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Disclaimer: I don’t own the X-Men (or assorted members of ‘The Avengers’ or ‘X-Factor’ for that matter!), so don’t sue.


I have had such fun writing this story, exploring the potentially darker sides of all the X-characters. It was quite liberating really! What made it more fun is that you all seemed to enjoy it also. A BIG thank-you to each and every one of you. So now, sit back and enjoy...


The Epilogue.


The thick smell of damp concrete in the air was stifling, although it was a relief that the rain had now stopped...to a degree. The thin veil of drizzle still came and went with no rhyme or reason. But when it did, it soaked one to the skin. It summed up the mood of all the occupants of the city; a nervous foreboding that the increasingly vicious war in Europe was going to get much worse before it got better. It was a dreary April and it was living up to its showery reputation.


The Lower East Side...Jimmy Logan hadn’t been in this part of the world for months, almost a year, especially not in this particular street, outside this specific club. The birth place of all the latest strife to have enveloped his life last year. He stood, gazing up from beneath the rim of his pork pie hat, at the blue neon sign, hands in the deep pockets of his trench coat. It had changed since he was last here. But ‘Port in a Storm’ had a nice---comforting sound to it.


“Would you like to come in sir?”


Logan was snapped from his daydream as the broad, caramel skinned door man asked whether or not he going to actually enter the club or simply stand outside and gape at it, completely gormless. “Sure...” Logan replied most unsurely. “Why not...”


Stepping inside, he shrugged off his coat and took off his hat, handing it to the tall woman with cropped, dark-hair at the cloak room. “Thanks Ma’am.” He said as he handed her the wet items.


She smiled at him, but there was something a little unnerving about those pouting red lips. “No problem sir.” Logan nodded politely, but as he was about to carry on into the club, he was stopped when the woman said, “By the way, it’s Stacy.” He looked at her, slightly thrown as he considered whether or not to take the hand she was offering out to him. After a protracted hesitation, he eventually took it, shaking it briefly. But what surprised and amused him is that she gripped it in the manner that he usually would.

With an eyebrow cocked in mild curiosity, he replied, “Logan---pleased ta make yer acquaintance.”


“Likewise.” She purred and released his hand. With that look of now slightly confused curiosity still on his face, Logan headed for the main room of the club.


*


It hadn’t changed too much inside; still the round tables with crisp white cloths and little red ‘vase’ candle holders in their centres. The cliental hadn’t changed either. Still the boys and girls with their cigars and cigarette holders, creating the same old veil of white/grey cloud that settled just above their heads as if it were about to open up and rain on them. Inane chatter filled the room to the soundtrack of Hot Lips Page and His Orchestra on stage, playing a punchy tune. Logan went to the bar, but before he could ask the pretty blonde behind it for a whisky with no ice, he was tapped on the shoulder. Turning around, he found an eagerly grinning boy stood behind him, whom he vaguely recognised.


“Good evening sir---a table has been set out for you by order of the management.” The young boy, who Logan had now placed as Tony, enthused.


“Right, I’ll just get my---.”


“There’s no need sir, I’ll bring it over to your table.” Tony smiled, gesturing his hand out in the direction that he wished Logan to go. So with a slight scowl, for he was deeply suspicious of people who were this nice to him, he snatched up the folded newspaper that was on the bar and followed the boy through the centre of the room, to take up the table he’d occupied months before.


“I’ll be back with your drink in a moment sir.” With that, he whizzed off.


Logan held his hand up, with an aborted word on his lips, which stopped when the boy disappeared from sight not giving him the chance to tell him what drink he actually wanted. Shaking his head slightly, he opened up the New York Times for April, 27th, 1940. The front page was taken up with a picture of a French town, devastated by German bombing, tactlessly followed up by an advert for washing powder or some such underneath. Logan opened the paper to the second page, ignoring the thoughtlessness of the editors only to find Scott Summers stern face staring back at him. His face crumpled into a scowl again as he read the article that accompanied it.


POLICE CHIEF WHO RID CITY OF MAIN CRIME FAMILIES SET TO QUIT.
Scott Summers, Chief of Police has announced his decision to give up his high profile position. The statement was given at a small press conference held in the Cities main police station at 8.00pm eastern time yesterday. Chief Summers, who received national acclaim for removing two mob family heads; Erik Lensherr and Cain Marko during one of the most vicious mob wars the City had ever seen, has decided to pass the mantel onto a successor. It has been strongly rumoured that Detective Henry McCoy is about to receive an unprecedented promotion to the job....


