Ororo stayed with Logan all that night, but he never seemed to see her. His gaze was flat, empty, totally distant now.
It was like looking into the retreating sun, seeing the light flow away as the darkness slid down, trying to lay claim to the warmth.
The others stayed away.
She knew they were ashamed, sorry, but that was not enough.
Not now.
Logan had not broken - if he had, there would be nothing but emptiness. Coldness. Instead there was flat distance, not complete loss.
She prayed, enjoining the Goddess to give her strength and wisdom.
Ororo saw eddies of pain flick dark in those eyes, now cooled to amber.
Sitting there, holding his limp body against her, she raged inwardly, barely aware that outside, thunder cracked with that fury, the sky darkening, the rain coming down as if all the angels of heaven wept.
She sang the same tune to him, seeing the tiniest flicker of awareness before his consciousness ducked back to safety. But she rocked him, crooned meaningless melodies, stroked his amniotic-fluid slick hair, tried to call him back.
But there was no reply.
Looking now into his face, seeing the closed eyes, the tawny skin, the sideburns and dark hair, she saw his intact body, but without the passion that burned so deeply within him.
It was like looking into the face of darkness, seeing it's empty, shadowed eyes stare back.
And the thought came to her that there had been no sunlight or snow, these last days. No warmth or scents to give depth and meaning to Logan's world, only metal and the blandly gray jumpsuit that must have been a hardship in it's laundered scents and empty meaning.
It must be. The mansion was a dead thing to him, the wood flat and featureless, the colors without vibrancy. Trapped now, caged, and tormented, how could he ever find his way back?
No, that was not it.
Why would he find his way back?
What was waiting?
The last, final betrayal.
The terrible realization that he could not trust the very ones he had begun to rely on.
Being locked in a metal room, fed food that must smell of death and machines, how long until his body withered away? Would his regenerative factor keep him alive, mind trapped, indomitable soul smothered, in some soulless, featureless cage the rest of his life?
No.
No!
Ororo made a decision then, one that she knew would mean stepping onto a new path.
She stroked his hair, murmured, as she managed to draw him to his feet.
Surprisingly he stayed there, empty eyes disinterested, simply standing there, not vivid, not alive, not Logan.
Just a shell.
She took his hand, coaxed him out the door, watching the hallway with heart beating in her throat.
Back to her room?
No time.
She coaxed him along, feeling the tread of muscles that made him silent even now.
He did not respond to anything outside the simplicity of placing one foot in front of the other.
Ororo felt the tug of tears, but forced them down.
"Logan." she soothed, stroking his arm, keeping him beside her as she walked, hand threaded through his.
Xavier was sleeping, a fitful sleep, and Jean had finally gone to bed, but Scott and Hank were awake, obviously grieving, in shock, uncertain.
Ororo guided Logan to the elevator, felt his hands tense, muscles rippling, aching to extend his claws, as the vehicle suddenly dropped, registering as change in his consciousness.
She stared at him, speaking softly, soothingly, about her plan, the need to leave.
The only eddy-sensation-thought Ororo received was brief, so yearning that it hurt.
Free. Memories of the muscles flowing in a run, the leaps from place to place, seeing the golden fire in the sky and the silver that took it's place in the night, bringing song and the hunt.
To the elevator.
Logan's eyes flickered with something, just briefly, but his claws did not come out to tear into the young woman's hands.
Down.
The Blackbird.
A combination of Terran and Sh'iar technology, one of the most advanced aircraft in existence on the planet.
Ororo helped Logan up the ramp, though at first he balked, clearly not sure, before emptiness returned.
Showing him the safety of the plane involved going in, allowing him to draw a scent, then spending precious minutes coaxing him into a seat, patting his hands gently as she wrapped the buckles gently around him.
She had stopped for only two small objects, which she had to work to get Logan to swallow.
He sniffed it, rumbled, awareness coming and going, dangerously fragile.
"It's good. See, Ill swallow mine." Ororo showed him, and saw his eyes swing toward her, still dark, so full of pain and the shattered awareness that only faintly flickered.
One of Hank's experiments, the tiny little chips sat in a sugar pill, but they performed an invaluable service - they were anti-mutant-detection chips, two of the five in existence.
Her's tasted sweet, but it was hard to swallow despite herself, in a throat so very dry.
Buckling herself in, she refused to think of the mansion she was leaving, the life that had been her's. Sharing in a dream. The bonds of family.
But not now.
Perhaps never again.
Wrapping the buckles around herself, she hot-keyed the jet into action, feeling the flare of it's engine as it rocketed forward and out of the hidden bay. In a moment, they were skyborne - and out of the X-Men's reach.
