II
The girl was alive, but Ororo read the word "barely" into her deep, shuddering breaths. Dr. Henry McCoy was known to work miracles but this could be beyond even his extensive expertise.
She stroked the temples of the child's short, ebony hair. Her hair appeared stiff and unruly but it was surprisingly soft, and it curled in gentle wisps. Storm brushed a stiff lock behind the child's ear, but it sprung back into her face. Smiling sadly, Ororo wondered if the girl wore her hair short for practical reasons, or for aesthetic ones.
Hank announced earlier that he would throttle any X-Man who snuck into his intensive care room. He said "under no circumstances" should he be disturbed, until he verified the stranger's condition. But Ororo couldn't help herself. She inadvertently caused the girl's condition, and she felt somewhat responsible.
Who was she? Where had she come from? Ororo ran a finger down the girl's soft chestnut-colored cheek and wondered about the deep scratches crisscrossing her distressed face. She felt a strange bond with the poor woman, and the girl's arrival had awakened her own latent maternal instincts. The girl was barely Kitten's age. Her scars looked painful—had the fall done something to her?
"No, no...that can't be right. Impossible...."
McCoy entered the room, intruding on Ororo's thoughts, but he had yet to notice her by the child's bedside. Instead, he was frowning at a ream of documents in his huge, fuzzy hands. He had unconsciously shredded his bottom lip with his two-inched fangs but Ororo imagined Hank had become so used to skimming his lips that he no longer noticed.
"How is she, Henry?"
Hank, startled to see Ororo in the room, blinked owlishly behind his spectacles. "I should have expected that your worry would have superceded my orders. She's stable, which is quite well, considering the alternative." He went to the other side of the bed and checked a few monitors. His clawed finger tapped at the IV tube and he nodded slowly, apparently satisfied with what he saw.
"The alternative?"
McCoy took his absurdly tiny glasses into a furry blue hand and rubbed his eyes. "Death. She should have died in the atmosphere on the way to the ground. And she should have died when Rogue caught her. The force snapped her neck."
Ororo's frown deepened. "So she is paralyzed."
McCoy shook his head. "Amazingly, she's not. In fact," he said, rifling through his papers, "I took some readings between the time Rogue brought her here and the last ten minutes. Our visitor possesses an excellent healing mechanism. Perhaps not as keen as our good friend Wolverine's, but remarkable nonetheless. Quite a nice feature, when you're falling six thousand feet from the sky."
"So, she is a mutant?"
"I would say so, yes. As to the whys and the wherefores of her existence, well, you will have to pose those questions to her, when she awakes."
Storm let out a heavy breath and stood. "So, she will be all right."
"I believe so," Hank nodded. He perched his glasses on the tip of his nose and studied his notes. "In fact, according to what I've been able to calculate in light of her rapid healing abilities, she should be waking up in the next fifteen hours or so. Quite sore, but alive."
"That is...good to hear."
"Yes." Hank watched Ororo leave and grinned somewhat malevolently. "Oh, and Storm..."
"Yes?"
"The next time you entire my patient's rooms without my permission, I shall call Dr. Reyes to escort you politely out."
Ororo grimaced. "I will remember to ask first."
"I knew you'd agree."
* * *
"So, what's the story?"
The X-Men had gathered in the front room, all wearing varied puzzled expressions. Most didn't care who the stranger was than what—a threat, a botched attack, an alien with a message, or something worse. They were hyper-alert, and Storm wanted to quell their fears.
"Our visitor is stable, according to Hank. She should have died, but apparently she has some sort of healing factor that helped her survive."
Wolverine grunted. "Great. Another Sabertooth."
Storm curled her legs up to her chest and sipped thoughtfully at her tea. "She does not possess the extent of your healing abilities, old friend. I would not worry about battling her. And by looking at her, I do not think she is up to fighting you, just yet."
"Maybe not," he said, crossing his arms. "Still doesn't explain why she's here, or what the flamin' pyrotechnics were. Can't be a coincidence that both happened at once."
Storm nodded. "We can ask her about that when she awakes. Jean, did you or the Professor catch any information before she became unconscious?"
"Not really. She kept repeating words I think anyone would have, if they were falling three miles without a parachute: Home, Dad, Mom, I'm sorry, please forgive me—the whole gamut of emotions. Charles is scanning for news on her background, but so far he hasn't found anything."
"Have you figured out how you were able to hear her thoughts so far away?"
Scott placed his hands on hers as she shifted uncomfortably. "I...don't know, Storm. She's either really good at contacting telepaths, or she knows something I don't. Either way, it's sort of spooky."
"Hank has run a few tests. I will ask him to run more before she awakes. Perhaps we will gather new information."
"I hope so," Bobby muttered. "I'm tired of opening the door to Avon ladies with tommy guns."
Ororo chuckled. "As am I, Bobby. But since we cannot ask anything more of her for the moment, I suggest we relax until we can. She does not appear to be going anywhere, any time soon."
