Chapter 2

Jean yawned as she got a cup out of the cupboard and poured a cup of hot coffee. She approached the kitchen table, where Wolverine and Xavier were deep in conversation, and asked, "Is this private, or can I jump in?"

"Please do, Jean," Xavier scooted his hoverchair over and Wolverine pulled out a chair for her. "How do you feel?"

Jean smiled. "Wonderful. Better than I have in a while."

"It came at a price," Wolverine said. "I followed her home last night. She was in pain."

Jean sat with her mouth open as Wolverine recounted his experiences of the evening before. She belatedly realized her mouth was open and closed it. "That's what she does?" she blinked. "She heals people?"

"Yeah, she's a doctor," Wolverine said. Jean laughed.

Xavier laughed with them, then said, "I would like to meet her. Jean could you perhaps tell her that you're still having problems and get her to come here?"

Jean placed her cup in the sink. "I'll try," she said, and headed upstairs to call Dr. Ryan.

Sara drove her old Chevy up the drive to the mansion, staring at the place. It was so big! The sign outside the gate said 'The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.'

Higher compared to what? She mused as she took in the grandeur of the place. God, this would make Richard green with envy! She composed herself as she went up the front steps, and rang the bell. She expected a butler would answer the door; Richard would have hired one for a place like this. So she was surprised to see the door opened by a tall, handsome young man who she recognized from CNN as Cyclops; the same young man who had been so concerned about Jean. "Umm, I'm here to see Jean?…" she trailed off as Cyclops nodded.

"Come this way," he said. As Sara followed him, he said, "She's still got a bad headache. She did what you said, took a couple aspirin and went to bed, but woke up still with the headache." They were walking through the mansion as he spoke, and Sara was well and truly lost by the time they took the last turn and stopped before a heavy wooden door. There was a low murmur of voices inside that stopped as Cyclops tapped on the door, and he opened it at a whispered mental command that Sara didn't quite catch. When it opened she saw a kindly looking older man sitting behind the desk, and her patient sitting in a chair in front of it, holding a cup of coffee and evidently not feeling bad at all. A part of her wanted to be upset; she could have been at the hospital helping others, but the other part of her wanted to know why they had wanted her to come here.

"Well," she said mildly, "that headache went away fairly quickly. Please let me know what aspirin you took to rid yourself of that headache; I might start giving that to my patients at the hospital." Jean looked at her a bit guiltily, but the older man sitting behind the desk chuckled.

"Please don't be angry with Jean. She was simply following my orders," he said. Sara looked him over and decided that she could forgive him for messing about with her day. He smiled, and a chair up against the wall moved itself over before the desk, and he indicated she should sit. She did so, noting that for all its elegance, it was still comfortable.

"So who are you, that the X-Men take orders from you?" she said bluntly. Cyclops bristled at her tone as he pulled up a chair himself, but the older man simply looked at him once and he quieted. Sara was impressed. This man commanded a lot of respect from those around him. Although, she mused as she took in the tasteful but expensive décor of this office, that could very well be because this man obviously had money, and a lot of it as well. That much could buy you just about anything.

Xavier watched her as she looked around his office. The way she spoke indicated that she was used to dealing with people with money, and also that she wasn't going to be easily cowed or impressed by an ostentatious display of wealth. That pleased him.

"My name is Charles Xavier," he said to her, and watched her eyes widen.

"You wrote that book, then," she said, "That one, oh, I can't remember the title now--"

"The Causes of Evolutionary Leaps as Related to Mutants, yes," Xavier said, "with Dr. MacTaggert. She's a personal friend of mine, as well as occasional doctor to the team, when their injuries require it."

Sara sat back. "I had wondered," she said. "I always found it difficult to understand why, with all the doctors around the city, whenever the X-Men get hurt in battle, no one ever offers to help, yet your people seem to be up and at 'em when you're needed again."

The door to the office opened again, and Sara blinked as a massive blue furred form came in. He moved with easy grace despite his size, but she got the sense there that for all that mass, he could move faster than she could if an emergency arose. She blinked again as he looked at her, then at Xavier. "Oh, excuse me Professor," said the man, "I did not know you had company. Excuse me, Ma'am," and he was about to leave when Xavier told him, "Hank, please meet our guest, Dr. Sara Ryan."