Logan remained slumped in his seat, eyes showing no reaction at all as the jet's pulses of energy deflected sensors of all kinds, after he had stiffened briefly at the odd sounds.
Bird. was the pulse-flicker, confusion at the scents of metal and ozone, and he had almost tried to claw out.
"Logan, it's all right." she comforted, putting a hand on his.
Suddenly, she got an idea.
Shutting down the second station's flight ability, she activated the lights and turned on the teaching mode.
Flickering lights and the sensation of clicking buttons seemed to hold his interest until he finally assumed his current pose and again faded into his state of unawareness.
She hoped he would rest, the flight was obviously trying on his senses.
For Ororo had a very special place in mind to land.
It took less than an hour, and she was grateful for the telepathic shields she had erected over her career as an X-Man. She did not answer the first concerned then frantic calls from both Jean and Xavier, she simply refused to acknowledge them in any way, keeping the shields tight and flat, showing nothing.
The wheels bumped against the ground.
Unbuckling Logan was easier than she had hoped, and she tapped in the commands to the autopilot while she loosed herself.
Exiting, she heard the excited voices and the language of her childhood, reassuring sounds, as she released Logan.
He didn't move.
"Please, Logan." she coaxed, and finally he rose, following her with raw, unsteady steps.
Soon the steps retracted and the great black jet rose soundlessly into the night sky, autopilot taking it back to base.
She went out to speak to the people, aware that Logan would likely bolt or attack if exposed suddenly to the myriad scents and sounds of people again.
"Windrider!" came the cry, one of joy, as she summoned a gentle, soothing breeze, the beginning of a tender rain.
But she spoke quietly to the people, aware of Logan's utter withdrawal, and walked back to him.
"It is safe, Logan. This place is my home." Ororo told him, hand on his arm.
His muscles rippled, claws popping, clearly he was ready to fight or flee.
She caressed his wrist until the claws retracted, murmuring soothingly. He closed his eyes, breathing, scenting, deciding on whether this place was more than the horrible cage - wild sensation-ripple of fear-pain-horror - NO! NO CAGE! NO! - of the other place.
Logan stirred suddenly, uttering a low, incomprehensible sound.
His eyes had opened, but that horrible flatness was gone.
He glanced around with all the curiosity of a child, expression somehow thoughtful as he sniffed the air, lifting his head to consider his new surroundings.
Eddy-sensation of cleanness, of distant flowers and flowing wind, dust and wind and sun. Scent of water nearby, rocks rich with age and steadiness.
For no young land was this, rather a primal and untamed world born of the union between earth and wind, sun and water.
Ororo looked up at the distant peak of Kilimanjaro, feeling Logan's tentative awareness beside her, his disconnection still present, but awareness there, edging the amber back, slowly, back toward the golden richness only his gaze could contain.
Yes, this was home.
The grove she had so loved was still there, denser and richer, and she hoped to let Logan touch it, experience it, once more fill his senses with the living world.
It would, without a doubt, take time, perhaps a long time.
But she was determined.
Again, she looked back toward the great peak, feeling a strong sense of her Africa lovingly welcoming her home, but what surprised her was the equally strong sense it extending arms toward the still only semi-conscious Logan, offering comfort and home to him as well.
Perhaps Xavier would come again, try to take her from this holy place, ancient beyond civilization's knowing, but not this time.
She was the Windrider again, Storm, Ororo, free of the need to be among the saviors of the world, the need to fight and struggle with a world gone mad.
This was home.
That, at least, she could give Logan.
Time for him to be Logan, and the Wolverine, both, free of judgment or duress.
For Africa sang it's own song, so different from busy, frantic-paced America, a deep, rich lullaby to comfort souls and heal both the mind and body.
Yes, she would once more be an incarnation of the Goddess for her people, who had not given up the simple, ancient ways, in favor of the modern.
Perhaps Logan would see the children not crave the electronic music dispensed from machines, but the songs and rich history of their elders, growing in the sense of community and inner strength, in union and respect with Mother Africa.
Perhaps he could heal here - but even if he never returned as the man she had known, he would grow, she prayed.
Perhaps Africa would sing her sweet lullaby to him and set him free.
His eyes were shadowed again, like bruises forming on the sun.
She stroked his shoulder until he looked up at Kilimanjaro.
And she whispered one sentence to him.
"That is your father."
Logan seemed to see the ancient mountain, just for that moment, as the sun kissed it tenderly before laying herself to sleep near it's base, filling the sky with perfect fire and earth, wind and water, fluttering wildly in the sky for the man who could see so deeply as he.
She stood next to him while he stood there, and inwardly rejoiced when he turned to follow her.
Yes.
This was home.