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Part III – Over the Vast Sea


"Did you think it was romance?"
Ororo's jaw dropped at his first words, pulling her gaze to his smoldering eyes, her mind suddenly being bombarded with seething anger. Without even thinking, her hand rose automatically and swung, hitting the left side of his face as hard as she could, feeling the biting sting of his metal-lined skull slamming into her urgent hand. She didn't allow the small satisfaction to register on her face when his head shot to the side, a bare grimace in his features. It wasn't enough for Ororo.
"How dare you," she almost screamed, rubbing her hand slowly, feeling the throbbing in her finger tips and along her palm. "Of course I didn't think it was romance. Of all things, romance is most definitely not how I would describe it."
"Fuck, ‘Ro," Logan growled, turning back to glare at her, his eyes hot.
"Don't call me that," Ororo spat, staring up at him with equal intensity, her glistening blue eyes wavering.
"Fine," Logan snarled, squaring himself with her, his hands unconsciously gripping and releasing, as though he were preparing for a fight. "How would you describe what happened between us? Was it the lust of the moment? Or did you just want to forget the grief?"
"I would describe it as me giving you all my trust and then you taking it and leaving," Ororo hissed back. "Without a word, Logan. Without any mention at all where you were going, or why. Instead you left me to realize what we had done alone."
"I had a lead," Logan snapped. "I had known for weeks before Chuck died. It was the last fucking thing he told me. I figured I should follow up on it."
"And you figured you would just go do that after I fell asleep next to you?" Ororo asked, her voice tauntingly bitter. "I'm sick of these excuses," she muttered, turning around, rubbing her hands over her forehead wearily, closing her eyes, wishing he had never found her.
"What was I supposed to do?" Logan asked behind her, his voice hoarse. She could hear the heavy thuds of his boots against the hard wood floor, and she knew he was standing right behind her. She kept her eyes closed, trying to force out the images of him in her head.
"You were supposed to stay," Ororo whispered almost inaudibly, opening her eyes to stare at the wall.
"And then what?" Logan asked, his voice softer, his breath on her neck. "You regretted it. I could practically see it in your eyes the moment of. We were supposed to wake up next to each other in the morning and then pretend like it had never happened at all?"
"No," Ororo said, turning around, taken aback at how close he was standing to her. She didn't take a step back. "We wouldn't have pretended, Logan. We could've remembered it together, tried to find a way to work things out after everything."
Logan let out a sad laugh, shaking his head. "You know me, ‘Ro."
Ororo stared up at him in silence, and after a moment: "Yes, I suppose I do know you," she said, looking away. "But didn't it mean anything at all to you?"
"Yes," Logan said gruffly, without hesitation, reaching out and tipping her chin up so he could see into her face. "Why do you think I came back?"
"Then why did you leave me nothing?" Ororo asked, confused, and she laughed haltingly at the memory. "You left me standing at your bedside, watching Rogue read the note you left for her. And those damned dog tags..."
"Shit," Logan breathed, running a hand through his thick hair, another wrapping around Ororo's waist, pulling her to him. She resisted for only a moment before she allowed herself to be dragged in, suddenly finding her face burrowed in Logan's neck, the smell of him flowing through her, making her wish for Westchester, making her want to go back and change the past that she knew was so horribly set.
"I wanted to kill you," Ororo muttered, her voice muffled by his shirt.
He turned his head and deposited a kiss in her hair, whispering, "I'm so sorry, ‘Ro. I guess I thought it didn't matter so much to you."
She closed her eyes, blinking back the inevitable tears she could already feel forming on her lashes. When she opened them, she could make out the familiar ball links of the dog tags he had around his neck, the soft metal giving off a light sheen under the sun that filtered through the windows.
"Why is it that whenever you left, those tags always stayed behind?" Ororo asked into his collar, feeling his other arm wrap around her body, drawing her snugly against him.
"They didn't stay behind this time," Logan murmured, his voice gravelly against her smooth, white hair.
Ororo didn't say anything, but lifted a hand to the ball links, running her fingertips down the rounded metal, fingering the smooth curves all the way to the tags, feeling the small letters press into her skin.
He watched her hands for a moment and finally said, "I came back and you weren't there. Jeanie refused to tell me where you were. She seemed to delight in holding it over me, and God knows I deserved it."
"Good for her," Ororo mumbled, letting the dog tags drop to his chest.
"One day she let it slip," Logan went on, "She was showing me another compound I may be interested in – down in Crete. In the middle of the fucking sea."
"Four hours away," Ororo said, shrugging. "By hydrofoil."
"And she let it slip," Logan murmured, looking down into Ororo's bright blue eyes, noticing the breath that was caught in her throat, lifting a finger to brush away the wetness on her eyelids.

