Friday, August 13th 2004
1.5 mi from The Howlett Estate
3:26pm
The day had started out with a bright, beautiful sun, clear azure skies and a warm caressing wind that was picturesque of summers on the beach. By noon, that had all but disappeared completely.
Sunbathers up and down the private & public-access portions of the beach quickly gathered their belongings, packing everything up to hurry & get out of the chilled wind and cold drizzling rain that started to fall shortly after the hour.
The waves of the surf sent rumbles through the air as they crashed, beating the densely-packed white sand into submission. Blue skies & billowing white clouds were replaced now with a muted grey atmosphere and darker clouds that strained to hide flashes of lightning every few moments. It was true storm-type weather; such that anyone would be crazy to be out in it.
‘So, what does that say about You?’ Ororo asked herself as her bare feet trudged through the sand. Holding her bright white tennis shoes by the tongues in one hand, she kept her eyes on her feet, marveling at the crystallized particles as they stuck to her skin almost up to the calves.
Anything to distract herself from what she was doing.
‘You’re out of your mind, you know.’ Damn, it wasn’t working. Furrowing her brow, ‘Ro hunched her shoulders, eyes narrowing as she picked up her pace just a little. ‘If a trained professional can’t help this guy, what in the world makes you think You can do any better??’
Thunder overhead was her answer as she kept walking, trying to also ignore the furious beating of her heart. Unbidden, images of the first time she’d met Him popped into her head, followed by the recollection of the first time she’d seen his metallic claws.
Was it by mere chance or by Logan’s will that she’d not seen them since that day?
An active imagination was enough to supplant the images Jean offered to show her as Ororo could envision what those razor sharp extensions had done to Ben Campbell & the rest of Logan’s trainees. While Jean had not disclosed Logan’s involvement in Section X, she had given Ororo some of the gory details of the “training accident” that had landed the young man in the hospital and Logan in deep shit.
The two women had spoken for hours, as Jean tried to supply some of the missing pieces to Logan’s past that Ororo now found herself wishing he’d trusted her enough to give on his own.
Sighing heavily, she admitted to herself that perhaps it was too late for them, romantically speaking…but there was something in her heart that still tugged listening to Jean’s description of the little spunky girl with her mother’s hair and her father’s stubbornness. She’d been the light of Logan’s eye, and her death had severed what little progress Logan had made in his tumultuous life toward mental stability…
---
A couple hours before…
Jean was a picture of reserve, trying her best not to cry in front of Ororo as she recalled the days & weeks up to and after Amahra’s passing. Her coffee forgotten, she sat with her shoulders slumped and hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring hard at some unknown spot just to the left of where her rapt audience sat, bright green eyes slightly dulled from life while still shining with unshed tears.
“…I knew from the moment we met that He was different.” Jean couldn’t help the wistful smile as she remembered, “We were young…or, I guess I should say I was. To this day I’m not sure if it was because of my powers or in spite of them that we connected like we did. In retrospect, I see now it couldn’t have ever lasted long, whether or not we’d ever had Amahra. Logan was the best father I could’ve hoped for, but husband…?”
Ororo’s eyes stayed trained on this woman, as she couldn’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy mixed with sympathy. And maybe just a little despair. How could she have ever hoped she & Logan would’ve worked out now, in light of the disaster of his marriage? If a telepath couldn’t even connect with him, what hope had she?
Suddenly Jean looked directly at her, as if she could sense the other woman’s unease & regret, and smiled just a little. “…well, let’s just say that he didn’t lack for trying. But what I didn’t realize then”and had to come to accept in order to finally admit it was Over”was that I couldn’t “fix” Logan. No matter how hard I tried. No matter how much he said he wanted to change. It just wasn’t IN him. I didn’t understand it at first, and I guess now that’s my own foolishness & bravado. But there are things about Logan…things in his past…that simply wouldn’t”won’t”allow him to be fully happy, content…or even at peace.”
Ororo couldn’t help the tightness in her chest at the finality of Jean’s tone as she recounted the sordid details of Logan’s days in the Canadian military, his vague memories of a tattered childhood that resulted in his mother’s death & his father’s abandonment…She’d almost been about to say something else, but stopped, looking back to Ororo momentarily.
