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Secret Burdens
Chapter Ten: Brick By Brick


"Brick by brick are bridges made."


"Jesus, did you see the size of that hole Wolvie punched?" Kitty whistled, spreading her hands about two feet wider than necessary. She was lounging on one of the rec room armchairs, her legs dangling over one plush arm as she rested her back against the other.

Bobby raised one eyebrow as he watched her motioning of the hole. "Even Wolverine doesn't have a fist that huge, Kitty."

Kitty bounced up in her seat, exclaiming, "No, really, it was this hu-"

"Katya," Peter intoned from his seat across from her.

She blinked at him a moment, before lowering her arms and sighing. "Okay, so it wasn't that big. But it was deep," she pointed out as she raised a finger at Peter, expecting his agreement. "And dangerously close to where Storm's head seemed to be."

Peter clenched his jaw, silently wondering about that himself. He knew Storm had riled up Logan before and that lately their usually distant and civil conversations had grown explosive. However, he had thought that even Logan was above such destruction, especially after his time at the mansion.

Rogue was sitting curled into Bobby's side on the couch between Kitty and Peter when she leaned forward to question Kitty, "Really? He punched the wall behind her?"

Kitty glanced at Rogue and nodded mutely.

Resting back against Bobby, Rogue looked up at him. "I didn't know that."

He shrugged in response, wrapping his arm back around her frame. "I don't know what's up with those two. It's like lately, when they're in the same room, the air seems so volatile between them. You could just slice that tension. Shink," he noised, making a cutting motion with his hand.

Kitty worried at her bottom lip. "You don't think it has anything to do with Alcatraz, do you? I mean, Storm hasn't mentioned anything about anymore government interference. And Hank hasn't reported any stirring up on the Hill."

"No," Rogue mumbled, shaking her head as she stared down the coffee table in front of them. "I think it's more...personal."

Kitty eyed Rogue as she fingered the edge of her sweater nervously, but her attention was caught by Peter's grumbling.

"That's what I don't like," he sighed.

Bobby jerked his head in Peter's direction. "What do you mean, Petey?"

Arms resting heavily atop the sides of his armchair, Peter stared at each one of them individually. "Have you seen the way Storm has been the last few weeks? She's unfocused, restless, almost frenzied at times. I know she carries the duties of headmaster as well but winter break is almost here and that usually means downtime for her."

Kitty perked up suddenly, waggling her eyebrows as she asked, "You think Wolverine's got something to do with her panties being in a twist?"

Bobby scrunched up his face in distaste. "Please, Kitty, don't ever mention Wolverine and Storm's panties in the same context ever again."

Huffing and crossing her arms, Kitty leaned back against the arm of her seat. "Alright, alright. I'm just saying, you know. He is a known womanizer after all."

"Yeah," Peter interjected angrily, "who spent the last year or so chasing after Ms. Grey. He's in no position to be on another hunt."

"God, it's not like he preys on women," Rogue shot in Logan's defense. "And I don't think that's what's going on with them now."

Kitty and Peter had silenced at Rogue's tone.

"He's not like that" she said lowly, hugging her arms tighter to herself.

Glancing between Rogue and Peter as he glared at the innocent coffee table, Kitty blew a puff of air from her lips and settled deeper into her armchair. "Well, as long as I'm not woken up by fists blasting through walls every time they have a tiff, then I don't care what goes on with them."

"But we should care," Peter interjected, gripping his chair. "I've seen what Wolverine can do and maybe he's not exactly the best influence on Storm right now, you know, still so soon after the funeral. She's still in grieving."

"And Logan's not?" Rogue demanded.

"It's not that," Bobby answered as he tried to calm Rogue beside him. "I think Pete's just...more familiar with Storm."

"And more trusting," Peter added.

Rogue narrowed her eyes.

Rolling her eyes, Kitty jumped in. "Look, Rogue, believe me when I say that I'd trust Wolvie with my life. But I think where Pete's coming from needs to be understood too."

Rogue looked at her skeptically but kept quiet, waiting for Kitty to continue.

