Regression & Progression | Storm & Wolverine
Logan knew Ororo’s voice as well as he knew his own. He knew the tone she took when he was pushing her buttons. He knew when something was on her mind but she wasn’t quite ready to talk about it. He knew when she was truly happy. Knowing that she was in trouble was the reason that he’d sprinted out of the dining room and was taking the stairs two at a time. In a deep pit inside his mind, he knew there was a risk leaving the bunch of kids behind and was reminded of his abandonment as he heard other brawls mixed in with the screams and panic of students Kurt was ushering to safety. But that knowledge was too far away from where the rest of his focus had been. Ororo was an incredible woman--one of many reasons why he loved her and would be marrying her one day. There was little to tell him what he was going to rush into, but the fear he currently possessed hadn’t been for himself. His massive frame lumbered effortlessly through the library’s double doors and after his eyes speedily darted around the heaps of broken tables, fallen shelves and scattered books. It took less than two seconds for his nose to pick out Ororo’s scent through the whirl of dust and other body aromas. Hazel hues caught up with the scent and the moment he zeroed in on the hazardous mound of toppled bookcases, Logan’s entire six-plus frame went rigid and his lips slowly parted, almost revealing his once gritted teeth. Having his full memories restored, there were select moments where he could recall his heart stopping; this had been another one to add to the few other times it had occurred. It didn’t take long after for him to snap to and bound over the debris, smashing the already busted shelves and tables in the wake of his boot-clad steps. “Ro!” he barked, nearing the mass he knew she was trapped under.
The weight of the rubble sapped the air from Ororo’s lungs while the sharp edges of books, shelves and other debris pricked her back like a thousand needles. Unsure if she actually yelled his name or imagined it, she writhed back and forth, attempting to free herself from the trap carefully crafted by Riptide. However, every attempt only seemed to press her further into the pile, plunging her into darkness. Her vision adjusted instantly and after a quick assessment, she began to slowly extricate herself from the bookcase that was pinning her. In doing so, its contents slid, landing directly on top of her. Managing to shield her head from the impact at the last possible second, she decided to wait for help to arrive, attempting to keep her emotions in check despite the fear rising deep within her. Hearing the commotion from the battles occurring around the library only served to make her feel more helpless than she was. She was supposed to be leading the students into safety, not stuck powerless underneath a pile of rubble. Her breaths grew shallow, as if she needed to conserve the remaining oxygen. Consciously, she realized that it was starting– the tension in her knuckles, the heaving of her chest and the thumping of her heart all pointed to the obvious. Still, the will to not re-live the inevitable kept her tied to reality a little longer than she previously thought was possible considering the circumstances. You are in the library. At the Xavier Institute. In New York. In North America. You’re here. Not there. Facts were what she kept repeating. Facts would help her to remain sane. He heard you and he’s coming. He has to.
“Ro!” Logan called out again as soon as he heard the shifting of books. His shoes were compressing splayed books into one another, causing him to lose his balance; out of aggravation, he shoved them away with one foot and immediately gripped at a piece of a shelf, still attached to the rest of a large case. The muscles in his biceps tensed slightly as he pulled but within seconds, he saw a second bookcase sliding closer to the ground, possibly crushing her. The skin between his thick brows creased as he glared and spat, “Dammit!” between his clenched teeth. His strategic mentality kicked in quickly as he continued talking to his fianceé. “I promise I’m gonna get ya outta here, Darlin’ but I gotta hear your voice.” I gotta know you’re alive in there was a thought he immediately ordered himself not to think. “Tell me s’more about those flowers you want for the wedding.” Attempting at a light joke, despite his restless eyes desperate to figure a safe out for her, he added, “I’m listenin’ this time, I promise.”