He looked at her over his glasses, and took her proffered hand, which was dwarfed by his. "You assisted Jean yesterday. Thank you very much; I fear that without your intervention she would still be in our infirmary with an extremely sore arm."

Sara blushed at the thanks. "It was nothing," she waved it off. "Um, I don't wish to cut this short, but I do have a duty shift at the hospital to start in about an hour."

Xavier shook his head. "I'm sorry, I did not know you had somewhere else to be. I wished to speak to you, but perhaps it could wait for another time." He reached down and Sara gasped audibly as she saw him push his wheelchair around the desk for the first time. She hadn't seen the wheelchair behind the massive desk.

Xavier looked up, and saw her face. He gave a small smile. "I had an accident many years ago. My spine was crushed."

"You're a paraplegic?" Sara asked. He nodded. She said hesitantly, "May I?" Xavier nodded, and leaned forward in the chair obligingly. Sara put her hand on his back, just above the scar, and probed gently with the special ability she privately called her 'Sense'. It showed her the bone fragments, the nerve damage, and yet, she could Sense how it was all supposed to fit together, and how it could fit together again. But she didn't know if she had enough power to put the pieces back together, and she didn't even want to think about what it would cost her.

"Thank you, " she said quietly, removing her hand. Xavier sat back.

""Do you think you could…" Hank began, but Jean hushed him. From what Wolverine had told her and the Professor, trying to heal the Professor would come at great personal cost to her, and Jean knew Charles wouldn't want that on his conscience.

"It would take a lot of effort," Sara said slowly, thinking about the possibilities. "The thing with my ability is, I can see what needs doing. If I am injured, it doesn't require any conscious effort at all to heal myself. But if I'm trying to heal others, somehow my power transfers the injury from the other person to my own body. Once it's my own injury, I have to concentrate on fixing it consciously. I've never been able to figure out why it works that way; it just does. And I don't worry about it much; I'm usually just glad that I have the opportunity to help others." She smiled then. "That's why I work in the emergency room. The other day I got a little boy who had accidentally cut his hand with a kitchen knife. I transferred some of the wound from his hand to my own, so by the time he got out of the emergency room the number of stitches his hand required had gone from fourteen to just five. The stitches will be gone before he starts school, so he won't have to miss classes or work because he can't use the hand." She rubbed her palm as she spoke, and Jean saw the faint tracery of a red line across the middle of it.

A cell phone rang suddenly, causing everyone to jump. Sara scrambled around in her purse and found hers. "Dr. Ryan," she answered. "What? Oh, no. Where's Dr. Canady? He's not? What about Dr. Church?… Sela, slow down… Okay, I'll be there as soon as possible. Keep him still, and keep trying to page Dr. LeRoux! Have the anesthesiologist meet me there!" She was already in motion as she closed her cell phone, and stopped. "I'm sorry, there's an emergency, I have to go…uh, I don't know how to get out of here…"

"This way," and Jean jumped up, leading her out the door and down the halls. In only a short time they were outside, and Sara was getting into her Chevy. She turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered, and died. She cursed, and tried again. "No!" she screamed in frustration, pounding on the steering wheel. "Not now! Come on!" And she tried again, with the same result. She looked up at Jean, standing at the top of the steps, and called frantically, "What's the number of the nearest cab company?"

"Don't bother, darlin'," said a gravelly voice in her ear, and she turned, to see Logan holding out a helmet to her. He already had his on, and the motorcycle was already on. "Come on. I'll give ya a ride." Sara pulled the helmet on, tucking her hair messily under it, and mounted the back of the bike, wrapping her arms around his waist. Then they were off.

Sara hadn't been on a bike in a while, and she had forgotten how fast the scenery could really speed by when one was in a hurry. She tried to concentrate on the emergency she was going to have to treat, rather than the hot metal under her and the distractingly hard body in front of her. In no time at all, they were in front of the hospital, and she yanked off the helmet, handing it to her driver. "Thanks," she gasped breathlessly.

