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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm gonna have to rework this story a bit. I know how I want it to go but the whole romance aspect of it is beginning to seem a little unnecessary even when it's crucial to the conclusion (everyone has a dog in this fight, I suppose,) so postings could potentially become erratic.
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Stuffing his hands in pockets, Logan wandered around the mansion, trying to figure out what he was doing here. He was almost positive with the way things were now that he didn’t want to stick around; Scott and Jean were being fucking annoying, and without Charles, Logan really had no one to talk to. For a second, Logan almost considered Jean as someone he could talk to, but Logan had to factor in Scott and how annoying he was-- it was a circular thing and Logan wasn’t a fan of not having options.

Truth be told, he wanted to talk to Ororo, but there were more than a few reasons as to why he wanted to talk to her. First and foremost: Ororo now owned the mansion and everything in it. So that meant she owned Logan’s room and in turn, Logan’s fate. Now, he could always go back up to Canada and figure out something there, but Logan was used to the mansion. He liked having one constant room. All he had to do was turn on the charm; the woman needed an ally and he could be just that... But at a cost. Ororo didn’t know about Logan so obviously she wasn’t aware as to the fact that Logan was living in the mansion on a semi permanent basis. With a little working, that room would be his. (It was shitty, he knew, but could you blame him?-- who wanted to be homeless?)

Logan turned a corner and found himself looking at the slightly ajar door of Charles’ office. He peeked inside whilst knocking on the wooden door once. He spotted Ororo reading a piece of paper, a serious expression on her face. “Hey,” he said. Ororo looked over at him and gave him a smile that belonged in a toothpaste ad. “Whatcha got there?” Logan walked over to her and rested against the desk.

“It’s some old letters from the bank. Nothing important.”

“Getting the estate in order,” he noted.

Ororo nodded, stroking her chin. “For the most part. Charles was prepared before... Well,” she put the paper down and rested her palms on the desk, “just before.” Logan nodded understandingly. She just wasn’t ready to say ‘died;’ Logan wasn’t either to some effect. “Er, was there something you needed? I’m a little busy,” she said, stacking some papers neatly to emphasize her point.

“Nope. I was bored so I figured I’d come bother you.”

Ororo let out a bark of laughter. “Well, you’re succeeding.” She fell into the leather chair and gathered some of her papers. “If you’re bored I can put you to good use.” She reached under the desk and hefted a box up. “Can you categorize these letters? And if you could prioritize them, that’d be great.”

“Christ, woman,” Logan remarked. “I thought you said the man was prepared!”

“He was,” she said, looking at some unopened envelopes. She tore one open and began reading. “For the most part.”

“If this is the little bit he left undone then the man was really somethin’ else.”

“He was,” Ororo said seriously, her tone slightly defensive.

Logan held her gaze. “I know.” She looked down and went back to letters and he reached into the box and pulled out a few letters. For a while they were quiet until curiosity got the better of Logan. “So Jean mentioned you went to Arkansas.”

“I did,” she said softly, not looking up from the letter but not reading it either.

“Why’d you--”

“That is not up for discussion,” she said bitingly. She looked up at Logan, her lips pursed but her eyes wide. Almost afraid. “Not that, Logan. Not that.”

“Fine,” Logan agreed. “Can I at least ask which place ya liked best?”

Ororo let an annoyed sigh. “They were all pretty much the same. They taught me different things but they were essentially the same.” She rubbed her brow. “You should’ve asked which place I wouldn’t return to,” she muttered.

“Which place wouldn’t you return to?” he repeated.

“Arkansas.” Logan opened his mouth, a question on the tip of his tongue. “But that’s all I’m saying for now.”

The other reason he wanted to talk to her was because well... She was gorgeous, interesting, and as far as Logan knew: Unavailable. Jean had Scooter and now he could have someone to himself. Not that he wanted to get tied down like Jean and Scott and find himself in an empty relationship, but Logan figured Ororo was most likely a great lay and a phenomenal conversationalist.

And while today was slightly different, last night had been so refreshing. Though she was dancing on eggshells with Scott and Jean, Logan didn’t mind Ororo at all. She was insightful, witty, adorable when she was embarrassed, and most importantly: Dark.

When she calmed from her not-crying fit, they began talking.

She shifted away from Logan, and fisted her hair. “You alright--”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. Logan snorted. She wilted and gave a defeated expression. “I just... This is hard, y’know?”

“Not really. I don’t know you, darlin’. I don’t even know why you’re back. I don’t even know why you left. And I’m not askin’,” he added, holding up his hands. Ororo nodded and bit her lip. “But if I may: Did you even want to come back?”

“That’s a bold question from a man I just met.” She grabbed a beer and popped the tab, ignoring her nudity. Logan watched her drink, waiting expectantly. She moved the beer from her lips and stared out at the lake. “I think I did want to come back. I was all over the place but never home. But then it got to be so many years and then I just felt like I wasn’t allowed to come back. Charles...” Ororo scratched her chin, “he always said I was welcome back. He didn’t care about where I had gone or how I’d been or how I was. He just wanted me back. But I wasn’t ready. I’m still not.”

“Why weren’t you ready to come back?”

Ororo didn’t bother to correct him. “That’s the question, isn’t it? The one everyone wants to ask but won’t. Because after a while you forget why leaving mattered so much, and you forget what you were so angry about. But even then you can never find the answers for why you want to return.” She shrugged. “Or if you even need to.” Ororo took a sip of her beer and wiped her lip. “Sorry if I’m not making sense.”

“No, you are.” Logan sipped his beer and furrowed his brow. “But if you can’t even remember why you were so angry, why did you feel like you weren’t allowed to return? Nothing was stopping you.” He glanced at her. “Or was there something stopping you?” he asked.

Ororo smiled, but it was so heartbreakingly sad, almost to the point of being pathetic. Logan waited, but she said nothing. And after a while of waiting, Logan assumed the question was too intrusive. If she didn’t answer, he wouldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, Logan would clam up just as quickly.

And then: “I felt free.”





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