"It's like..." Kitty mused, pushing herself up straighter in the armchair, "It's because we trained with her, ate with her, lived with her. Storm wasn't only our teacher but our leader in the battlefield and a mentor as well." She glanced at Peter in hopes that he could help her word this better.

He took the cue and brought his hands together as he leaned forward in his seat. "Rogue, it's simply knowing that Storm has always felt responsible for us, no matter how independent we may feel. She has always acted with our well-being as the first and foremost of her priorities. So please forgive us if we in turn feel protective of her comfort and welfare." Peter did not have that hard stare to his gaze anymore, simply a pleading for understanding.

Rogue pursed her lips but leaned back in resignation. "I know...I get it." She sighed, rubbing her forearms. "I just know that Logan is hurting too. So maybe we should just let things be between them. They've been through more than we will probably see in our lifetimes. And I don't think they have anyone else but each other to understand that." Rogue looked between Kitty and Peter, then smiled softly at Bobby as she felt him gently rubbing her arm.

"I think Rogue's right," Bobby agreed. "They take care of their own. That means each other too."

Looking back to Peter, Rogue offered a small smile. "Look, I know you're worried about Ms. Munroe. Believe me, I don't like seeing her like this either. But maybe Logan is the only thing that's going to get through to her right now."

Peter scoffed, but he was smirking. "Yeah, figures. Of all people."

Kitty shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess Wolvie's got more humanity than we give him credit for sometimes, claws and all."

"We are each humans first, mutants second," Rogue asserted. She cocked her shoulder as she grinned, "Ms. Munroe told me that."

Bobby pulled her closer to him. "Words to live by."


* * *


Ororo thought Logan would be long gone by now. But it has been three days since their last encounter, which ended in Ororo calling in a carpentry and drywall repair company. She has since held onto the bill until she feels it's safe to slip under Logan's door.

Of course, she figured she wouldn't get that chance, considering his penchant for escapes. It was why she hadn't approached him yet. Let him have his space. Let him have his time. She would wait for his move first. Only now was Ororo beginning to realize that he had already played his moves. In this game, it was her turn.

When she really thought about it, it wasn't Logan who was pushing her into a corner. She was just as responsible for forcing him into some definable and rational box. It was easy to understand him that way. Place some labels across the top, mark it as fragile and always, always, handle with care.

She knew better than most that some people can't be kept that way. Especially Logan. At this point she began feeling ashamed of trying to rationally keep him at bay. And it wasn't for him. It was for her. A stupid, selfish belief that she deserved more than the cards she ended up with. Some days she thought the Professor got off easy.

Then she looks at Logan and realizes that The Dream has permeated farther than she originally thought, or even liked to admit. But there wasn't enough room at the mansion for both Logan and her pride. One of them would have to consider a white flag of truce.

That was why she found herself seeking him out this time. She recognized this match. The scoreboard's been empty for too long. It was her play.

After she finished grading the last of the student midterms for her Language and Composition class, she decided to take a trip to the south garage. Last she had seen through her classroom window, Logan had taken the motorcycle out. He had it parked just outside the open garage door, on the paved driveway that ran all the way to the gate. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what he was trying to do with the tool case he had spread out next to it.

She took the stairs down from her second floor classroom and passed through the kitchen to reach the side garage door. Crouched on the pavement next to the bike, Logan perked his ears up at the sound of the door opening behind him. He listened to Ororo's steps around the other cars of the garage until they came to a stop just inside the threshold of the open garage. She hadn't spoken yet, but he could hear her breathing a few feet behind him. Giving no indication that he had heard her but a grunt, he continued his work on the bike.

Ororo opened her mouth for a second, then closed it. She glanced out across the lawn and watched as the harshening wind whipped around the trees of the estate. Noticing the students flooding the grounds in their winter coats and scarves, she turned back to Logan and realized he only carried on him a worn grey button-down. She furrowed her brows momentarily, before speaking, "It will most probably snow tonight."

"If ya say so," he responded, back turned still.

Ororo pursed her lips at his reply, but she continued. "It is currently 29 degrees outside, Logan."

