Two Sides of the Same Coin, by stormfreak Chapter Two: Instincts Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters 8:22 p.m. Professional. You are a professional. Stay calm. Dr. Jean Grey shuffled through her notes, though she knew them by heart. She felt the eyes of her X-Men, both older and newer, staring at her. They wanted to know what had happened to their co-leader. Why Jean had gone to take out some trash and taken a trip straight to emergency, donned her white coat, and began to work. She hadn’t wanted anyone else to see Ororo like that. Breathe. You are a professional. You cannot take this personally. You can’t make the others panic. You are a doctor of medicine. “Subject: Munroe, Ororo.” (my sister. My best friend.) “Height, five feet, eleven inches. Weight: one-hundred sixteen pounds…” (and dropping) “Eyes-“ (swollen shut) “blue. Hair-“ (ripped out of her skull) “white. Injuries…” Here, the doctor took a ragged breath. “Injuries-“ (horrid. Spray painted in red, white and blue. Piss is yellow, feces is brown. Clothes are missing. Wallet gone. Jaw broken.) “-multiple.” A choking sound. Rogue, maybe? The Professor? “Breathing is normal, as long as it’s aided. I suspect to take her off a breathing machine by tomorrow.” (And provided we can unclog her nose of blood to allow her to breathe.) “I want to see her,” a voice said shakily. “I don’t recommend it, Scott,” Jean replied, squeezing her boyfriend’s hand. She had barely been able to stomach the injuries herself. She had wanted to throw blankets over her beloved sister; however, she had had to prod through the blood and the feces and the semen to get enough evidence to report Ororo’s attack to the police. Not that that would help. Ororo was a mutant. “I want to see her,” Scott repeated in his soft, yet stubborn way. “Scott.” Jean ran her hand through Scott’s hair. “Ororo is hurt…” (how to say this delicately?) “…very badly. There are some injuries that we are still treating.” (like the spray paint in the remainder of her hair.) That sobbing noise again. It was Rogue, after all. Storm was her favorite teacher, and Rogue was taking this the hardest of all. “Miz Jean?” “Yes, Remy?” “Um…uh…” It was the first time the new kid, Remy LeBeau, appeared uncomfortable. “Does Monsieur Logan know about dis?” For a moment, all the older X-Men exchanged horrified stares. * Salem Center Emergency Room 9:17 p.m. Logan rubbed his head as he waited patiently for the paramedics to leave the truck. One too many beers had caused a little crash on his –well, on Scott’s – motorcycle, and the idiots who arrived at the scene refused to believe that he could get up and walk away. They had all but dragged him into the ambulance. Logan wanted to just bust out, but he knew he had to remain calm. The second those pansy paramedics left, Logan would be ghost. The second they left, Wolverine unleashed a claw, popped the inside locks to the truck and walked out. Freedom! Logan smiled and inhaled state, New York air. And stopped. Ororo. He didn’t know how he knew it was her. - there was so little of her scent that he shouldn’t have recognized her. But it was her. The more he followed the scent, the stronger all the scents blended together. The hypnotic smell of spray paint. The acrid scent of piss. Shit – yeah, actual shit. Had Ororo fallen in an alley or something? And then there was her own scent. Sandalwood and citrus and…terror. He remembered that scent when they were at the Statue of Liberty. Ororo’s countenance was calm, but her scent was raging. She was terrified. Just like now. She had fallen. She had been walking in an alley and fallen. That’s all he could think until the smell got too much to handle and he was standing in front of a door. Now he could smell a million things – more than one person, as a matter of fact. Logan pushed the door open. Jean was there, as was Scott and the Professor. Jean spoke first. “Oh, Logan-“ Logan didn’t say