Chapter 6

Wolverine gunned his engine and spurred his bike on a little faster. The scenery was a blur as he sped up, over the hill and down. Only when he was at the bottom of it did he sneak a peek behind him at his pursuer.

Sara was about twenty feet behind him, laughing like a maniac as she pushed her bike's speed up to match his. She hadn't ridden it in a while, and her handling of the machinery below her, though skillful, was nothing like his. Wolverine turned his attention to the road ahead, to the sharp curve ahead on the road, and used all his skill to turn the bike around the sixty-degree turn. The engine whined in protest, getting louder, almost drowning out the sound of the high-pitched scream behind him. Almost.

He spun his bike around, saw no Sara behind him. He turned off the bike and sprinted back down the road to the turn. The bike lay in a twisted metal heap at the base of the tree, barely recognizable as a motorcycle. Sara lay under it, white and still. Heart hammering in shock and terror, Wolverine pulled her out from under it, pulling off her helmet. "Sara!" he leaned over her, patting her cheek desperately, "Sara, wake up, wake up, come on!" he placed his ear against her lips, to hear her breathing. She was, but there was a rapidly spreading pool of blood under her, and her heartbeat was so faint he could barely hear it.

Having a telepathic thread connecting the X-Men by Charles and Jean was a useful thing to have. He reached deep inside his own mind, feeling that faint silver thread of mental communication brighten as he called desperately down it. JEAN! CHUCK! HELP! SARA!

Scott was in the garage working on his Mustang when Jean stumbled in, frantically pulling on her jacket. "Jean, what's wrong?"

"Logan," she gasped out, winded from running down three flights of steps. She'd been in the Danger Room with Storm when the psychic call came through. Storm was flying directly to the scene with Rogue to check on them, and she had promised to get Scott and the car down there. She had woken Hank and told him to get the infirmary ready as she grabbed her jacket and ran for the garage. "He and Sara were racing their bikes down Hell's Road. She didn't know about the sharp turn there at the bottom of the hill and crashed. She's hurt bad."

Scott needed no further explanation, but jumped into the driver's side. Hell's Road was a desolate, little used stretch of road the X-Men used to test their vehicles and driving skills on. Wolverine was adept at cornering the turn. It wasn't that tricky, but if you didn't know there was a turn there you could mess up really bad. The state police had closed the road a few years back because people kept crashing their cars there; mostly drunk people playing daredevils. Xavier didn't know about them using the road, and they'd never told him. He would have chided them about its unsafe nature. They had all been confident about their abilities to negotiate that turn, and most of them were, though Gambit had scraped himself up rather well the last time he went down it in his pickup when he'd had a few too many. Scott couldn't imagine what had possessed Logan to take her down Hell's Road, but that could wait till later.

They weren't far from the mansion, so it didn't take long for them to reach him. He sat in the middle of the road, tears of remorse and anguish filling his eyes as he cradled the young woman in his arms. Storm and Rogue were already there, with one of Hank's mobile medikits on the ground between them. Storm already had a stabilizing collar around her neck, and Rogue was busy trying to staunch the blood flow from the shattered bone sticking out of her hip. Scott noted rather distantly the smell of alcohol on Wolverine's breath, but their first priority was Sara. She had already started to heal; the minor scrapes, cuts, and bruises were fading, and the torn, bleeding blood vessels were sealing themselves over. Not quickly enough, though. Having Storm and Rogue airlift her to the infirmary wasn't an option; one look at the collar and her hip showed that as an impossibility.

"All right. Jean, see if you can get her onto the backseat of the car with as little movement as possible. Can you keep a telekinetic cushion around her so she doesn't roll around on the way back?" Jean nodded as she lifted Sara into the car. "'Ro, Rogue, get back to the mansion. Tell Hank what happened, get him prepared for her. Logan, follow us on your bike. We'll come back for hers later." He got into the car, suppressing the urge to say what he wanted to say; something along the lines of, you stupid ass, what the hell were you thinking taking her down this goddamned road! But Sara was more important.

Hank had everything ready when Jean brought Sara down to the infirmary. He didn't say anything as he hooked her up to an IV and what looked like half the Shi'ar medical equipment in the lab. "I can't do much," he said. "Her body's going to do most of it on its own, but I want to see what's going on with her hip. Get out, everyone." He put on surgical gloves and gown, just barely remembering to soften the command with a 'please.' Jean herself was getting into the same, and everyone was trying not to look at Logan as they left. Xavier met the somber group outside the room, looking worried and angry all at once.