"Thank you, Madame Forecaster," he drawled.

Crossing her arms, she resisted the urge to tap her foot at him. "Are you not cold?"

She watched his shoulders shrug as he grunted, "Eh. Comes with the territory."

Huffing in annoyance, she dropped her arms and exclaimed, "Will you look at me, Logan?"

He was silent for a moment, but slowly turned his head back to glance at her. Taking in her apparel he furrowed his brows at her. She was wearing a long-sleeved, red chiffon blouse and deep brown trousers, her hair in a long braid down her back. "And you ain't freezin' in that flimsy shit?"

Ororo glanced down at her thin blouse and then back to Logan, smiling softly. "I am the same as you. It comes with the territory."

Logan, however, did not like that explanation as he frowned and returned to his tinkering. Ororo sighed and began walking toward him. Reaching the space just next to him, she squatted on the pavement so that she was at eye-level with him, resting her arms across her knees. "Logan, I am attempting to speak with you. The smallest courtesy you can afford is your attention."

"I can hear ya fine, darlin'," he said as he reached behind him for a small cap of some sort.

Ororo watched as he fitted it to an opening in the bike and used a wrench to tighten it. She didn't really expect much from him when she came out here in the first place, but for some reason she couldn't name, it was greatly unnerving to have Logan ignoring her. Though she had to admit, the cold shoulder was the kindest of treatments she could have expected from him. So instead of forcing his attention once more she simply sighed and looked out across the lawn again.

"I understand that the mansion has not been the most welcoming place for you. And I understand that I am partly to blame for that," she began, turning back to face him. "I do not think that there is anyone else here who can claim such a loss as you have. I have been selfish. I am sorry, Logan. I never meant to -"

"Wait - what?" he interrupted, finally turning to look at her with a piercing glare. His brows were knit together in confusion and his hands had stopped moving around the bike's engine. "What the hell are you apologizing for, Storm?"

Ororo blinked at him for several lost seconds.

"I'm the one who-" he started angrily, catching himself. He looked down at the floor, unable to keep her gaze. "I'm the one who almost planted a fist on ya." His fists tightened, clenching in on themselves. Finally, he looked back up to her. "You have nothing to be sorry 'bout, Ororo."

She was silent as he stared at her, and it was the first time she could place shame on his features. Some time ago, she thinks she might have enjoyed that. Felt it was deserved in some sense. But not now. Now she never wanted to see him staring at her like that, waiting for the blow he felt he deserved. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

In fact, she was surprised by the urge to reach out and cradle that face with her fingers.

But she didn't. Instead, she swallowed thickly and shook her head. "No...I know you would not..."

"But I would," he said lowly.

Ororo's eyes widened at the dark look in his.

"That's just it," he ground out. "I really wanted to hurt you at the end there." His chest felt heavy with the weight of that confession and he pulled in a deep breath to continue. "I...would have hurt you."

"But you did not," she exclaimed, quicker than she meant. She took a moment to steady her thoughts before continuing. "You did not hurt me." Her fingers itched to touch his then. Timidly, she reached for them, her eyes still locked to his.

The hairs on his neck prickled at the touch of her fingertips to the back of his hand. He felt the smooth skin of her palm resting against his hand and he looked away from her blue gaze. This time, he didn't think it was shame. "But I have before. And you and I both know I didn't regret it then."

Ororo gulped but kept her touch steady.

"I'd never laid hands on Jeannie," he bit out shakily.

"I know," she answered softly.

He shook his head. "I get it. I know. I'm the angry animal here, licking his wounds. I know there's a huge fucking "Do Not Approach" sign on my forehead. The kids won't come near me anymore. 'Cept Marie that is. And she's got more reason than most to stay away, after running her through and all," he chuckled darkly.

Ororo wanted to scream at him, shake him, convince him somehow that he deserved companionship just as much as the rest of them. But the words were lodged heavy in her throat and she didn't know how to force them out. So she continued staring.

"I've done some terrible shit. Shit you'd go white at hearing 'bout. But even I don't know the whole of it. Only bits and pieces of memory," he breathed as he tapped his head. "And what happens when I forget about Red, huh?" He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth in anger.