Logan couldn’t read anymore, as the paper continued to wax lyrical about Summers great achievements throughout his tenure. Tony came back, laying the whiskey on the rocks down in front of him with a smile on his face. But, after the Summers article, a couple of pages over, what he read there put a smile on his face too.


FORMER CLUB OWNER JAILED FOR TWENTY-FIVE YEARS.
Yesterday, at the city courthouse, Judge Chester Pembroke-Jones, sentenced former club owner, Mr Kenny Forge to twenty-five years in the state penitentiary for his involvement and business dealings with various mobs in the city. Mr. Forge, who was caught up in the shootings at the Lensherr mansion in Westchester last year, ( where Mr. Lensherr, his son Pietro Lensherr and Mr. Marko were fatally wounded in the operation)but survived his injuries, had pleaded not guilty to the charges brought against him. Never-the-less, the twelve man jury took just one hour to find him guilty on all counts.

This court case has delivered yet another blow to the former Mayor, Warren Worthington the Third’s Presidency candidate hopes, as a former associate of the defendant. Although, it has not been suggested that Mr. Worthington, a notorious campaigner for the crackdown on organized crime in New York, knew of Mr. Forge’s illegal dealings. But it has still done untold damage to his hopes of getting into the White House, with several influential patrons withdrawing their support for his campaign...


“Ladies an’ Gen’elmen, may I ‘ave your attention please!” Logan folded the broadsheet back together loosely and dropped it onto the table. He looked up at the stage to watch Remy do his bit as the professional showman; dapper suite, tasteful black bowtie, red carination in the button hole and all. “I’d jus’ like yo’ all to put yaw hands together fo’ Hot Lip Page an’ ‘is Orchestra.” Remy stepped aside and gesticulated towards the band at which point the audience duly clapped and the various band members of the New Orleans collective held their instruments up to the crowd appreciatively. “Can’t wait to see yo’ boys playin’ back on de Bayou.” He shook the band leaders hand, having a brief exchange out of the audience’s ear shot, before Hot Lips and his gang left the stage. Then Remy launched into some light banter with the audience, certainly showing a different side to himself than the man Logan had met last year. Obviously, his brush with imprisonment had changed his out look somewhat. Although, god-only-knows what cock and bull cover-up Summers managed to concoct to fulfil his promise to get the guy off the hook. Whatever it was, at least he was showing his gratitude to Ororo now. Ororo...


“...Anyway people, quiet down now ‘cause dis de moment ya’ll been waitin’ fo’.” Everybody did, quickly, the hush sweeping through the room like a church on Sunday. Remy smiled, “It’s been a long time in comin, but de girl has struggled---an’ she made. She made it ‘cause she’s a fighter.” In semi darkness behind him, another group of musicians set up quietly on stage, preparing their instruments quickly. “It is, mah mos’...sincere pleasure, to welcome back to de stage, Ms...Ororo...Munroe.” Stepping back from the microphone, Remy led the clapping as from the side of the small, red velvet backdrop stage; a tall elegant figure emerged from the shadows.


Logan’s breath caught in his throat, just as it did the first time as she approached the edge of the stage, coming slowly into the spotlight, hair loosely curled and freer than usual. The statuesque line of body was compounded by the flowing white dress that ran down her form like the silk worms that had produced it had wrapped her in it themselves, coming to a lily-like flare at the feet. Its high neckline caressed her collar bone lightly falling down into a slight scoop in the centre. Logan’s brow furrowed a little when he thought of what the strategically placed neckline was concealing; that small, perfectly round hard nub that was the only evidence of what had happened to her. But he soon put it from his mind as he looked at her face and she was looking down serenely at him. And when those sapphires locked onto him, there could have been two hundred people in the room, there could have been two thousand. It was simply negligible, because in that moment there was no-one. And Logan had his answer...


“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she began with that wonderfully calm voice of hers, as she shifted her gaze over him and out at the crowd, “it’s a pleasure to be back, and I would like to start this evening with a song called,” taking her jewel-eyes back down to Logan, her mouth curved into a mischievous smile, “It’s You or No One.”