Ororo blinked once, limbs motionless as wood turned into stone before her eyes. The doll her grandmother had sent all the way from New Jersey was slowly burning underneath the rubble. Her tiny arm stretched to collect it, but it was just out of reach. The smell of melting plastic was overpowering and no matter how long she held her breath to avoid the scent, it was still buried deep inside her nostrils, its pungent fragrance serving as a reminder of what happened. Time was something she had lost the ability to measure, ever since she called out for them and received no answer. Their groans ceased long ago, replaced by the occasional slippage of material that used to comprise her home. “Baba?” Maybe this was all a dream and all she had to do was wake up to fix it. “Mama?” Silence greeted her cries again and she convinced herself they were sleeping. It was comforting. Sleep was an inviting distraction from the pain of knowing. Her eyes shut, halting the effort of searching for their faces in the darkness. She was tired. A nap would help and maybe, by the time she awoke, everything would be as it should. The three of them laughing as Baba snapped photos to send back home to Babu and Bibi who would place them on the mantel along with the others. She would see it when she visited them in the summer. The lure of the reunion lulled her into a restful sleep.
There was a slight climb in Logan’s heartbeat when he hadn’t heard his fianceé respond to him but he forced his mind not to think the absolute worst. He hadn’t taken that long to get here, had he? After a violent shake of his head to immediately expel those thoughts as well, his eyes speedily followed the pattern which the bookcases had fallen, finally locking in on the bottom-most of them. The one above it seemed to be smashed into it at a corner, hinging the two together. As he took a long breath to fill his lungs, the smell of vomit wafting from the broken windows, made his nostrils flare; he didn’t know where it had come from but the momentary distraction caused him to growl. Wide, capable fingers gripped at the bottom-most shelf but before he’d applied any force to it, he heard Ororo’s voice, soft and minimal but his hypersensitive ears had without a doubt picked up her voice calling out to her parents. Mild relief washed over him but he felt an invasive constriction across his chest as he readjusted his stance and closed his fingers around the corner of the bookshelf. He heaved it up, lifting with it, the other cases over it. The top-most shelf was sliding slowly off, alleviating some of the weight, and a few more books had fallen but his efforts were working as he created more space below. While not the heaviest things he’d ever handled, he found himself grunting and speaking through ground teeth. “‘Ro…” Looking down past his his chest, in between the overlain cases, he saw snowy tresses but couldn’t see her face. “‘Ro, look at me,” he softly pled, his teeth still clenched tightly together. He knew one of his hands could support the weight of the remaining cases he’d been holding, but with his now free hand extending to her, he had been just out of reach. Frustration flared up, matching his level of concern; if he could lean in just a little further, he could close his hand around the top of her arm and pull her out toward the opening he’d been creating. Leaning in anymore than he was, however, would shift the entire unintended structure. It felt like Jenga, but he had to stay put and hope he could talk her down from her anxiety. “I’m right here, Love. You just gotta look up okay?” The tips of his fingers were beginning to shake as he kept his hand extended to her, but he ignored it while his natural gruff timbre tried to remind her, “I’m right here. We’re at the school and I’m gonna get you safe, but I need you to help me. It’s me and you.”
Darkness gave way to light and Ororo stared at the remnants of her childhood home. Shrapnel from an airplane’s wing was teetering precariously over what used to be the kitchen. The cover of night had shielded her from the horrible truth of her new surroundings. To her horror, someone’s torso had served as a pillow she rested on the previous night. The tattered plaid shirt was covered in the same blood and soot that stained the left side of her face. Over and over again she tried to wipe herself clean but the remainder of her ordeal was matted within her milky white hair. Tears didn’t come, the terror buried far too deep to present itself as anything but numbness. Unable to move, she peered to her right spotting her mother’s blue slingback heel. It had only been worn once, at a party her parents threw the week before. Despite the dust now covering its previously flawless sheen, Ororo still thought it was beautiful and its what she held onto when the darkness arrived to take her away once more.
