her body shaking so violently the bed frame rattled. “Logan— no, no, I didn’t—”
Her voice broke into sobs. She crawled backward, pressing herself against the headboard, eyes wild and unfocused.
By the time Hank burst in, Logan was already pushing himself up from the floor, breath ragged but steady. “I’m fine,” he gritted out, smoke still curling from his sleeve.
Ororo wasn’t fine.
Her whole body trembled. Every noise made her want to pull her hair out — the creak of the floorboards, the hum of the bedside lamp, even her own breath. Her eyes darted from Logan to Hank and back again, unable to settle.
“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, words tumbling out too fast. “He was here. I could feel him. He— he was in my head again.”
Hank crouched slowly in front of her, careful not to crowd her space. “You’re safe now, Ororo. He’s gone.”
She shook her head, tears streaking her face. “No. It felt real. He was inside. I could hear him.”
Behind Hank, Logan hovered — not too close, not too far. His instincts screamed to hold her, to anchor her. But he remembered the look in her eyes when the lightning hit.
“‘Ro,” he said softly.
She looked at him — at the faint scorch mark still dark on his arm — and something inside her fractured. “I hurt you,” she whispered. “Again.”
He took one cautious step forward, voice low. “Hey. You didn’t—”
She flinched before he could finish, her whole body tightening.
Hank’s hand rose slightly, a silent warning. “Give her a moment.”
Ororo wrapped her arms around herself, curling inward until her forehead nearly touched her knees. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, like her lungs were refusing air.
Neither man spoke.
Finally, Hank’s tone softened. “How are you feeling now?”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically. Too fast. Too flat. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
Logan’s gaze lingered — quiet, skeptical. “You don’t look fine.”
Her fingers dug into her arms. “I said I’m fine.” The tremor in her voice betrayed her. She drew in a shaking breath, the next words barely audible. “I just… I need some air.”
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere in the distance — low, harmless, but enough to make her flinch all the same.
Logan didn’t push. Hank didn’t correct.
And when she finally looked up again, her expression was carefully blank — the same kind of calm that came after the worst storms, when the world was too tired to fight anymore.
Silence settled after Hank and Logan left.
The room still smelled faintly of ozone and smoke. The sheets were tangled where Ororo had been sitting, and the faint hum of electricity still lingered in the air like static clinging to her skin.
She couldn’t stay there.
The thought came suddenly, with the sharp clarity of panic. The walls felt too close, the corners too dark. The faint buzz of the light above made her muscles twitch. Every sound — the creak of the floorboards, the ticking clock — hit too loud, too sharp.
She slipped out of bed quietly, barefoot, and crossed the balcony. The night air was cool against her overheated skin. Mist hung low over the grounds, the grass below silver with dew. She climbed the narrow ledge she knew so well, moving with instinct more than strength, until she reached the roof.
The open sky was a balm — vast, dark, endless. She could breathe here.
She drew her knees up, arms wrapped loosely around them, and watched the horizon.
Lightning flickered far off among the clouds, distant and harmless.
For a while, that was enough.
Logan found her an hour later.
He didn’t call out, just climbed up the same path he always did. The roof groaned under his weight, but she didn’t flinch. She must have heard him coming — she always did.
He eased himself down beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them. For a long while, they didn’t speak. The world was all silver fog and quiet breath.
“You ain’t slept,” he said finally, his voice low, almost rough.
Ororo didn’t look away from the horizon. “Neither have you.”
A corner of his mouth twitched, caught between amusement and guilt. “I’m fine, don’t need sleep.”
“You heal faster,” she murmured. “Doesn’t mean you rest better.”
That earned a small, knowing grunt — a sound that could’ve meant anything, or everything.
Silence fell again, softer this time, threaded through with unspoken understanding.
Then Ororo exhaled slowly, her breath trembling just a little. “It was only a dream,” she said. Her voice was careful — too careful. “I overreacted.”
“You think that’s what that was?”
She hesitated, shoulders tightening. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”
Logan leaned back on his hands, eyes still on the dark line of the trees. “Things like that don’t end just ‘cause you say so.”
“I know.” Her tone was clipped — not defensive, just tired. “But if I start talking about it, I’ll make it real again.”
He nodded once, accepting that. He’d been there himself.
The wind picked up, brushing loose strands of white hair across her face. She didn’t move to fix them. Her gaze stayed fixed on the distant flashes of lightning.
“I keep hearing him,” she said quietly after a moment. “Even when I’m awake. Like an echo that won’t fade.”
The quiet between them shifted again — not empty this time, but full.
Eventually, Ororo let her head rest lightly against his shoulder. Her muscles stayed tense at first, then gradually eased, the rhythm of his breathing anchoring hers. Neither spoke again. The night moved around them — clouds drifting, the wind carrying the scent of rain and earth.
Logan stayed still, matching her silence, letting her draw whatever peace she could from the open air and the distance between heartbeats.