“That’s partially why I came to see him a few weeks ago. I knew this day was coming, and considering what happened when I tried on my own to help him, I was”well, shocked I guess is the right word”to see him actually smiling. He looked nothing like the man I’d visited back in June.”
Ororo didn’t respond immediately, her brow furrowed as she tried to recall her encounters w/ the man from then. The time seemed so far away to her. Meeting Jean’s gaze, she finally said, “You said you tried to help him. What did you do?”
Here is where the Doctor paused, a look of guilt over her face that didn’t soon leave, as she carefully explained to Ororo her “fool-hearty” attempt to unlock & re-assemble the fractured pieces of Logan’s mind, to enable him to re-connect with his emotional center that had been severed during his unfortunate time with Dept. H. It had been an attempt born of the love Jean had for him and was mostly selfless, as she only wanted the man she cared so deeply for to be able to experience love and life as he was ‘meant’ to.
“Why didn’t it work?” Was Ororo’s obvious question.
Matter-of-factly, Jean replied, “Because you can’t force the mind to do something it really just doesn’t want to do. I learned that the hard way with Logan.”
Shifting in her seat, Ororo’s thought immediately went to her father, but she tried to focus on what Jean was still saying…
“His mind was cut to pieces like a jigsaw, and the people responsible knew exactly what to take out & what to leave. It’s why sometimes He seemed like two different men to me. There was ‘Logan’, who you could trust and love and who seemed to want to return those things…and then there was someone else.”
Ororo’s brow rose at the cryptic way Jean said that last, her face going a little paler and she fidgeted in her chair as well. “Like another personality?”
Jean lifted a shoulder, as she realized she was getting too close to exposing Logan’s alter, his shield, his protector”Wolverine. “Maybe. Unfortunately, I never got the opportunity to find out. The damage I did was done, and I couldn’t take it back. I tried to open a door in Logan’s psyche that he wasn’t ready”or able”to open, and our family paid the price. After that, he wouldn’t let me within ten feet of him…psychologically speaking.”
Ororo looked to her in confusion. “But…was this before or after Amahra?”
“Before, during, after…” Jean counted on her fingers, “At first, he was all for it; Logan really wanted to be a great dad, and he thought If I could ‘undo’ the damage done to his mind, he’d be a better father to our child. It sort of worked, too…until Amahra got sick….”
---
Ororo looked up, her feet feeling heavy in the sand as she realized she was within eyesight of the house, its darkened windows and long shadows sending chills up her spine. It was so quiet and lonely and alone.
It began to look every bit of a prison as Logan had made it over the past year.
As she stepped up to the back porch quietly, her hand raised as if to knock, she paused, remembering Jean’s last words to her:
“I’m sorry, Ororo. It isn’t right to lay this all on you, but I thought you should know exactly what you’d be walking into…”
For the 1st time, she felt just a little trepidation in her heart, her pulse beating wildly in her chest and ears as she realized for the first time that she was afraid.
---
Thousands of Miles away…
The day’s peace talks had been more eventful than even Charles or Erik had anticipated. It was hard work to be sure, but as the two men now sat in the spacious living room area in Charles’ suite, Magnus with a stiff Brandy (Charles accepted water due to his high dosages of meds) in hand, there was a calm sense of satisfaction & accomplishment.
“Do you think the U.N. will accept the new proposal for international aid?” Erik asked after a few moments of silence.
Charles’ fingers stroked the outside of the glass, as he tried w/ some vain to disguise the slight trembling of his hands. With more energy than he actually felt, he smiled at his friend. “After all the sweat we’ve put into it, God I hope so. If I hear anything even remotely sounding like a ‘back to the drawing board’ tomorrow, things may get ugly.”
Erik chuckled, reaching for the flask of liquor to refill his shot glass. “I think the Prime Minister realizes that. I’ll bet she’s on the phone now, even at this hour, trying to drum up more support for the proposal.”
“If that were only true…” Charles started, then paused to touch his forehead briefly while Erik looked down to pour the drink. By the time his friend raised his eyes to him again, waiting for his next words, the Ambassador thought he’d successfully covered the momentary lapse. “…it would give me peace of mind that she wasn’t sabotaging our efforts in some ridiculous attempt to prove a point.”
“You mean about Genosha’s ‘independence’?”