Logan continued talking to Ororo, reminding her where she was, who he was, and promising to get her out despite receiving no acknowledgement of his presence. He paused his words while looking at the layout of the the bookcases he was supporting again, all the while knowing that he had to get to her on his own. Quickly, his mind thought of only one other way but it meant lowering the cases again, just a few inches down. He withdrew his free hand from the space he’d created and placed it on the bookcase above the bottom one. A third lay over that, holding more weight than the two he’d been gripping. Remorse flashed over him the moment before he lowered the cases about half of a foot down without letting them go; as he did this, he bent his knees slightly, only to snap them straight again, aiding the momentum needed as his hands violently thrust the top-most bookcase off. It slid for only a second before its deadweight sounded on the library floor. One down, two to go, Logan thought to himself. With one bookcase, he knew that repeating that action would cause it to slide into a few standing cases nearby; the other, however, had space amongst the surrounding debris for him to shove it upward with enough force for the shelf to stand upright and immediately fall backward. Aside from the books surrounding her, Logan now had a clear view of his fianceé and both hands free to deal with the final bookcase. After kicking a few more splayed books out of his way, he spread his hands far apart along one of the shelves and leaned his torso into the case while guiding it onto the ground where it lay on its side. The urge to demolish the damn thing for Ororo’s entrapment was strong but he resisted and turned back around, taking a knee beside her. His hand gingerly held at her forearm while his other hand reached out to cup his calloused palm and fingers to her cheek. “Storm. Say something to me,” he urged in a soft but hoarse voice. “You’re safe--I’ve got you.” The desire to hold her close but the knowledge not initiate made him physically ache. Instead he kept his intense hazel hues locked on her face and waited while his thumb began circling along the soft, bend of her arm--a bedtime habit of his when he wasn’t cradling her from behind.
Ororo suddenly felt light, the pressure from the debris subsiding quickly. Her lungs, weakened from the constriction of her ribcage, swelled to their full capacity and for the first time in days she breathed her first full breath. An unfamiliar hand several shades lighter than her own sable tone reached out to free her from the wreckage. They were taking her from her parents. She couldn’t leave them. Not when they were hurt more than she was. “I don’t wanna go! Please. I can’t leave them!” She was being carried away despite her protests and when she opened her eyes, she caught the last glimpse of her house. Tears as big as raindrops blurred her vision as she sobbed openly, clutching at the uniform of her rescuer. Inconsolable, profound loss seized her and she cried until there was nothing left to give. In the distance, she heard a gruff voice that sounded familiar, but she was too lost in her grief to remember its owner. Instead pieces of her life after the tragedy played. She grew restless as memories bombarded her, calming down only when she reached the first moments at the Institute. Jean was the first to greet her upon her arrival and the two formed a friendship that had only grown stronger over the years. Studious Scott was her second friend and her heart swelled with joy as she remembered how hard she worked to make sure her two best friends ended up together. Love continued to build as she thought of Xavier and how much trust he put in her to begin teaching. Then there were the students, many of whom were eager to learn not only about their powers but the world around them. Her students! She hoped Jubilee, Marie, Paul, Tessa and the others had made it out okay. All of the reminiscing pushed forward a thought to the forefront of her mind. With great effort, Ororo forced her eyes open, her vision flitting around the room until she saw his face. “Logan?”
Logan listened and sternly watched as she protested at first. When he saw the tears rolling down her cheeks, he brushed the rough pad of his thumb across her cheek while his other thumb continued circling on her forearm. Patience had never been a strong suit of his but he would wait for as long as Ororo needed. He spent his waiting, thinking about details. About how she and Scott had been the ones he’d faced upon his mission to kill the Professor--and how they had beaten him in that fight. He thought about her matching his muttered quips with her own cheeky responses got under his skin when he first decided to stay at the school for answers to his memory lapses. He thought about the fire in her eyes when he, unnecessarily, pushed buttons while she was showing him around the mansion, and he remembered himself growing uncomfortably warm, sweaty, as he made her temper rise, not knowing then, the extent of her abilities. His lips cracked at the recollection of his own irritation when she proceeded to comment on his body odor as a result of all the sweating she’d made him do. Forcing himself to be attentive to the present, he cracked a faint smirk while more relief settled in him. He could hear Ororo’s breathing calming down and let his recollections take a back seat in his mind when he saw her stark blue irises again. His thumb stopped circling against her smooth skin when she spoke his name and he nodded once to her. “Yeah. It’s me, Darlin’.” The hand that had been tending to her tears slid up to her hairline. “You remember where you’re at?” he asked, keeping his voice even but gruff to mask the slight worry tone.