a word. He pushed Jean from him so hard that she hit her head on the wall. But all Logan could look at was Storm. Beaten half to death. Paint all in her hair. Eyes swollen shut, jaw wired. Tubes sucking out liquid from parts of her body that shouldn’t be producing liquid. And now Logan could smell one more scent on Ororo’s body, so offensive that he turned and ran down the hall without a single word. * Salem Center Emergency Room – room 155 9:23 p.m. “Jean?” Jean had been holding her head in her hands for only a couple of minutes after Logan left. The voice had stunned her. “’Ro?” “J-Jean?” How much in pain she sounded! Her jaw was broken, held together by wire. “How-how is-“ “’Ro, you’re going to be fine.” Jean fell to her knees, lowering her red head on Ororo’s stomach, crying freely. “I’m so sorry – I should’ve come out earlier – oh, God, ‘Ro, if I’d have taken out the trash earlier!” “My…my baby?” “What?” Jean rose her head, frowning slightly. “How-“ she coughed violently. “How’s my baby?” “Your baby?” Did Storm take too many blows to the head? “Did they take my baby?” Storm wailed, as loudly as she could, which wasn’t very. “Storm! You were pregnant?” Jean whispered. Scott was still asleep in the other chair. Logan was nowhere to be found. “I-I want my baby.  Don’t let them take my baby away-“ (Shhh.) Jean linked inside Ororo’s mind. (No one is going to take your baby. Trust me, doll. Not as long as I’m your doctor.) No answer. (Do you trust me, Ororo?) Pause. (I trust you. And I love you.) (And I love you, Storm. Ororo? Who’s the father of your baby?) (Oh, Jean!) She could feel Ororo’s anguish. (Just look.) Jean took a deep breath and began to concentrate. And it shocked her. Who knew Ororo had a sex life like this!? Jean thought wildly. She was doing things that Jean would never do with Scott. Who would’ve thought she had it in her? Her and – “Sabretooth!?” Jean had screamed that aloud, so loud that Scott woke up. “Whuh?” Scott’s hand went to steady his visor, prepared for an attack. “You’re sleeping with Sabretooth!?” Jean screamed. “You’re fucking Victor Creed!?” “What!?” Scott yelled. “No way!” “Do…do not be upset,” Ororo protested weakly. “But yes, Victor and I are lovers.” “What in the FUCK!?” Cyclops screamed, using a word he rarely used. “Ororo, why?”  “You would not understand,” Ororo whispered, tears streaming down her blue-painted cheeks. “I don’t want too!” Jean cried, her hands itching to slap some sense into Ororo. “But I want to,” Scott said gently, without prejudice. “Why, ‘Ro? Why did you choose Victor Creed, of all men? You could’ve had any man you wanted-“ “Bullshit.” More tears, and how it must’ve hurt for Ororo to weep. “Not one of you found me attractive. Not you. Not Logan. Not even the damned Professor! Don’t you TELL me I could’ve had anyone, dammit!” “So you settled for the bottom of the barrel?” Jean demanded. “Oh, we can’t all have every man in the house lusting over us, Jean!” Ororo snapped, then winced. She had almost moved her jaw. “Jean?” “Yes, Scott?” “Where did Logan go? He’s been gone for a while, hasn’t he?” Jean paused, focusing to find Wolverine’s whereabouts. “Oh, God!” “What?” “He-he’s gone after Victor!” “No!” Ororo tried to sit up, but dizziness forced her to lie back down. “Jean! Don’t let him get to Victor, please! You have to stop him, PLEASE!” “Why on earth would he go after Creed?” Scott asked, already reaching for his jacket. “Because – because Logan thinks it was Creed who did this to Storm.” * Westchester, NY 9:42 p.m. Sabretooth. His scent was on Ororo’s body. Unmistakable. The smell of his sweat, his semen, his lust, his need was all over Ororo, so strong that Logan couldn’t get the smell out of his head. Logan had hot-wired another car from the ER parking lot. He’d probably be arrested. But Logan didn’t care. He was too hot to even think. Sabretooth’s scent was all over Storm’s body. Someone was going to die tonight. TBC