“Right. There are still too many here that are letting pride goeth before that fall everyone else sees coming if action isn’t taken quickly. The medical community here just isn’t equipped to handle the waves of new TLV cases cropping up each month. Corporations are pulling up stakes, taking crucial jobs with them, and let’s not even talk about the floundering exports industry.”
Erik nodded, knowing all of this already, but not interrupting Charles as he re-counted the disaster that was Genosha’s economic situation for the past few years. It didn’t happen over night, and unfortunately wouldn’t be fixed as quickly either. “But we’re making progress. Oh, that reminds me; I caught CNN running sound bites from your 1st address to the Parliament earlier. I’ve heard from some of the others that BBC, FOX and CBS are also doing pieces highlighting what’s going on. The exposure-angle seems to be working pretty well.”
Unable to help a weaker smile, Charles put his glass down and tried to grip the wheels of his chair, but his hands shook too much. Reaching up to the motorized remote at his right, he flipped the switch between manual & automatic. “I can’t take all of the credit. A few Pulitzer-seeking journalists may have something to say on the matter.”
“Well, no matter,” Erik waved off his friend’s humility. “Not that the ends justify the means, but I’ll take help wherever we can get it.”
Nodding in agreement, Charles turned his chair away, heading to the bedroom. “Agreed…Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m heading off to bed. We’ve got Larry King Live in the morning.”
Magnus nodded quickly before setting the glass down on the side table & standing, stretching. “Good then. I’ll meet you here for breakfast, ok?”
Charles was barely able to nod, keeping his eyes adverted as he pressed the remote a little harder, speeding up the chair. “Right…”
Before he opened the door to Capt. Ward’s ever-present face, Erik paused, turning to Charles’ retreating figure. “Oh, did you take your meds for the evening?”
With a barely-audible sigh, Xavier didn’t turn but responded quietly, “Yes, Erik.”
“Ok, alright, I’m done nagging for the day. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
“Good night Charles.”
Once the door was closed, the Ambassador could just barely hear the voices of Capt. Ward and Erik outside before they faded. Rolling into his bedroom, Charles stopped immediately beside the bed, where the dark wooden night table supported a single dim lamp. With visibly shaking hands, he took out the bottles of medication and a sterile needle cased in plastic.
He knew he’d forgotten to take the last round about an hour ago, when his mouth began filling with bile every few minutes and the dizzy spells started. He’d been late earlier that day as well, but not purposely as they were in the middle of negotiating trade agreements. Charles honestly didn’t see the point to this anymore, as the medication provided only partial relief now”at best.
He knew the stress of his current assignment was wearing heavily on his body. He was in moderate to severe pain almost all day, but he refused to take the dosages of morphine or Fentanyl Moira & Hank had agreed he could tolerate & prescribed. The unused narcotics gathered dust in the bottom of Charles’ medication bag, never even opened.
Automatically, he tied the tourniquet about his bicep, which took several moments with the increasing amount of trembling. Sighing heavily, he shook his head, wondering how in hell he was going to administer the shot when he couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking.
After several failed attempts (and a little cursing), Xavier laid the unused syringe down on the table. Pulling the thick rubber band from his arm, he shoved it back into the desk. He could call Erik…but the thought of asking for help for the millionth time since his diagnosis of TLV was suddenly more sickening to him than the side effects of the cocktail. It was the first time Charles really sat back and allowed himself to feel self-pity, and while it was reassuring in a weird way, it also marked the height of hopelessness.
With the greatest amount of effort he’d ever used since 1st discovering his powers, he used a little telekinesis to lift himself from the chair and onto the bed. Moving the sheets was pointless (not to mention energy-consuming) and so he didn’t bother, just drawing the comforter up, still dressed in his slacks and expensive shirt he’d worn earlier that day.
He was just so tired, and suddenly things just weren’t mattering like they used to.
Reaching for his wallet on the nightstand, he flipped past his NY State I.D. card, the one credit card he always took w/ him and the laminated ‘cheat sheet’ Henry had made for him to remember which med he was supposed to take when & the dosage.
