On a Bench

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro disliked prognoses of that sort, which did nothing to inspire the ill to help themselves, or to find comfort anywhere.:: "Is your sensitivity weakened? Does it need stimulation?"

[Storm]

"If you mean can I still feel, yes, I can," she said, her worry and frustration beginning to show in her tone of voice, not just the weather. "They tell me I won't be able to eventually. I didn't really ask if stimulation would help."

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro's frown settled more deeply on his lips; someone had to find a cure for this. He would not idly let her succumb to a problem he was powerless to stop. That had happened once in his life already.:: "Turn around, your back to me."

[Storm]

"Pietro, what on earth...?" He issued the request more like a command, and her frustration took away the filter she usually gave what he said.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro lifted his hands, wiggled his fingers in a sign that he intended to rub her shoulders and back. He had not meant to be commanding, but when his protectiveness often dictated his tone.::

[Storm]

She took a breath and let it out slowly, closing her eyes briefly. "I don't know that it will help."

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro could do her one better; he had no knowledge of whether or not it would help. It was simply his instinct. He and Ororo were no longer dating; he had moved on, and knew she had as well. But that did nothing to dampen his affection for her, one of the most important people in his life.:: "Could it hurt?"

[Storm]

He had a point, and she had to concede, something she rarely did with Pietro. "I suppose not," she replied, and turned around with her back to him.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro settled on the bench, spread his legs to straddle the wooden apparatus, one his balance set in, he was able to begin. His hands worked knowledgeably over her clothing, touching her shoulders; he knew muscles well, recognized them easily, and could do his best to help.:: "When did Hank tell you?"

[Storm]

Her shoulders were tight in a way that they usually never were; for all that she had once been the Headmistress here, and had many responsibilities even though she now wasn't, she usually took pressure in stride. This week, she couldn't. "Three days ago."

[Pietro Maximoff]

::There was a time when Pietro would have said "you should have told me sooner," but that did not help the situation, and he kept matters private as well. It was the way of growing older and drifting somewhat apart.

Her muscles were even tenser than he had first thought they might be, and he dug the palms of his hands in for the long haul.:: "Have you been keeping to yourself since then?"

[Storm]

Her first impulse was to move away when he dug the palms of his hands into her muscles, but then they began to loosen, and she relaxed. "Wouldn't you?"

[Pietro Maximoff]

"Yes," ::Pietro's reply was honest; it was precisely what he would do, given her circumstances. His question had not been meant to chastise, but instead to check on her. The weather had not been particularly unpleasant yesterday.

Her muscles began to loosen beneath his touch, although far too slowly for his liking. He kept himself from speeding up, not wishing to accidentally cause more harm.:: "

[Storm]

A half-chuckle escaped her lips. "Call it denial."

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro's fingers continued to dig into her muscles through the fabric of her clothing. He would likely not react any better to such news.:: "You're entitled to a bit of denial."