Author's Note: I was both overwhelmed and pleased with all of the reviews that I got on the first chapter of this story! Exactly the kind of response that I love to see! Thank you so much. Hope that you all like and respond to this chapter.

xXx

Logan growled as he punched the fan that he'd plugged into one of the electrical sockets of his bedroom. In reality, he really hadn't expected to get much cool air out of it, but it still annoyed him that his room felt like a damned oven and he hadn't been able to sleep because of the heat. Fatigue was starting to take its toll on him, making him irritable and edgy.

He sunk into his easy chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He craved a cigar, but didn't want anything that would increase the heat either in his room or in his body.

"Maybe I should go down to the kitchen and get a cold beer," he said to himself, "That is, if there aren't a thousand kids down there sitting in front of the fridge like last night."

Logan almost felt like laughing when he remembered the previous night, Storm in her terry cloth robe, with her hair all messed up, shooing about a dozen students out of the kitchen and then walking through it, irritably shutting the door to each of the three refrigerators and muttering to herself.

He crossed the room to his bed, and was just about to pick up the wife beater and pajama pants that he'd thrown on top of his disheveled covers in a fit of rage, when a strange smell pervaded his nostrils. Logan tilted his head as he inhaled and examined it. The odor was tangy, animalistic, and he smelt anger and passion along with it. And then, below it, he caught a scent that was all too familiar to him, that soft vanilla and sandalwood, tarnished by fear and pain.

"Storm…" he whispered. It was obvious to him that she was in trouble, and so he hastily pulled on his pants and shirt, and ran from his room, following the two mingling scents through the mansion. As he approached the kitchen, he heard panicked sobs and beastly grunts, and his blood began to boil with rage as a soft cry reached his ears.

Logan ran into the kitchen. When he clicked on the light, he was startled by what he saw. Storm was just a twisted mass of bleeding limbs and crimson-streaked platinum hair, sobbing beneath a huge, black expanse of fur. The attacker stopped his violation of the weather goddess when the light flooded the room, turning his livid orange eyes upon the source, the feral mutant who stood in the doorway; claws unsheathed and anger blazing on his face.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Logan asked, raising his claws. The panther-like mutant crawled off of Storm, standing nearly seven feet tall when he raised himself up, rearing at Logan. With a growl, the cat-man leapt at the other mutant, who jumped at him, nailing him right in the stomach with tearing claws of pure adamantium. The bigger of the two animalistic mutants yelped and staggered back, and the other man used this moment of weakness to spring at him once again, using his claws to rake across the panther's neck, drawing blood and making him choke as he tried to breathe.

"You fucked around with the wrong guy, bub," Logan said, impaling the other man on his claws, lifting the huge body above his head, and then hurling it towards the window, which shattered as the black mutant crashed through it, landing with a thud against the ground outside. With a metallic snickt, Logan sheathed his claws, turning his head to the soft sound of weeping coming from the corner of the room. The victim had curled herself into a ball of red-streaked flesh, burying her face in her hands as she cried.

"Storm?" Logan called out to her, his voice softening and the rage leaving his eyes.

"Logan?" she asked weakly, raising her head to look at him.

"Oh, God, Storm," he gasped at the sight of the long, deep scratches on her face. Kneeling down by her side, he reached a hand out to touch her, but she whimpered and pulled away.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry, Storm," whispered Logan, "My god, what did he do to you?" He surveyed her body, noticing that she was completely nude, scratched up and bleeding heavily. Then he looked around the room, only to see her white robe and torn white nightie lying in shreds on the floor.

"Oh jeez…" said Logan, "he didn't?" Ororo nodded and began to sob once again.

"Storm, we have to get you to the medical wing. You're all torn up; you need someone to look at you," he said, holding out his hand, which she recoiled from.

"No," she whispered, "I just want to go to my room and…take a shower. I have to wash him off of me, Logan."

"I understand, Storm, but you're seriously hurt. I'm taking you to the medical wing first. Now, can you stand up and walk, or am I gonna have to carry you?" he inquired. She shuddered at the thought of his hands on her bare skin, even if he was just trying to help. Pressing her palms flat on the floor, she tried to push herself up, but she was weak, drained, and she crumpled back against the cabinets upon which she'd been leaning.