Laying his tired, slightly spinning head against the blissfully soft pillows, he looked at the old, well-worn pictures in the back of his wallet, filled with images of his friends, his closest contacts and mostly his family. There were pictures of Charles & Erik, Moira and Sean at the ground-breaking of the School over two decades ago; a copy of a snapshot he’d taken with Nelson Mandela, as the persecuted liberator reached through the bars of his cell to lay a reassuring hand on Charles’ shoulder; he flipped past three different images of himself standing beside 3 different presidents in the Oval Office of the White House…
Again and again, Charles flipped through the plastic-covered photos, immersing himself in his textured past to escape the increasing pain his body was in. Finally, the last two pictures he paused at actually made his bleary eyes crinkle in a genuine smile, as he stared at a family photo including all of his adopted children & their classmates after the first full semester at the School. He remembered the hard work the children had committed themselves to, and how proud he was of all of them.
The last picture was the most weathered…its edges frayed & worn from so much handling and age, of course. He’d always meant to get it restored, or a copy of it, but had never gotten around to it.
It was 20-something years ago, just outside the family courtroom, after the judge had made his adoption of Ororo legal, binding & permanent. She was propped up in his arms, her short wavy white hair brushed from her luminous eyes and pinned on the side in the front (Moira’s idea), in a pale blue that matched her dress, socks & of course her eyes.
He remembered Erik had snapped the image, catching the new father & daughter as they looked at each other in a sort of ‘I got you, Babe’ smile. Her plump little hand held onto the edge of his dress shirt’s collar, her other arm around his neck.
Staring hard at the image of himself, so much younger, stronger and happier, Xavier smiled again, fighting the fatigue and he watched the angelic image of his daughter’s face until he succumbed to the darkness.
---
Meanwhile, back in Southampton…
The humidity outside only added to the stifling heat of the un-cooled home as she carefully came through the back door to the foyer and into the kitchen. She’d been surprised the doors were unlocked, but then checked herself; who’d be crazy enough to come here except her?
Inside, she stepped around the mess strewn all over on the floor, her eyes taking in the damage and she knew it was from Him. Hugging herself, she bit down on a nail, chewing nervously, fighting the urge to turn, to leave…to run away.
‘You know why you can’t”won’t.’ She chided, padding on silent (at least, to her ears) feet toward the kitchen’s doorway, toward the hall and the spacious living room.
Before she could enter the room, she caught the sound of an empty bottle rolling somewhere, the sound of glass clinking roughly against another hard surface. In the silence it made her start, but Ororo took a deep breath, arming her with the knowledge that she should remember why she was here and for whom.
As she rounded the corner she saw him, sitting up now, but just barely propped up against the lower half of the couch, his head hanging to one side, his arms seemingly useless at his sides. Reddened grey eyes stared out the uncovered sliding glass doors to the side patio, out at the crashing surf, out past the water and into oblivion.
The soft gasp that escaped her lips seemed to reverberate in the decimated room, as she took in the sight of Logan, several days past any semblance of clean, his hair disheveled, clothes dirty and torn, dozens of bottles of liquor littering the floor immediately surrounding him. She remembered once he kidded with her that he wasn’t able to get fully intoxicated due to his healing factor, but as she looked at him now, obviously inebriated as his head listed to one side, the stench of vomit permeating her nostrils, she knew better.
It was pointless to count the amount of bottles on the floor as she came to his side, kneeling carefully, taking him by the shoulders. Looking him over as if checking for physical wounds, her eyes bulged even though she tried to keep her voice calm. “L-Logan..? (o my God) are you alright?”
He didn’t answer right away; as a matter of fact, he didn’t even seem to hear her, continuing to stare past her outside.
“…Logan? Please, say something; talk to me. I have to know you’re okay.” She gently shook his shoulder, but when she again got no response, lifted his bearded chin, turning his face up to her.
The vacancy in his eyes eventually shifted, his line of sight changed and he looked into her eyes. Surprise flashed before her reflection in his pupils before his brow suddenly creased, his face turning to agony as if he was in pain. Jerking away from her, he moved like lightning, sliding as he back-pedaled away on the floor before scrambling to his feet. The quick movement did nothing to help his stupor, and he stumbled several times as he moved away from her.
“Logan, wait”“
Powerful shoulders heaving as if he’d just finished a long run, he kept his back to her, but he stopped walking, his body wavering as he tried to maintain his balance. Slowly his head turned a little, and she saw his fists clench reflexively as a deep, gravelly voice broke through: “What the fuck are you doin’ here?”