Ororo registered the light brushes of his hand, her gaze rising above their heads to the painted ceiling above. The frescoes, despite the destruction surrounding them, remained intact and she found it comforting despite the pain radiating down her sides. Though he tried to hide it, she could hear the concern in his voice so she offered her best smile, mindful to keep any strain from her features. “I’m in the library. Well, what used to be the library.” Seeing that her fiancé was still rattled from his heroic effort, she reached out to him, stroking his sinewy forearm with reassuring pressure. “Do I need to tell you my full name and who’s president, too, or will that suffice?” She laughed at the groan she knew was heading her way until the sting of injury reminded her of her present condition, setting off a coughing fit that rivaled a heavy smoker’s. The last time she felt so fatigued escaped her, but she knew she needed water soon. “Logan...I…” Choking on the words, her voice lost its tone. Attempting to sit up, she wheezed, signaling with her hands what she needed.
Loganpursed his lips as she teased his question with one of her own. He hadn’t said anything but the change in his expression spoke for him; under the surface he’d been feeling more at ease until her words were lost to coughs and strained breaths. He wasn’t sure how badly she’d been injured, but he didn’t want to leave her behind in the wreckage. He repositioned his burly limbs while explaining, “I’ll take you down to the infirmary--get ya some water there.” One hand slid beneath the backs of her knees while the other held her across the middle of her back. As he came to his feet, he lifted her with little effort off of the ground and started toward the doors, glad to be getting them both away from the destruction and vomit and whatever memories she might’ve obtained from the moments before he’d heard her calling out, and hear Jubilee and her friend looking for him. For her. The pandemonium that he’d taken off from seemed to have died down already. He didn’t know who all had been hurt or to what extent; he didn’t know if any of the Brotherhood scumbags were still lingering about in the mansion but as he took to the stairs, he looked out and saw messes in the halls. For the most part, the estate sounded eerily quiet which brought both relief and suspicion to him. While he didn’t consider himself particularly close or amicable toward Kurt, he knew the man would be capable of getting the majority of students to safety. But he could also hear sniffles and urgent voices--they were low but not too low for his hypersensitive ears. His eyes went back to his fianceé as he reached the bottom of the stairs, however, and he took to making longer strides down the hall to the infirmary. While his arms were still around her, Logan bowed his head until his forehead was against hers. “The next time you go fightin’ in the library, you better make sure I’m nearby.” Shouldering the infirmary door open, he looked up and down the hall for a vacant room, seeing students huddled in one room, and the backs of Warren’s wings blocking the view of the bed in another room, his concern showed through a small twitch under his eye but he spotted the nearest vacant room and brought Ororo there to lie down and as soon as his hands were free he lumbered out of the room into the hall where a small cooler stood. He opened it and pulled a couple bottles of water out, and then made his way back to the room, twisting the cap off of one as he handed it over. “Where are you hurt?” he asked, standing beside her bed with the other bottle of water in his hand.