"Logan," he snapped, "What the hell were you thinking? Didn't you even think to tell her about the hill, and the turn? She's not telepathic, did you expect that she would just automatically know? It's quite bad enough that you all use Hell's Road to practice driving on, but to drag her out there…Yes, Scott," he turned to Scott, "I know about your 'training sessions' on that road. The reason I didn't say anything was because it really is good practice for the Blackbird. But she's not a pilot, and she had no business being on that road," (back to Logan now) "and that was the stupidest, most irresponsible thing I have ever seen any of you do! Especially after you'd been out drinking! Damn it Logan, when are you going to stop being so…so…" he floundered for words, "so stupid?!" He swung his hoverchair around and left. The X-Men were left standing there in silence. Scott was about to say something when he got a good look at Logan's face and the words died unsaid. Wolverine had such an expression of self-loathing on his face and such fear and remorse and sorrow that he was probably doing a better job of lecturing himself than Scott ever could. By silent agreement they all walked away, leaving Logan staring through the observation window at the too-still form lying on the table under Hank and Jean's hands.

He stared through the window, not really seeing what was going on inside as he berated himself for his thoughtlessness in taking his love down that road. He and Sara had taken off that evening, hitting some of the local nightspots they both knew, and he knew he had drunk a lot. Things got a bit blurry after the third bar they'd visited. It had been almost one when they left the last one, and he was just fortunate that Jean and Scott had still been awake. He knew himself how lucky he'd been that the cold night air and the long ride back had taken the edge off the liquor somewhat. Sara, though, was obviously unused to drinking, and her healing factor didn't deal as efficiently as his did with the alcohol. Dear God, he thought to himself, what have I done? What is my carelessness going to cost her? Will she make it? Will she survive? Will I survive if she doesn't make it? But there were no answers, either from God or himself, as the night wore on and he watched Hank and Jean try to save her.

Everyone was tense and worried at the table that morning. Xavier said nothing, and ignored Logan totally when he did see him. Logan sat at the table, looking drawn and tired and terribly worried, and didn't eat anything. They didn't say much to him, though Storm, despite her own anger at Logan's carelessness, rested a hand lightly on his shoulder for a moment in sympathy.

It was almost lunch when Jean came into the kitchen, slumping with a weary sigh at the kitchen table. She didn't have to say a word; the expression on her face spoke volumes. It wasn't good news.

"She's dying," Scott said flatly.

Jean managed a small smile. "No, she's not. She woke briefly after surgery, seemed alert, and calm. The thing is… her hips…they were completely shattered when her bike fell on her. She can't feel a single thing below her waist. Hank and I tried." Her head fell on her arms, and she leaned into Scott's embrace as she began to cry. "Oh, God…we tried everything, everything the Shi'ar have given us, and it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. We can't restore feeling to her legs. The damage to her nerves is too great to restore. We can only hope that her body fixes itself, somehow. There's nothing else we can do." She wept for a while, and the only sound was her muffled sobs and Scott's quiet ssh's as he stroked her hair. She raised her head, at last, and lashed out at Logan in her exhaustion and anger. "What in the name of God were you thinking, taking her out on that goddamned road? She hasn't been on that bike in ages, she told me so! And to get her drunk, too! She's not invincible like you!"

Logan stared at Jean, his eyes full of anguish. "Jean…" he croaked weakly. "Please, darlin', I feel bad 'nuff a'ready…"

"You! Always you! What about her, you selfish son of a bitch! What about how she'll feel? She's going to have to learn to live with this. She's going to be in a wheelchair like the Professor, and it will be YOUR FAULT! Do you hear me? Your fault! She loves you, God knows why, and this is how you repay that love! God, Wolverine, go to hell!" Jean stomped out of the room. Scott ran after her. The others stared in shock at her outburst. They turned to look at Logan.

He sat there, shocked, stunned, his soul bleeding from the cutting words. All night he had been thinking about himself, how he was sorry, how he felt, but he hadn't once considered that she might not recover, that she might be crippled. With a desperate, anguished sound he turned, ran from the room, from the mansion, getting on his motorcycle, the one he'd been trying to impress her with, and fled.

In the infirmary, Sara stared at the ceiling, tears trickling silently down her cheeks, too weak to cry aloud. She'd wanted to impress him, show him she was tough, and could handle anything, and now here she was, lying here unable to move a toe. She felt like a stupid jackass. And now Logan would think she was too. Too stupid to know when she'd reached her limits, too dumb to know when to quit, too busy trying to impress him. And now she was helpless, and he really would be tied down to her, having to babysit her. It wasn't something he could do for long without killing him inside. Logan was never meant to be tied down to anyone or anything. She would lose the only man she had ever really loved because of her stupidity. And that, more than anything else, was what made her cry. Hank had asked, when she awoke, if she wanted to see him, and she had said no. He had said nothing, and went away, leaving her alone.

She stayed in the infirmary for two weeks, unwilling to go out and face everyone. Storm and Betsy had tried to come in to talk, but she had told Hank she didn't want to see anyone, and he had told them she wasn't ready for visitors. It was partly true; her back hurt, aching so badly sometimes she would cry with the pain, but when she did, she did it silently. Neither Hank nor Jean knew how much pain she was in. Worse than the pain in her body though was the pain in her heart. Logan hadn't come to see her, not once. His rejection of her hurt more than anything else, though she told herself constantly that it was best. He wouldn't want to be tied down to a cripple. So she never asked Hank about him.