A little moment of panic coursed through her; Ororo kept her eyes on his hands as the wrists moved in tandem to the flexing fingers. She didn’t have to be a genius to realize the instinct he was fighting back right then.
Carefully, she stayed exactly where she was, as she didn’t want him to misinterpret any sudden movements. In the back of her mind Jean’s words played again, warning her of The Other side of Logan. When she hesitated in answering him, his piercing silver eyes turned to her fully, glowing just a little as he stared at her like a predator.
Despite internal warning signals, she kept her eyes adverted initially, swallowing hard as she looked at the floor. “Logan…I-I came because I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were OK.”
“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?” he seethed, and she could tell by his tone that he was daring her to name her true motive.
For her part, Ororo knew that she couldn’t back down from him, but at the same time challenging this Other side of Logan was as dangerous a course of action as she could take. Quietly, she answered, “Because…because I know”“
He swung around at her then, jabbing a finger toward her to cut her off. “You don’t know shit”“
“”I know what today is.”
The wild look in his eyes intensified if possible, as if she’d verbally insulted him. Their eyes met, and he seemed to be knocked into speechlessness, his body also frozen but quivering in anger at once. His lack of response gave her false hope that maybe she’d gotten through, and Ororo stood slowly.
“It’s…it’s okay…” She tried again, moving cautiously to him, noticing the ‘caged animal’ look he was giving her.
He let her get as close as within arm’s length before he stepped back. She took two steps forward, reaching out to him to lay a shaky hand on his arm, stroking him there soothingly. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “…I know you’re angry. I know you’re hurting. I know that Logan is still here, though. No matter what They did, that’ll never change”“
At the mere allusion to The Other, the tentative reservation pretending to be calm flew out the window, and he yanked his arm away from her, stepping away out of her reach. “Lady, you think you know what’s goin’ on? You don’t know shit.”
“Wait”“
“Fuck, take a look around here, sweetheart; is this the sort of life you want? Is this what you wanna look forward to, every time things get ‘tough’ for Him?”
She blinked, confused at his reference to himself in the 3rd person. Ororo had only taken Jean’s word at face value, but now she began to realize that the Doctor had been telling the blatant truth: Whatever had been done to James Howlett’s mind had, in fact, produced two very separate, very antagonistic personalities. One was ‘Logan’…and the Other was now staring at her like he wanted to gut her where she stood.
Treading carefully, she kept her voice a neutral level. “Hold on…I wasn’t talking about Me & Logan…but you know that. I’m talking about what happened to his little girl. I’m talking about Amahra.”
“I don’t wanna hear this…” he growled harshly, stomping away toward the back of the house. She followed him at a respectable distance, but stopped quickly when his fist lashed out in the hallway, smashing through the picture frame holding the drawing the little girl had done. It clattered to the floor, the glass smudged with blood along with pieces of the drywall behind it. He didn’t seem to care, continuing on his way as if the more distance he put between them the better.
Ororo was about to follow as he headed out (presumably to circle back to the garage), but paused at the foot of the stairs, glancing up to the 2nd floor. There was something up there she knew he didn’t want her to know, and a dangerous plan began to form in her mind, as she changed her direction, planting one foot on the first step. As He almost disappeared through the front foyer, she called out, “Fine. If You won’t help Logan, then I will…”
With his hand on the doorknob, he was about to swing it open when his acute ears picked up the sound of footfalls on his stairs. Anger and panic mixed within him as his eyes grew wide and he turned on his heel, running back into the house & after her up the stairs.
Ororo managed to get as far as 4ft past the second floor landing before she heard him right behind her. She wasn’t positive she’d be able to remember the layout of the house or where Jean told her to go, but she reached out to the only closed door upstairs and even managed to turn the lock before his large hand shot past her head, slamming the door shut again.
When he swung her around to face him, she could tell the redness in his eyes had nothing to do with being drunk. Roughly pushing her back against the closed door, he leaned in close to her face, lip curled to reveal dangerous canines; the soft purr she’d come to find soothing as they’d lain sleeping in each other’s arms was now a vicious snarl rumbling from his chest.
Ororo knew she couldn’t help the smell of fear emanating from herself as she stood against that door, paralyzed by the look this man was giving her. His eyes actually burned through her as if she were a stranger…no, an enemy. It was a dangerous reversal of the last time they’d seen each other, but this time she knew one of them was not in control.