Ororo felt a rush of air leave her lungs when Logan’s strong arms lifted her high. For a split second, she couldn’t breathe due to his speedy movements, but soon she settled against his chest, her labored breaths eventually slowed to its normal rhythm. The library quickly changed into the hallway which soon turned to the staircase and before she knew it, she was being carried inside an empty room in the infirmary. It’d been awhile since he’d been her personal chariot and she had forgotten just how fast he was. Taking a brief moment to get used to her surroundings, Ororo kept her eyes clothes for a beat and once the feeling of spinning out of control left her, they opened to meet his concerned gaze. She accepted the water, taking a long sip to soothe her parched throat. Once the burning subsided, she set the bottle on the bedside table. “My ribs…” A sharp pain shot through her torso and her bloody hands reached down to clutch her left side. “I didn’t think it was that bad, but…” She paused, wincing as the pain grew worse. “I underestimated Riptide’s prowess.” Searching his eyes, she added, “Don’t give me that look, cher. In a matter of weeks, this will all be forgotten. I heal fast, remember?”
Not having spent too much time in the infirmary, Logan wasn’t sure exactly where he could find something that might help her out without him fumbling through drawers and cabinets like an idiot--at least that’s how he saw it. He found himself quietly cursing that tonight of all nights, Jean would be gone and Warren would be a one-man show in the infirmary. Charles might be able to help but I dunno where the hell he is, he thought to himself and the realization made him tense for only a second. He had to be safe; he was in one of the highest points of the mansion and they weren’t here for him to begin with. They weren’t here for the students either, but Logan had been an expert in strategy; the fights were meant for distractions and to counter any defense against their true objective--Cerebro. He couldn’t compound his concern for his fianceé with the uncertainty of other’s states right now, however. Not when he was seeing the pained look on her face and feeling his chest respond with the returning tightness, could he take those thoughts out of the compartments he’d stowed them in. It would cloud his mind, quickly and he needed it to be as clear as possible, for her. The muscles in his jaw rolled when he clenched it and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Ororo. “Weeks ain’t now ‘Ro, so…” he let the sentence drift, resisting from completing his thought aloud. A new thought occurred to him as he momentarily stepped away from the side of her bed and shot his intense gaze around at the room’s various closed drawers and shut cabinets. One hard sniff, followed by another, and then he’d turned his head slightly, eyeing a different drawer. He’d repeated the process while nearing a middle drawer beneath some counter space and when he pulled it open, he’d found containers marked ‘Gauze’ and bottles marked with rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. Some relief trickled over him as he snatched the gauze and peroxide out in one swoop of his hand. He’d found a roll of medical tape and grabbed it as well and then walked back over to Ororo’s bedside. He set the items down on the bed and prepared the gauze with a healthy amount of peroxide, tearing a long strip of the woven material off with his teeth and tipping the open peroxide bottle over into the cloth. Though his manner was typically rough-shot, his wide, calloused hands were gentle as he pushed the side of her top up enough for him to lay the gauze over her visible wound. “You gonna take it easy ‘til you’re better?”
When Logan sprang into action, Ororo focused on his movements through occasional winces, eventually catching on to his plan. Deciding to be the model patient, she moved along with his guiding touch, making it easy for him to dress her wounds. The pain, while still stinging, didn’t feel as powerful as it once had, the sharp stings settled into a sporadic ache that only increased when she made a sudden movement. His roughened fingertips were unnaturally smooth and she sported a soft smile at the grace he exhibited when applying the gauze. A chuckle danced on her lips as she watched him work. “I think Angel could use your help every once in a while. You’ve got the gift.” His question sparked some introspection and she hesitated, unsure of the answer. Despite her injuries, her thoughts quickly traveled to Riptide and his cohorts, wondering if this was a one-time attack or were more planned in the next few days. The safety of the students came to the forefront of her mind and she thought maybe it’d be best if they all sought refuge in the bunkers until the threat was put to rest for good. The library was probably a total loss and would have to be rebuilt from the ground up which was particularly sad because several rare books had been destroyed. It would be difficult to replace them all, but she was certain Xavier would try his damnedest to. She had no idea how the other parts of the mansion had fared as the tiny glimpse she got wasn’t enough to ascertain the damage. Hoping they wouldn’t have to spend the next few months going through extensive renovations, her thoughts shifted back to his initial question. How could she rest on her laurels when there was so much that needed to be done? She knew that he needed reassurance, but she was never good at fibbing. So she settled for a compromise. “I’ll try my best, Dr. Howlett.”