"When do you get off?" He called as she dashed toward the building.

"Six!" she yelled.

"I'll be here!" he responded, but she barely heard him as she rushed down to the ER.

It was a horrible day. Sara rushed from emergency to emergency, intervening where she could, when she felt it wouldn't be noticed by the other doctors, the patient or drain herself too much. There was a broken leg from a fall from a horse. A police officer, shot in a firefight between two gangs, and some of the gang members themselves. She took her time about those, even though their pain gnawed at her. They were in a gang, and when she examined them she saw needle tracks in their arms. She deliberately did not intervene with them; the longer they were in the hospital the longer they'd be without their fix, and maybe it would be enough time for the drugs to completely leave their system. Such a waste, she thought.

She didn't even notice the passing of time until Dr. Greene came in to take the night shift and she realized it was nearly eleven. She figured that her two-wheeled cab would be long gone by now, and she stood in the parking lot indecisively, wondering whether to call a cab, or walk. An inspection of her purse revealed that her wallet was completely empty, and she groaned at the thought of walking all the way home. Nevertheless, she set off across the lot tiredly. Perhaps because she was so tired she missed seeing the motorcycle parked by the staff entrance and the helmeted figure waiting for her.

Wolverine sniffed the air as the wind shifted. It was an automatic thing, something he did without thinking, but it brought to him the scent of the weary woman trudging across the road smelling of disinfectant and Betadine. He revved up the motor and spun in a circle, coming to a stop in front of her. "Need a lift?" he joked, handing her the spare helmet.

Despite her tiredness, she smiled a little. "Sure, handsome," she chuckled, tucking her blue-black hair up into the helmet. "Where are you headed?"

"Where would ya like ta go?"

"Somewhere really far away from here," she muttered to herself, and as the motorcycle started she said in alarm, "No, I didn't mean that. Could you drop me off at my place? Tomorrow's my day off, and I promise I'll make arrangements to have my car towed from your driveway. I'm terribly sorry for leaving it there."

Wolverine pretended he didn't hear her as he zipped down the road. With the wind roaring in her ears, she couldn't speak loud enough to be heard over it, so she settled in for a ride on the back of his bike. His back was warm under her cheek, his muscled middle firm under her hands, and though she would have sworn it was impossible, she soon found herself drowsing under the spell of moonlight, motor, and man.

They pulled up in front of the mansion, and Wolverine turned, about to tell her they were home, but the words died on his lips as he saw the closed eyes. He gently scooped her off the back of the motorcycle, her slight weight no burden to him, and went in. It was thankfully quiet, being now nearly midnight, and Storm was waiting for him, yawning. "Charles said to put her up in one of the spare bedrooms in the east wing," she said. "And Scott said he should have her car fixed by tomorrow afternoon. He has been working on her Chevelle all day." Her eyes twinkled. They all knew about Scott's fascination for old vehicles, and Sara's car was pure heaven to him. Wolverine thanked her with a nod, and carried Sara up to the spare bedroom. She murmured something unintelligible as he laid her down on the bed, but didn't wake as he removed her shoes and tucked the covers up around her, turning off the lights as he left.

Sara blinked at the bright sunlight flooded the room, golden light lying in a bright parallelogram across her bed. She groggily wondered where she was, staring up at the pale blue ceiling, at dancing sparkles of light that looked like water. She got to her feet and looked out the window. There was a huge pool out there, and from her third-floor window she could vaguely see people playing in it. Her mind backtracked fuzzily, and she realized Logan must have brought her back to Xavier's mansion. She quickly scrambled into her shoes and went out. She went down the corridor a way before seeing a flight of steps going down. There was a landing below at what she assumed was the second floor, then another flight presumably going to the first floor. She went down both flights and was standing uncertainly at the foot of the steps wondering where to go next, when a door opened at the end of that hall and Xavier himself came through. Sara blinked. He wasn't in the wheelchair she'd seen him yesterday; in fact, she couldn't classify it as a wheelchair at all! It hovered in the air about a foot off the ground, and she heard the near-inaudible whine of what sounded like a lift. She couldn't even begin to imagine how it worked, and she stood there gaping like a dumbstruck schoolgirl, before she remembered her manners and managed a startled, "Hello."