"I'm gonna have to pick you up, darlin'," Logan informed her, "I'm sorry, but you're bleeding everywhere; you need someone to look at you." Ororo nodded weakly and closed her eyes as he descended upon her, lifting her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. Once again, he became aware of the fact that she was totally bare, and tried to place his hands so that he wasn't touching her anywhere inappropriate.

She was limp in his arms, like a rag doll, and feather-light, so that it was no trouble at all to get her to the medical wing and place her in one of the beds in the infirmary, making sure to pull the white blanket over her to cover her nudity. Ororo simply closed her eyes, then opened them and stared at the ceiling, saying nothing to him. She shivered slightly from the temperature in the room, and Logan retrieved another blanket to put over her, since her blood was rapidly staining the first one anyway.

"I'll come back to check on you, I promise," he whispered to her. For the first time all night, her eyes, with silent gratitude swimming beneath sorrow and pain, met his, and she nodded. Logan hurried from the room to find the (thankfully, female) doctor who stayed on call during the night-time and early morning hours, and once he'd explained the situation and directed her to the infirmary, he left to clean up the mess in the kitchen.

He took care of the body first. When he got back to where he'd thrown the panther-mutant, he found instead of man who looked to be about thirty years old, much shorter and less muscular than he'd been in his panther form, with a mop of jet-black hair. Logan searched the face for any sign that he recognized the man, but found none.

"Not that it matters, anyway," he said to himself, "Asshole's fucking dead, the way he belongs." Taking out his claws to aid him, Logan hefted the body and, having little time and a job still to be done in the kitchen; he went out to the garden shed and grabbed two heavy sandbags. Once he reached the usually placid lake that lay at the very edge of the school grounds, he tied the bags to each of the corpse's feet and threw it in. As the body sank to the bottom, Logan said a silent prayer that no one would come down to the lake until he got a chance to dig a hole and throw the dead man in.

After taking care of this nasty business, Logan went to clean the kitchen, throwing Storm's torn nightgown and robe into the garbage and cursing to himself as he wiped the blood from the floor and counters. He wished that he could have stayed in the medical wing, just to be close to Storm in case there was anything that he could possibly do for her, but the kitchen was badly in need of a scrub-down. It wouldn't do to have any of the students wandering in for an early-morning snack or glass of water and seeing a pile of tattered clothes and pools of blood on the floor.

Once he finished with the kitchen, Logan disposed of the rag that he'd used to clean and hurried back to the medical wing. He found Storm sitting up on the same bed that he'd left her in, wearing a white hospital-type gown and chewing on her lower lip as the doctor's practiced and gentle hands wrapped her wrist in gauze.

"Is she OK?" he asked as he approached the bed. The doctor looked away from her work only briefly, but Storm's head turned, and she didn't take her eyes away from Logan as he came nearer to her.

"That depends on your definition of OK," replied the doctor, "Physically, her wounds will heal relatively quickly. Emotionally…" she trailed off and went back to her work. Storm looked away, saying nothing. When the doctor was finished, she stood up and handed two rolls of gauze and other supplies to Logan.

"I guess you could say it was pointless to wrap her up right now, since she's told me that she's only going to take a shower once she gets to her room, but I had to stop the bleeding. Go to her room with her, make sure she waits until the bleeding's stopped before she bathes, and, once she's done, help her to re-wrap herself. It's important that the wounds stay covered," the doctor advised him. He nodded and went to stand in front of Storm.

"Are you gonna be able to walk back to your room, or do ya need me to carry you again, darlin'?" he asked.

"I can walk," she whispered, "just help me off of the bed." He nodded and took her by the arms, helping her to the floor. When he let go of her; however, her legs buckled beneath her, and he had to grab her to keep her from falling.

"Damn it," she cursed softly, "I guess the…the sedative he used on me is still…"

"He drugged you, Storm?" Logan asked, anger rising up in him once more. She nodded.

"I told the doctor. She said not to worry about it; that it'll wear off," she said.

"I think it'll be easier if I carry you," he said.