“L-Logan--!” She tried to break through again, but a flash of movement stopped her as his hand lashed out, strong fingers circling her neck. Their height differential made no difference as he dragged her body up slowly against the door so that her toes barely touched the carpeted floor. She clawed at his hand in vain, feeling her windpipe constrict, until a blood-chilling voice broke through her choking gasps:
“I ain’t Logan, sweets. It’s Wolverine.”
---
The Genoshan Embassy
Early Saturday morning, August 14th…
It was probably the most relaxing shower he’d managed to have since their arrival here, and so he took his time that morning before dressing & going down the hall to the next suite to meet Charles for breakfast.
The moment he stepped out of his room, Erik knew something was wrong.
Several feet away, Capt. Ward and two of his men were standing before Xavier’s closed door; this wasn’t unusual. The look of concern on their faces, however, was.
“Captain? What’s going on?” Erik looked at each man in turn, although he spoke to their superior.
The sandy-haired soldier laid a hand on his closest Lt., moving the man out of Erik’s line of sight and turning to the attorney. “Sir. We’ve been knocking on the Ambassador’s door for close to five minutes with no answer”“
“What??” Erik became immediately agitated, turning to the door, “why the hell didn’t anyone come get me?”
“We tried, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Ward’s Lt. spoke up, “but you weren’t answering either. We thought maybe the two of you were together downstairs, but we had to be sure.”
Ward raised a hand to his man, turning back to Erik. “The night watch just verified that he hasn’t left his room throughout the night, but”Mr. Lehnsherr, sir wait!!”
The 3 soldiers stepped back on instinct as the powerful mutant raised his hand and they could hear the sound of the door’s metal hinges releasing from the frame. The heavy wooden door blew in, the tiny pieces of metal carrying it into the living room of the suite. At once alarms began to sound, and as Capt. Ward got on his comm. link to advise the rest of his men around the Embassy what was going on, Erik rushed into the room, heading straight for Charles’ bedroom.
“Oh, my God..!”
The 3 Peacekeepers heard the oath from where they still stood outside, but not for long. Ward was the first one into the bedroom, stopping in the doorway as he met Erik’s look of horror.
Cradling the Ambassador’s head carefully, Lehnsherr turned to the soldier, barking, “Get a Doctor”Now, Goddammit!!”
---
Yesterday (Friday) Afternoon, Back at the Howlett Estate…
Who the hell did this bitch think she was??
She didn’t know shit from bricks about what he’d been through. How hard he had to work to keep that pussy-whipped bastard from destroying Them both. Hell, the way he saw it, Logan was so damned weak lately because of her.
Flint-colored eyes gauging her, Wolverine sneered as she struggled for breath. He could tell her instinct to raise a knee at him was about to win over; that, and the cloudy turn of her eyes told him he’d have to be quick in making sure she didn’t toast his ass. Still he couldn’t resist to taunt, “Logan’s been ‘out’ fer a while.”
Ororo gasped, almost about to call down a bolt of white-hot lightning to blast him off his feet, when she hesitated. He saw her indecision, and simply laughed at her.
“You think showin’ mercy is gonna get ya anywhere, girl? You know what happens when you show people mercy?” He squeezed her by the neck just a little more to get his point across,
“They fuck you over.”
She shook her head in his grasp, gasping as her vision blurred. Panic welled inside her, but Ororo couldn’t relinquish her resolve, despite the fear. Her lips moved as she struggled to speak but no words emerged. When she heard the chilling sound of metal ringing out into the air, she sighed, a single messy tear coursing from the edge of her eye down her cheek.
Wolverine saw it, and he felt absolutely nothing. No sympathy, no regret, hell not even interest at this point…
Yet he gave pause.
He didn’t know why, but just analyzing it was enough time for her to cut into him with the sharpest weapon she had.
“…(acgh)…I…I’m sorry…I know, what…happened. (gasp)…know, what happened, to”to Amahra…”
His eyes locked into hers, and Wolverine felt a twinge.
No. “Shut the fuck up.”
Another tear fell, as Ororo fought against passing out. “…(gasp)…I know, h-how she died…why…”
Wolverine squeezed, spitting as he yelled at her: “I SAID FUCKIN’ SHUT UP!!”