Xavier had asked about her, and each day Hank told him no. He understood what she was going through, more than anyone else could, because he had gone through it himself. But this withdrawal wasn't healthy, and one morning he insisted to Hank, quietly but firmly, that he had to see her. Hank allowed him in.

Sara looked up as Xavier came in, and he was alarmed by how pale and thin she had become. She wasn't eating well, that was obvious. She was a ghost of her former self, so changed it was painful just to look at her. "Sara?" he ventured quietly.

She looked at him listlessly. "Yes," she mumbled, her thin fingers playing with the pages of the book in her lap.

"You can't hide in here forever," he said gently, reaching out to take her hands in his. She flinched away from his touch. He didn't try again. Later he wondered why he hadn't tried to touch her mind and body again, because it would have saved them all so much heartache. But he let it go, let her have the privacy she wanted.

"I know," she said listlessly, fidgeting with her book again. "I promise, when I've healed as much as I can, I'll leave. I'll find another place to live."

"That's not what I meant," he said gently. "You're welcome to stay here. In fact, it would be easier for you to stay here. The mansion is already equipped to deal with wheelchairs and handicapped equipment. And I could help. Please, Sara. Let me help you."

Sara felt like screaming inside, but she bit her lip and stayed silent. She didn't deserve his help. She had been a stupid ass. He shouldn't have to take time out from his busy schedule to help her out. Her mother had told her, once, very long ago, when she had gotten in trouble in school, "Well, Sara, you made your bed, now lie in it. Pay for your mistakes, that's how the world works." The lesson had been beaten into her time and time again by Richard. Now she would pay in the most precious kind of coin; her own pain. So be it.

"I don't need help," she said, forcing her voice to lighten a bit. "I'm doing fine, really." She looked at the wheelchair that Hank had placed beside her bed. "I guess I should start learning how to use this thing," she said as she placed the book on her bedside table.

Ten minutes and a lot of pain later she was in it. Xavier smiled even as he noted the lines at the corners of her eyes, and spoke telepathically to Hank. Hank, what kind of pain medication is she on?

Nothing yet, he sounded surprised. She said she didn't need any, that it didn't hurt much.

It's the same thing I said to Moira after my accident, Xavier said. It took her a while to realize how much pain I was really in, and another long while for me to realize how much I really needed it. I think Sara's going through the same thing. Can you give her something?

Certainly. Deed followed word, and soon Sara was feeling much more comfortable as the medication sank in. She looked ruefully at him. "Thanks. I didn't realize how much I needed that." She looked at Xavier. "Will it always hurt like this?"

Xavier looked sympathetic. "Yes, it will. Every day. I learned, eventually, to suppress it, and you will get used to it after a while and not notice it, but yes, it will hurt like this all the time." She looked like she was going to cry at that, and he almost hugged her, but she stiffened, dropped that stoic mask over her face that he was going to learn to hate over the long months ahead, and said, "Let's see how I'm supposed to get this moving."

They made their way slowly up to her room on the third floor, and soon she found herself looking at her things. Everything was the way she'd left it; almost. She thought at first that nothing had been touched, then realized with a pang that his things were gone. That fateful night she had been doing paperwork from the hospital at her desk, with Logan flipping through channels as he sprawled across her--their--bed. She had been more than a little frustrated with the work, and that was when he had suggested they go bar-hopping. She had closed up the folders, glad of a diversion as he hunted out one of his shirts from the pile of laundry at the end of her bed, and they had gone. The laundry was still there, but his clothing was gone. So he had moved out of their room too. The rejection cut like a knife through her heart, and she almost started crying again. Xavier was watching her, though, and she pushed it all down deep inside her, choosing instead to start putting all her laundry back in the drawers.

The bathroom was the hardest. She could not get herself up onto the commode, no matter how she tried, and fell quite a number of times before she admitted to Xavier, on the edge of tears, that she couldn't do it. They ended up taking his lift down to the second floor where his room was, and he allowed her to use his bathroom while he thought. The answer came to him suddenly as he went down the hall in his hoverchair. There was an empty room at the end of the hall; she could move in there, and have access to the modified bathroom he used for himself. It seemed simple to him, but she looked horrified at him when she came out and he told her what he planned.

"I'd be invading your privacy!" She couldn't imagine him actually wanting her to move in there, wanting her to share his bathroom. The inconvenience of it shocked her, that he would do that for her. But he insisted. When she would have protested again, he pointed out to her quite reasonably that she really couldn't use either of the two women's bathrooms, and it made more sense for her to use this one than for him to have to outfit another whole bathroom for her. She conceded his point, and he called the guys in to move her things from her room to the one at the end of the hall.