In the midst of cleaning Ororo’s wound, sopping up the blood, Logan heard her proposal of him helping Warren. He’d had his eyes fixed on what his hands were doing, but the teasing compliment that followed her suggestion made him dart his gaze at her smiling face. The sound that came from his throat while he looked back down was somewhere between a grunt and a desert dry chuckle. “Very funny,” he muttered, moving the bloodied gauze away. He tore off some fresh gauze with his teeth again, folded the piece until it was sized to cover her injury, and then pulled some tape off to surround the edges of the bandaging material. While leaving a little bit of peroxide onto the new gauze, he listened to her answer to his question and looked to her again with the same flat expression as before. Part of it had to do with the mild teasing, but his expression had far more to do with the rest of her answer. He knew what that meant and had even tried giving an answer like before. But he also knew how stubborn his fianceé could be--mostly because he was far worse. Knowing what his body could take, and knowing that she couldn’t heal like he could, however, was what stemmed his concern for her wellbeing. “I ain’t gonna baby you. I know you’re strong and don’t need all that. I just don’t want ya to push it ‘n make things worse, ‘Ro.” By the time he finished saying this, Logan had secured the clean gauze over the injured side of her ribs. He trashed the used gauze and hooked his foot around the leg of a nearby chair, drawing it closer so that he could sit down. “So d’ya need, or want anything?”
From his half-hearted chuckling, Ororo could tell a few corny jokes wouldn’t rid his penchant for worrying. Logan wasn’t the type to let things go on the first try and it was one of the reasons she found him endearing. However, just this once, she wished he would drop his pained expression for a little while. She was okay. A little bruised but certainly not broken. Ever since the proposal, she’d noticed he’d been a little more stressed than normal. Though he was able to hide it from the students, he couldn’t hide it from her. He’d been more of a perfectionist than usual and while he’d always suffered from bouts of grumpiness, this felt different. Tonight sure didn’t help his mood, but she knew that the uneasiness had a myriad of causes and the last thing she wanted to do was add to that feeling by being difficult or intentionally evasive. She was well aware that now things were different. There were going to be married, a team for life and as such, she needed to be completely honest. “I’m not going to lie to you. You know how much this place means to me and it’s hard for me to sit back and take it easy when so much needs to be done. I know I’m not the only one who’s been hurt. How can I lie here when people need my help? I don’t like being idle. So, it’s going to be hard resting. I’m always going. It’s how I’ve always been. Even as a child.” She paused as not-so-distant memories fought for the chance to be relived. “I realize that- that I wasn’t here for a while. It’s been a long time since that’s happened to me and it was probably because I was trapped underneath those bookcases for so long, but I assure you that I am fine.” Her icy gaze searched his dark one for a long moment. “What I want is for you to understand- to know that if I rush it’s because I care and want to be useful. I’m not trying to be difficult or stubborn. I’m only trying to help. That’s all.”