"So you say," Warren muttered before going upstairs. "Forgive me if I sound skeptical."
I do not blame you, Storm thought, but she didn't say it. No one in that room felt safe with an unknown mystery in the house, and she doubted the mansion would sleep well because of it.
III
"Just what makes that little ol' ant
Think he can move that rubber tree plant
Anyone knows and ant...can't
Move a rubber tree plant!"
The stranger wore her clothes two-sizes, too big. She was dirty, smelly, starving, and bloody. Her eyes were swollen with unshed tears but she watched the toddler giggle and slap her father's face playfully. You think you're tough, don't you, baby? The two-year-old's eyes blinked. She turned, full of joy, at the voice in her head. You ain't seen tough. You ain't seen me, yet.
SKRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE---
Jump. New city. New people. Baby's gone, and so are you. Blind yet? Dead yet? Nope. Still hoping? Still dreaming? Foolish little girl. Still playing those toddler games. You awake? Don't matter. Let the fog claim you. Let the fog claim you. Let the fog...
SKRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE---
Jump. Darkness.
"Captain, found another one. Range, One-Zero-Six, mark five."
"Stationary or running?"
"Stationary, sir."
"Fire when you get into range, Simmons."
Boooom. Her world was on fire. Something clawed at her face, and her chest exploded. She looked down, and saw blood on the pavement.
"Pretty girl go bye-bye," something said. It had a collar around its neck. Its fingers were long talons, its face tattooed. "Gotta work, gotta eat."
"Ahh, man! Simmons, you idiot. Why'd you send Grendl after her?"
"Sorry, sir. I—I didn't know if she was dangerous..."
"Yeah, yeah."
Two men in blue uniforms and thick masks came into the clearing with guns. The air stank of oil and burning rubber.
"Help me...Hel—"
"Jee-ZITS. Look at her face, Simmons. Can't get any money for her lookin' like that."
Simmons switched his feet nervously. "Sir, I can't afford anything else coming out of my paycheck. My wife—"
"Tell it to someone who cares, Simmons." He sighed and shook his head. "There's another one down the drain."
He raised the gun at her and fired. She screamed.
HOME!
SKRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE---
* * *
"No!"
She flung the sticky sheets grabbed her chest, gasping. The unfamiliar room sent her into a panic attack. Think, dammit, think! What happened last, what happened, who was it, why are you here, who are you, why...when...what...
Her brain was on fire. What was her name? Her name was M—no. A small smirk played at her lips. Remember the name, she told herself. Call yourself the name. Keep the name, remember who you are...who you aren't.
She analyzed every inch of the room and pulled her legs to her chest. Her fingers shook. Alone was a good feeling because it was so familiar. Alone. Good to be alone.
Why now? Not now. Anywhere/when and now. Her dark eyes hardened. Something happened. Something that brought her here, and now. She wanted to leave, but her reserves were gone. And what did it matter, she had no control Once she recharged, she would be gone. She would become a distant memory for them. A strange memory. A memory. A memory...
"Can't stay," she whispered out loud. "Not safe."
Why isn't it?
"I'll change it. I'll mess it up."
Is that so bad?
"I could die."
Is that so bad?
Is that so bad?
Is that so bad?
"Leave me alone!"
She screamed into her pillow and held her hands over her eyes. Her mind was disintegrating. She had to keep sane. Poison, on Grendl's fingers? Maybe. Got into her mind. Making her think strange. She bit her arm. Had to get poison out. Had to keep quiet. Had to—
She stopped. Her eye caught a movement near the front door. The door was shut tight but it had a window the size of an 8 x 10 family portrait. She saw cigar smoke, caught a lock of wiry hair.
"Get away from me!" She screamed. "Leave me alone!"
Smoke circulated around the hall. He was leaving.
He'll be BAAAA-aaaaaack...They're coming baaaaack....
She grit her teeth. But I'll be ready for them. I'll be ready.
* * *
Sleep? No. Not for you.
Ororo didn't need to recheck her bedside clock. She had been staring at the shadowy neon numbers every fifteen minutes for the past four hours. She wished she could have slept some, but she couldn't help thinking about the visitor in Hank's lab. She couldn't stop thinking that she was missing something about her.
She's familiar, her mind taunted. And you know it.
Ororo flopped onto her back after taking a sharp breath through her teeth. She censored her thoughts. At least I haven't dredged up my love life. How dead is that issue? She loved the friends she had, and they would suffice until something better came. Of course, it didn't help that there were so many good looking, eligible bachelors at the mansion, and that she had had a gigantic crush on one in particular for the longest t—
A faint rustle on her roof halted her thoughts. Her delicate ears caught the nearly soundless footfalls that she alone heard in the bleak silence of her room. She pulled back her bedcovers and slapped on a t-shirt and jeans, and crouched low in the center of her attic room, ready for the attack. After a few seconds she caught the pattern of her intruder's steps and slapped her hand on her mouth to suppress a giggle. Sometimes she could be too vigilant.