The late afternoon sun beat against the windows, slanting in through the glass panes and falling through the room, hitting the small prism Ororo had hung from the ceiling, making the pale walls of her bedroom explode into a flurry of vibrant rainbows, the small stripes of light twisting as the prism turned slowly back and forth.
Ororo could see the town of Mykonos across the small bay, the establishments of white houses and churches glistening in the heat and the wind, which was kicking up again, sending the blushing oleander blossoms quivering.
"Is it always so damned windy?" Logan asked from behind her, tightening his arm around her stomach, his rough tan shocking against her smooth skin.
"The people here have a saying," Ororo said, smiling when she remembered Maria telling it to her nearly five years ago. "They say that the wind is so strong it can lift chairs and throw them over houses."
"Something tells me that's happened more than once around here," he replied gruffly, nuzzling into her brilliant tresses, his breath hot on her bare neck.
"You would be surprised," Ororo laughed, rolling over, turning to face Logan, settling against the warm, white pillow, watching him intently.
He rested his forehead against her's, pulling her close to him, his nose rubbing against her's as he lifted his head to deposit a kiss between her eyebrows.
"You know I've got to go do this thing," he said, pulling away to judge her reaction.
After a moment, Ororo nodded, her eyes glancing down to the tags around his neck. "I know," she said, pressing her hand against his side, digging her short nails into his skin until he flinched, reaching down to pull at her slim fingers.
"What happens after that?" Ororo asked, not looking at him, unable to find the courage. Instead she watched her hand in his, wondering if it was real.
He tipped her chin up for her, his dark eyes direct and deep as he viewed her, taking in a shaking breath. "Is this what you want?"
"Is it what you want?" Ororo asked him in return, unsure of the answer.
"You know," Logan said, running his hand into her hair. "Even if you don't believe it."
Ororo nodded and smiled quietly, resting her forehead against his again, murmuring, "Then go."

When Ororo woke the next morning the sun was just barely over the horizon, spilling light over the deep sea, darting through the green-blue of the water and the waves. The famous wind of Mykonos was beginning to generate its forces, picking up speed over the water and stirring up the waves, capping them with white froth as they drove toward the land.
Ororo stirred silently, curling up in the white sheets, drawing her bare legs up to her body like a small child. The warm wind was swiftly coming in through the open windows, carrying with it the salt smell of the sea and the sounds of water breaking on sand.
Hesitantly, Ororo opened her eyes blearily, yawning and stretching away the fuzzy sleep. Then she paused, her blue eyes motionless when she saw the glint of metal on the pillow by her side. Slowly, she unwrapped her arms from the sheets and leaned forward to the empty side of the bed, the sheets cool under her hands. She reached out to the other pillow and plucked the chain up swiftly, watching the dog tags slide down, catching on each ball link.
She laid down on her back, holding the chain above her, observing the way the Greek sun slid over the surface of the metal tags, glowing just how Ororo remembered. She watched the tags for a moment, wondering how far Logan was on the Aegean, skipping over the waves in the droning hydrofoil, picturing the wind from the air vents blowing through his jet black hair. If she thought hard enough, she could almost picture his eyes, looking out onto the vast sea.
Silently, she smiled and gathered the chain in her hand, feeling the warm metal against her palm, and placed it back on the pillow beside her.





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