"I think you're right," she admitted regretfully, holding her arms out to wrap around his neck once he had her off of the ground.

xXx

Logan sat on the chaise lounge that Ororo kept in her room right next to her bookcase. Idly, he pulled books off of the shelves, read two or three pages, and then replaced them, only to grab another book and repeat the action. He waited in nervous contemplation for Storm to finish her shower, not knowing what he was going to say to or do for her once she emerged from the bathroom.

Words had come easily enough when he was panicked; concerned for her safety, but what does one say in the quiet, calm moments to someone who's just had their dignity stolen from them? How does one comfort a woman who's been violated in the worst way possible? Would she even accept the consolation he may try to give her, or would she simply force him from the room and barricade herself inside, refusing to speak to anyone? Somehow that didn't seem like Storm; Logan couldn't picture her ever being so weak, but how knew how she would react? Surely he did not.

He looked up when he heard the door to the bathroom open, and, to his utter surprise, Storm walked out of the bathroom totally nude. She gasped when she saw that he was still in the room, and took a step back into the bathroom, attempting to cover her most private places. Logan closed his eyes and turned towards the wall.

"I'm sorry," he said, "It's OK now; I'm not looking."

"No," she replied, "I didn't expect you to still be here. It's all right. You may as well open your eyes; it's not like you've never seen me like this before."

"Yeah, but I wasn't payin' attention to details earlier," Logan told her.

"No matter. I know that you've seen me. I've felt your eyes on me, Logan, in the evenings when I fly in the nude," she pointed out, stepping into the bedroom. In shock, he opened his eyes and turned around.

"Well…umm…" he stammered, "only when I…happened to be outside." She gave him a weak smile and walked towards her dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a pair of black lace panties. As she walked by, Logan found himself watching, mesmerized by the sway of her hips and the perfection of her breasts and behind…

"Stop it, bub," he scolded himself, "Jeez, the woman was raped not an hour and a half ago and you're doin' nothing but starin' at her stuff, asshole."

"In a way, I'm glad that you stayed," Storm said, shaking him from his reverie, "I think you're the only one whose presence I find to be a comfort right now."

"Me?" he asked, taken aback.

"Yes," she said, pulling a black nightie over her head and sitting down on her bed, "What would…he have done to me…if you hadn't…?"

"Don't think about that, Storm," he said, moving towards her, "thoughts like that aren't gonna do you any good."

"I know, but I can't help it, Logan. You saved me. You're the only one who knows, who understands," she replied.

"Yeah. Well, I…uhh…I just stayed here so that I could help you put yer bandages on. If you need help, that is," he told her, taking the gauze and other dressings that the doctor had given him off of her nightstand. She nodded, and pulled her nightie back off, exposing the wounds that had been ripped down her sides and stomach, and the bite marks on her left breast.

"Oh, jeez, Storm. I'm sorry, darlin'," Logan breathed, taking in the entirety of what had been done to her for the first time.

"Why?" she asked, "It's not your fault; you didn't do it."

"No, I meant…I'm sorry this happened to ya, that you've gotta go through this." She nodded and bit her lip, fighting back tears, as he bandaged her up. When he was through, he stood up and handed her nightie to her. She took it gratefully and slid it back over her head.

"What am I going to do until this heals, Logan?" she asked, holding her hand out to him. He took it and held it gingerly between both of his. He knew that she was reaching out for the comfortable touch of someone who meant her no harm, but he didn't know how to react. "How am I going to explain this to the students?"

"I don't know, Storm," he said, "maybe you could just…stay where they can't see ya, at least until the scratches on your face and neck heal. I can bring yer food and stuff to you, and…just tell the kids that you're sick or something."

"I guess that'll be the only plan that's going to work," she said, hot tears spilling over onto her cheeks. She pulled her sheets up around her, lying against her pillow and sobbing into it.

"Is…umm…is there anything else that I can do for ya, Storm?" he asked, "Anything else ya need?"

"Yeah," she whispered, "Stay with me tonight, Logan. I don't know where you'll sleep, but just…stay. I want to fall asleep knowing that you're here…just in case."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, I can do that. I'll sleep on your little…sofa…thing," he replied, indicating the chaise. Through her tears, she smiled just a bit.

"Thank you," she whispered, so softly that he didn't hear.