Xavier realized what she was staring at, and smiled slightly. "It was a gift to me…from someone who lives very far away," he said. She swallowed and blinked twice, getting back her usual demeanor after that.

"Thank you very much for allowing me to stay last night," she said, falling into step beside him as he turned down the hall.

"There wasn't much else we could do," he said lightly. "You were asleep before Logan brought you to the door."

Sara blushed. "I'm sorry--" she began.

Xavier waved a dismissive hand. "Don't be. We often have unexpected guests here, so we always have a spare room ready. It is nearly noon, and I don't believe there is much left from breakfast, but you're welcome to anything we might have in the refrigerator that suits you." He showed her into a large, spacious kitchen, and went himself to the refrigerator and got out the sliced roast beef Storm had recommended to him the day previous. She watched as he made a sandwich, hungry, but unwilling to intrude. When he gestured to the lunchmeat, however, she didn't hesitate any longer, but made herself a sandwich like his. They sat at the kitchen table, eating, Xavier talking about the X-Men.

They were nearly done with their quick meal when Gambit, Cyclops, Wolverine, and Warren came in, covered in motor oil and grease and smelling strongly of hot metal and sweat. Sara's jaw dropped at the sight of the four men, stripped to the waist, muscles rippling. She had to swallow the lump of bread in her mouth hard, twice, to keep from choking. Xavier looked at her with thinly disguised amusement, sensing her appreciation for four fine looking men. Jean, Rogue, and Betsy chose to make their appearance through the back door at just that moment, wearing the skimpiest of bathing suits and dripping from the pool, and Sara looked enviously at their toned physiques and made a firm resolution to pick up on her exercise at the gym. Her eyes strayed back to the men, and she nearly groaned.

Spectacular, aren't they? Jean spoke to her. Sara looked at her and saw her smiling. Scott's my husband, though, so don't look at him too hard or he'll get self-conscious. Sara blinked as Gambit turned away from the sink where he'd just washed his hands, and bent in a low bow over her hand. "Good afternoon, p'tite," he said, his French patois evident in his voice. "Gambit jus' finish fixin' your car. Hope you enjoy it."

"Well, he had some help," Scott said, drying his hands on the towel Jean offered him. "Dr. Ryan, I hope you didn't mind, but we took the liberty of fixing your car ourselves. It's not often I get to tinker around with a true classic like yours."

"Please, call me Sara. And no, I don't mind. I'd do it myself if I had the time." This time Sara's smile was warm, and devoid of the sensual pleasure she had felt earlier. This time it was one true car buff to another. She loved her 71 Chevelle; it was the one thing she hung onto when she'd left her husband. He could have everything else, but she wanted her metal baby. "She's painted in Shadow blue, so I named her Shadow. She's the one thing I hung on to when I left my husband. His lawyer told him she's not worth much, anyway; I think that's why he let me have her. He'd freak if I took his Mustang, or his Jag. Not that I'd want them, anyway." She made a dismissive clucking noise. "Although I do regret him keeping my Buell. I loved my bike."

Wolverine looked particularly interested in that, and the next several minutes were spent talking about bikes in general and theirs in particular. The others quietly slipped out, leaving Xavier, Sara, and Wolverine together. Xavier listened to the conversation for some time, assessing the young woman sitting before him. Her healing skills, while limited, would be a definite asset to the team, her willingness to help others fit in with their goals, and her cheerful personality made him smile. She was a wonderful woman, someone Xavier would have liked had his heart not already been claimed by another. She seemed to be getting along with Wolverine well, too. He was startled out of his reverie as she climbed to her feet, quietly insisting that she had to go.

"Stay," he said impulsively, and she looked at him, startled. "I mean it. Sara, I would like you to join the X-Men. Your presence would be welcome, and your skills would definitely be an asset."

She stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish before she remembered how to speak. "Uh. I.I don't know what to say, I…I can't fight, I've no skills for that… um." She ran out of words.

"I don't expect an answer right away," he said. "But please consider it."

Sara pondered that all the way home.