Ororo tried to keep up with him but she found herself lost, not understanding what he was trying to say. He reached out then and gripped both her wrists, eliciting a soft yelp of surprise from her before he brought his face closer to hers.

"What kind of goddamn animal would I be to forget her?"

Ororo's breath stopped suddenly, caught by the realization of Logan's true guilt. She finally understood. He wasn't afraid of remembering Jean. He was afraid of forgetting her.

Logan bore his gaze into Ororo's widening blue eyes, and he knew she could feel his shaking. He couldn't help it. After all, what kind of person loves another and then kills them? What kind of person then thinks they deserve some form of happiness afterwards? What kind of person just forgets? The worst kind. And that was Logan. Not even the worst. Not even human.

He shreds his kill and then leaves the carcass to rot. That was Logan.

He clenched his eyes shut against the hot wetness beginning at the corners. He blinked it back roughly, then realized he still had Ororo by the wrists. Releasing her, he brought his hands to his forehead and wiped them down his face. "God, I never deserved Jeannie."

Ororo was planted where Logan had yanked her toward him, but she was regaining her focus when she squatted back on her haunches and breathed in deep. "No, you did not," she said plainly, steadily. She was gripping her knees tightly. "Scott did."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, laughing softly at the whole thing. "Yeah. I see that now." He shook his head.

"But..." Ororo began, her eyes softening, "You could not forget Jean even if you had wanted to." She smirked at him, and his shoulders sagged in release of the tension. "She would not let you."

Logan looked at Ororo for several seconds, silently regarding her. He knew she meant what she said about him not deserving Jean. That was something he always had to hand to her. She was brutally honest and she stood by what she said. Ororo Munroe would not apologize for acknowledging the truth that others ignored in the face of comfort.

"You are still alive, Logan." Ororo's words brought Logan back to the present. "Her death should not be the reason you stop living. That would be the gravest dishonor to her name, not forgetting her." Her hard stare was unquestionable. She stood then, brushing off her pants. "Please afford her at least that much respect." Logan recognized the indisputable demand in her voice, hidden by the polite request.

Logan rose as well, but made no other move.

There were several long moments spent between the two with just the sound of the wind between them, before Ororo shook her thoughts and glanced down to the floor where they had been squatting. Taking in the sight of tools laid out before them, she asked, "What exactly were you doing here?"

Logan broke from his reverie to look at the floor as well. He brought a hand to the back of his neck. "Oh, I was just changing the oil."

Ororo cocked her head in question.

Logan bent down and gathered all the tools into the case beside the bike, hefting it up as he stood. "Well, now that Scooter isn't here, there ain't no one else interested in upkeeping these babies," he answered, jerking his head in the direction of the other cars.

She nodded, recognizing a chance to bring up his still being there. "And you decided to take that duty upon yourself? With all your free time, after all?"

Logan had placed the tool case back on the work shelf and turned at her question. She caught the wicked grin that flashed across his face and opened her mouth to question when he responded, "Well, my second option was to run naked through the woods, chanting ancient rites and hunting deer with my hands." His grin widened. "But I thought ya'd ring me out for indecent exposure or some other shit."

He bit back the laugh at her deadpan expression. "Just relax, Storm, I ain't some caveman."

"Oh," she began, crossing her arms. "You have yet to reach that evolutionary step?" she asked innocently.

"Nah," he chuckled, turning and heading toward the side garage door. "I skipped that one. Women weren't hot enough." He was smirking, almost to the door, when Ororo called out to him.

"Logan, wait." She caught up to him, standing just below him on the steps into the mansion.

He turned to her, expectant.

"I just wanted to...to let you know that..." She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing around the garage.

"Yeah?" he urged her.

She looked straight back to him, took in a deep breath and said, "I don't like orange juice either."

Logan blinked at her in mild confusion before a smile broke onto his face. "Then breakfast won't be a problem?"

Ororo's smile reached her ears. "No. Breakfast will not be a problem."





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