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The next morning, the cool autumn wind was still lightly breezing through Ororo's open window, filtering through the lace drapes, making them fly gracefully into the air, twisting and untwisting, falling only to be lifted up again.
The tangy air drifted over Ororo's back, meeting her warm skin with a small explosion of sensations, making Ororo smile in her sleep, snuggling closer to her pillow. She laid casually on her stomach, white hair tumbling down her back until it began to mingle with the white sheets, becoming indistinguishable from the silk.
In her dreamless sleep she began to stir, restlessly moving out her legs in the tangled sheets, unfolding a long arm to slide it to the other side of the bed, where warmth was missing.
The surprise woke her with a start. She laid there for a moment, staring at the empty space, not bothering to push her wild hair from her eyes. Through the tiny strands of silver she saw the tossed back covers, the dent in her feather pillow, the winkles in the sheets.
Silently, she closed her eyes, wishing him back, hoping that if she were to turn over he'd be there, stepping out of the shower, or standing on the porch, watching her like he had that night.
But he was not in those places. When she turned there was nothing to greet her but an empty room, silent except for the almost inaudible rustle of the air over the lace.
In a daze, she got up and showered, staring at the tile walls, running the warm water through her hair. She wouldn't seek him out, she decided. It would be better to wait for him after the funeral, to say what they needed then.
Ororo calmly turned off the shower, stepping out with a plume of steam.

"‘Ro, have you seen Logan?" Jean called, walking out of the kitchen in a knee length black dress, her long red hair pushed back from her face in a multitude of careful curls.
Ororo shook her head, standing by the window, staring quietly, watching the changing leafs on the trees. "No," she said, keeping her voice even. "Not since last night."
"Well I can't seem to find him anywhere," Jean frowned, tapping one polished black shoe against the hard wood floor.
"I wouldn't think so," Scott said from the couch, turning to look at Jean. "His bike isn't in the garage."
"What?" Ororo asked, spinning around to face Scott.
On the other side of the room, Rogue looked up, the small smile on her face disappearing before Ororo could even come up with a full thought.
"I'll go to his room," Ororo said without thinking, moving almost blindly to the hallway, striding on instinct to his door, Jean behind her.
Ororo opened the door, shoving the hard wood aside, stepping into the room. The bed was still made from the previous day, everything clean and tidy.
She didn't have to search through the room to discover the answer. Instead she stood by the bed, breathing raggedly, wondering if she could pick up that smell of him as Jean whipped open the closets, finding nothing. Ororo closed her eyes and sat down on the bed as Jean moved to the bathroom, rummaging through the drawers.
"This just can't be right," Jean was muttering to herself. "He would've told us."
Ororo opened her eyes with a shaky breath, looking around her as if she were stuck in some surreal world. She could feel nothing. She could recognize nothing. Suddenly she realized that she felt like screaming.
In the hazy blur, she noticed a plain envelope sitting on the bedside table, a set of dog tags sitting on top of it. Reaching out, she grabbed the envelope and the metal chain, hearing the clinks of the tags. She stared at the word on the envelope, trying to keep the anger from rising up in her.
Marie.
"Ms. Munroe?" She heard Rogue's tentative, shy voice from the doorway.
She whirled around, the chain almost slipping from her fingers.
"What is that?" Rogue said hoarsely, staring at the envelope Ororo had in her hands, gripping onto desperately.
"He left you something," Ororo said, trying not to sound like her heart was breaking.
Rogue walked around the bed, stopping in front of Ororo. Reluctantly, Ororo loosened her hold on the envelope, stretching out her hand to the young girl standing in front of her, a confused frown etched into her beautiful face.
Rogue picked up the chain, the tags sliding down the small ball links, clattering softly. She gripped it tightly and picked up the envelope. Jean stepped out of the bathroom, stopping just short, watching Rogue slide the paper flap open and pull out the paper within.

That night Ororo was still in her dress clothes, the black material wrinkled and worn, her black shoes tossed on the floor by her feet as she sat on the leather couch silently, watching the television with blank eyes.
She had only three words running through her head. He had left. Over and over again they spun through her consciousness, as though taunting her with their finality. The more she watched those words spin, and the more she thought of the night before, thinking about touching bare skin, so hot in the cool room, the more she began to hate herself for her weakness, and for his cowardice.
"Ororo," Jean said softly from behind her.
"Yes, Jean?" Ororo asked without turning around.
"Besides the obvious, what's wrong?"
Ororo watched her friend round the couch, taking a seat next to her, curling up in her sweats.
"You wouldn't want to know, Jean," Ororo said, lifting a hand to pull her hair from its ponytail, finding the white bobby pins and pulling them out, leaving them discarded on the table.
"Ororo," Jean sighed, reaching out and touching her arm. "Please tell me. It won't get any better if you don't."
"I know this," Ororo bowed her head, finally feeling tears spring to life in her eyes. Strangely, she hadn't cried at all during the day. Somehow she couldn't make them come, yet here they were now, amazingly ill-timed.
"Oh, ‘Ro," Jean whispered, scooting closer and sliding an arm around her, hugging her hard. "What is it?"
"It was all a mistake," she whispered through the tears.
"What was?" Jean asked, knowing she wasn't going to delve into her best friend's mind. She didn't allow herself that.
"Logan," Ororo spat, pushing her hair out of her face and taking a deep breath. "I don't know why I allowed it. It was just that at that moment everything seemed to fall into place."
Jean stilled for a minute, catching Ororo's eyes with her own. "What are you trying to say, ‘Ro?"
"Logan and I," Ororo tried to say, attempting to calm her nerves. "Last night."
She found that she couldn't say more, but it seemed to be enough. Jean closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against Ororo's shoulder, taking a deep breath. Ororo kept staring straight ahead, tears streaming down her face, wanting to laugh at herself for her mistake, but finding that she couldn't.
"I feel like such a fool," she whispered, and to that Jean raised her head, making Ororo look at her.
"You aren't a fool," Jean insisted, shaking her head. "Logan is the one at fault here, ‘Ro, not you."
"But I allowed it," Ororo groaned, pulling her gaze away from Jean's intense green eyes. "I knew I would come to regret it the moment it happened but I never expected to feel this."
"What is that?" Jean asked, and Ororo turned to look at her friend again, blue eyes wavering.
"Such emptiness."





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