Logan kept himself from reacting quickly by taking a deep breath. He exhaled slow through his nostrils and focused on listening to the rest of what his fianceé had to say to him. His hand closed around the peroxide bottle while the other hand rested near hers--his fingertips resting directly against her forearm. “I do know that, Ororo. You think I don’t?” He couldn’t keep the jagged edge out of his voice--he never could, regardless of who he spoke to. All he could do was lessen it, which was what often happened when he spoke intimately with Ororo. “Just ‘cause you could take it easy for a little while doesn’t mean you’re useless or wouldn’t be able to help be while we fix up the school again. I’m not sayin’ to hold yourself up in our room until you’re better.” His mind sifted back through memories and as he spent a few wordless seconds thinking on his past. He found his dark hazel hues fixed on the blood stained on her hand and more prominent flashbacks churned through his mind like the shutter on a camera: Gunfire ringing in his ears. The potent smell of car exhaust. Shrill screams blended with panicked hollering and screeching tires. Victory whoops retreating with the departing cars. Blood on her hands from trying to hold herself together. His own hand attempting to assist her’s as panic ebbed and flowed where inevitable devastation pushed forward and pulled back inside him. The tears that streamed as he’d cradled her lifeless body to him while kneeling on a Detroit sidewalk. He didn’t feel this level of pain and anger and sorrow for her anymore as fifty years had passed since. And he didn’t grow as angry with himself or submerge himself in blame over his mental state anymore, when thoughts of his second wife rose in his mind: the countless arguments, his decision to withdraw from her; his night terrors and the close calls he’d had from injuring her with his claws. All of it bubbled and boiled until she couldn’t take it anymore and left. His past as a whole wasn’t something he had completely healed from however; his mind was the one part of him that was still susceptible to an average pace of healing. He got up from the chair while shoving those memories aside so that he could be present again and put back the peroxide and tape.Ororo’s fine tonight, he thought to himself. You’ve seen fatal flesh wounds before. This ain’t one of ‘em. She’s fine tonight and she’s gonna get better from here. While putting the items away and grabbing the unopened water bottle, he told himself, This ain’t a argument. We’re just talking. Logan then twisted the top off with the intent to dampen more gauze and clean some of the blood off Ororo’s hands. As he did this, with her knuckles resting at the base of his fingers, his dark tawny eyes watched what he’d been doing again. “I just want you to be careful. That’s all.”
Ororo listened to his gruff response, noting the control he attempted to portray despite the flaring nostrils. Despite her defiance, she understood his concerns and she was aware that her recovery would take a while longer than she was hoping it would. As he busied himself with putting away the peroxide and tape, his deliberate avoidance of her gaze was obvious and it didn’t take long for her to surmise why. Over the years, they shared the painful aspects of their pasts and even if he didn’t verbalize the thoughts going through his mind, she could sense he was holding back a lot. Twisting her lips, she allowed the silence between them to stretch, knowing they both needed the time to let their emotions settle so their speech remained reasonable. Her palm was flattened, having opened fully as soon as his fingers left hers. The sting of the myriad of tiny cuts paled in comparison to the loss of his comforting touch, but she swallowed the absence, knowing it was only temporary. Patience was soon rewarded when Logan returned to her side to resume looking after her wounds. His soft tone brought a smile to her lips and that momentary uncertainty began to subside. “I’ll be careful. If anything, I’ll be giving out orders rather than doing anything too strenuous.” She paused to watch him dispose of the bloodied gauze, waiting for his dark eyes to seek her light ones. “You should know all about that.” Unable to resist the lure of her joke, she chuckled, glad that something was able to break the tension around them.
Logan wiped her hands clean, folding the gauze over from time to time in order to give himself a clean area to use. He stood up once more, long enough to trash the material and when he heard the added remark from his fianceé, his eyes went right to her face. His lips pursed for a moment while his tight gaze relaxed. When he returned to the chair, he turned the seat around so the back was pressed up to her bedside and as he sat down, folding his arms against the top of the chair. With hazel on blue hues, Logan told her, “You’re lucky I love you, otherwise I’d be takin’ back that water right about now.” His lips were smiling as he said this, and as he looked to her face and eyes, he considered taking her hand again but instead rose up--legs bent in a slight squat on either side of the chair--and leaned face-to-face with her. His gruff voice lowered even further as he muttered, “And for the record,” before kissing her forehead and dipping his chin down slightly to look in her eyes again, “I do love you, ‘Ro.” Only seconds after saying as much, Logan gave her another kiss with the same balance of firmness and tenderness as before, molding his lips to her’s.