The band behind started with their gently swinging rhythm, the rasping sound of the drum cymbal being rapped softly, the clarinet ran up and down it’s autumn wind-like melody, whistling and weaving through the lulling tune from the piano and the warm, subdued trumpets...


“ It’s you or no one for me

I’m sure of this

Each time we kiss

Now and forever and when forever is done

You’ll find that you are still the one

It’s you or no one for me...”


The whole crowd was hypnotised by those familiar velvet tones, feeling them permeate through the skin, warming the body from the inside out. But none more so than Logan. He’d been dreaming of this day for so long now even the reality felt like a dream. So lost was he that he was only dimly aware when a figure came and sat down beside him.


“De girl still got it homme, dere’s no doubt about dat.” Remy whispered appreciatively.


“Yeah, she sure has.” Logan turned to face his rather unwanted companion. “An’ if you ever put yer hands anywhere near it bub, yer’ll be finding being a thief a little difficult without ‘em.”


Remy chuckled lightly in reply. After a while, he said, “Look, yo’ got no need to worry mon ami, Stormy’s made it clear, I know de score.” He held his hand out to Logan, “Jus’ to say, I’m sorry for causin’ all dat crap an’ I’m sorry fo’ what I did to yo’.” The two men shook hands, although one remained sceptical despite the apparent sincerity. But if Ororo had forgiven him, and was trying to help him get his life together, who was he to balk at that? It was just the type of person she was; loyal to those she truly loved. Perhaps to a fault.


“Apology accepted.” He muttered gruffly and continued to enjoy the stage show.


“Besides,” Remy started after another brief silence, much to Logan’s chagrin, a fact that he didn’t try all that hard to disguise. “I got uddah t’ings to t’ink about dese days.” He turned his head and looked over his shoulder towards the bar. Logan did the same and saw the black-haired cloakroom attendant stood by the bar, looking back at them, sultry. Stacy, if he remembered rightly. He got the picture and it made him feel a little more at ease with Ororo’s decision to employ him as the club manager, understanding that it would be easier for business to have a man in that position. Though she still owned it, as it had been one of the few assets of Forge’s that the State Department hadn’t confiscated as part of his illegal earnings. He was sure she’d be boss, but she’d been away from it for a long while, almost six months.


The song came to an end and the audience were rhapsodic in their delight and appreciation. But after just one song, Ororo said her thank-you’s and took her leave of the stage.


* * *



Ororo stood in the office looking out of the window at nothing but the reflection of the room projected back to her. It had been completely redecorated and rearranged since she’d last been in here. Remy had seen to it that not a trace of her old life or Forge remained in here and she was extremely grateful. Getting over what had happened had been hard, excruciatingly so, but she’d done it. She’d survived.


Her hand reached up to the high neckline of her silk dress, slipping over its edge to find the small, hard button-like lump just above her left breast. The middle finger ran over it tentatively at first, until it was joined by her fore and index fingers in its exploration. She did this almost every day, felt the exit wound of the bullet, as if to make sure it was real, to confirm to herself that she’d almost died on that night. After her initial recuperation, Ororo had gone away, alone, on her own insistence. Logan had tried to persuade her otherwise at first but soon came to realise that that was what she needed to do, no matter what the consequences for their fledgling relationship. But before she left, he’d asked her just one question, and now was the time to answer it...


The latch of the office door clicked open and Ororo’s heart skipped a beat. Her back was to it and she dared not turn around at first. But ultimately she summoned the courage to do so. For a moment they both regarded each other from the far sides of the room. Then, she strode over to Logan who seemed rooted to the spot at the doorway; the door still half open, letting the noise and music from the club flood the room. As she came right up near him she stretched an arm out over his shoulder, closing the door with a neat click. Bringing her arm back to her she let it rest on his shoulder, encircling her hand around the back of his head whilst he rested his settle on her narrow waist.


“So darlin’, am I to take this as a ‘yes’?”


Ororo pressed her body closer to him as her other arm came up and wrapped itself around his shoulder and neck. Taking her lips close to his, she whispered, “Yes, this is a most definite yes.” And so, they kissed. In a world on the brink of being ripped asunder, two lovers, two people destined to meet, found their own small haven of peace, their island of bliss. For how long it would last, who could say? But to triumph over so much adversity, it would be a hard hearted person not to think a love so strong could overcome any odds.


~The End~





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