Ororo opened the window onto her roof and climbed out. She watched with fascination as her visitor delicately twisted a stubby cigar between his thick, agile fingers. He knew she was watching but he hadn't turned. He stared into the sky as if the stars held answers for him and no one else.
"Bored?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"So you chose to awaken me instead?"
"You weren't any more asleep than I was." Wolverine lay on the roof and crammed the cigar stub in his mouth. She often chided him for smoking such a foul thing, but she secretly felt comforted by the scent. It was distinctly him, like so many other things.
"Had to talk to ya, 'Ro."
"About what?"
He didn't say anything for a few moments. When he finally did, he took the cigar from his mouth and examined it. "The girl. Got another good look at her."
"I see. Do you believe she is a threat to us?"
"Not really."
Ororo sighed and lay beside Logan. Despite the unspoken chill in his words his presence calmed her. "Her entrance was rather unusual, was it not?"
"Uh, huh. Real unusual. Didn't like it."
Ororo chuckled; it was a deep, throaty laugh, and Logan smirked at her. "What's so funny?"
"You, old friend. You hate everything. Everything is a conspiracy." Ororo patted his hand; he flinched. She frowned and pulled back, surprised by his reflex. "She has made you nervous."
"Yeah, well. Maybe she gave me reason ta be." He sat up and ground out his cigar. "Never mind, 'Ro. Forget it."
"What is it? You came up here because you wished to tell me something important. Tell me what it is." She smiled coyly. "The suspense is killing me."
He rose to his feet. An odd, haunted look shadowed his features. "Naw. It ain't that important yet. Talk to ya in the mornin'."
With that, he tromped back over the roof and disappeared over the eaves. Ororo watched his retreating back with concern but she didn't call him back. Yes, he knew something, but he didn't feel confident enough to share it with her. Why? What secrets did he hold?
You know.
Ororo clung to her shoulders as a chill ran down her back. She didn't want to investigate the feeling—it felt too foreign; too dark. The voice inside dared her to, but she shook her head. No. I will not be forced.
But her refusal to see cost her. She stayed frozen on the roof, unable to think, unable to dream, unable to feel, until daylight sifted through the horizon.
IV
"She's waking up."
Hank went to the girl's side. Her dark hands flexed into strong fists and her eyelids fluttered, but thirty seconds passed before she completely opened her eyes. Brown, Ororo thought suddenly. Her eyes are dark brown. And her scars are gone...
The stranger swallowed and reached for her throat, but the tubes and wires connected to her hands inhibited her movements.
Hank cupped his huge blue paws behind the girl's head and he delicately placed a cup of water to her dark lips.
"Better?"
"Yes. Thank you," she said hoarsely. She blinked rapidly, staring at his hands, and suddenly gripped both of them. She choked down a sob and clung to his furry paws as a look of joy spread across her features. "Beast..."
He looked up, startled, and glanced around the room. She followed his gaze and, when she saw the other X-Men, her smile broadened.
"You...You have me at a slight disadvantage, child. You apparently know my name, but I do not know yours."
Her face collapsed. She shut her eyes tight, turned from Beast, and sunk her head into her pillow. The muscles in her square jaw worked dangerously. ""It didn't...it didn't work. My name isn't important."
"It is to us, darlin.' You sorta came unannounced."
"It's not," she said quietly, but her voice cracked. "Sorry to have troubled you. I'll leave as soon as I'm fit enough to leave."
"Girl, it ain't like you've gotta choice here," Rogue said. "We're kinda curious 'bout stuff like this. 'Specially when it's so near to home, y'know? We'd kinda like to know why we had ta save your life."
She swallowed. "Please...Leave me alone."
"At least tell us your name, child," Storm said softly.
She began chuckling. Her alto laugh was deep and frightening. "Call me Nada. Now, please. I'm tired, now."
Cyclops was about to speak, but Beast raised his hand. "My patient has spoken, and I defer to her better judgment. You may all visit when she feels better. I suggest we forego our questions until then."
"Hank—"
"Tut, tut. The doctor has spoken." Hank gave them a threatening, Beast-like stare over his spectacles, and shooed all, save two, from the room. "That includes you as well, Wolverine and Storm. Scoot!"
Storm glanced at Wolverine, who had a few extra lines beneath his eyes. Apparently he hadn't slept well, either. He stared at Nada and a deep growl escaped from the center of his chest. Alarmed, Storm touched his arm, but he jumped from her grasp as if she'd shot electricity through it.
"Wolverine—?"
His somber gaze wallowed between Storm's face and Nada's stubborn form. "She ain't talkin'. I gotta get some air."
He brushed passed Storm without saying another word. Unconsciously a white film clouded Storm's eyes, and a strong rain pattered the roof. She wanted to say more, or do more, but Beast's eyes were stern now, and he would not welcome her persistence. Before heeding his command to leave the room, Storm heard Nada choke back her tears. The shower outside grew into a summer thunderstorm.
We shall talk later, child. That is a promise.
* * * NEXT PART * * *
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