“…It wasn’t…wasn’t Logan’s fault…Or Yours.”
…Seconds passed in agony, and for a frightening moment she thought she’d made the biggest mistake of her life in trying to do this on her own. Blinking furiously to clear her vision, Ororo realized with blessed relief that his hold on her neck was loosening.
Her feet touched the soft carpet after a few more moments, and she began to feel the vibrating of his shaking body as his fingers still stayed at her throat. She could breathe”thank God!”but didn’t immediately move away out of his reach.
Unsure who was standing before her, she laid a hand on his wrist, just holding him there, searching his eyes.
The man standing before her stared into a limitless void; she wasn’t even sure if he saw her any longer, his eyes saucer-sized and glazed over, his breathing ragged and shallow. His lips moved every few seconds but no sound came forth.
“…Logan?”
He gasped, his face turning to her quickly as if realizing he wasn’t alone. Confusion marred his features for a second, before he looked down to his hand still poised at her neck, and jerked it away, holding his hand close to himself in disbelief.
Stumbling backwards, His back hit the opposite wall hard, and he slide down to a sitting position, where he covered his face with his hands, shaking. “Sunuvabitch…! Wha-what the fuck am I doin’??”
Ororo bit her lip, still leaning against the bedroom door, but looked down at him. He raised his eyes to her, and the pained guilt there took her breath away.
“Ro...? Darlin’, wh”I-I mean…”
“I know.” She whispered hoarsely, nodding sympathetically.
He shook his head, as if he were sure she really didn’t understand. “No, no…you gotta go.”
“Logan…”
“No, you gotta go. You can’t be here like this. I can’t control it anymore, don’t you understand? I-I can’t control it.”
“Him. You mean, ‘Him’. Wolverine.”
He peered up at her as if surprised she knew that name. Shakily, he reached into his shirt and drew out the shiny dog tags, staring hard at them. Gripping them with a vice-like hold, he yanked the metal chain, popping it from around his neck; dropping the tags, he hung his head, ashamed and defeated.
Against everything sane, she took wobbling steps over to him, kneeling before him. Grasping his sagging shoulders, she pushed him back so he’d look up at her. Quietly she whispered, “I know you can do it.”
He shook his head, ready to dispute her.
Ororo continued, “…yes, you can. I can help. But I need you to do something first. Do you trust me?”
Logan raised his eyes to her, and it was the first time she’d seen real fear in him. Speechless, he simply nodded quickly, and didn’t resist when she helped him up, standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders.
“…Then, I need you to open. that. door.”
The look on Logan’s face could’ve just as well resulted from a request to slice her open with his claws, as he stared hard at the closed wood door. His heart beat loudly in his ears, his pulse quickened almost to the point of hyperventilating. Gulping, he immediately shook his head.
“Logan, please. You trust me. Trust Me.”
His shoulders fell, as he tried to come to some inner compromise. Ororo couldn’t know what she was asking him to do. This door hadn’t been opened in a year, and there was a reason for that…
‘She put her life in Wolverine’s hands, you jack ass,’ he chided himself. ‘No, in Your hands. She trusted you to break through…before He…’
Silence lengthened in the long hallway until finally, the floorboards sighed just a little when he took the 1st step forward. After another step, then another and he felt her fingers slide from his shoulders, but she was still there, still there for him. It’s just that Ororo realized as did he that this was something Logan was going to have to do on his own.
Logan’s trembling fingers closed around the doorknob and his other hand laid flat against the cool wood as he rested his forehead against it.
it was all so different then
there’s nothing yet has really sunk in
looks like it always did
this flesh and bone
is just the way that we are tied in
but there's no-one home…
The sound of a lock releasing echoed in the heavy air before them, and as the door slowly swung open, she heard his breath take in sharply, his body leaning forward and hands gripping the frame of the door for support.
It took another 2mins before he finally took his first step inside, cautiously as if he expected someone to jump out and attack him. From behind him, Ororo stayed in the hall at first, watching quietly as his head turned from side to side; he looked up, down and around the moderately-sized room.
Inside, Logan’s eyes took in his surroundings as if seeing the room for the first time, but he seemed afraid to touch anything, keeping to the middle of the room purposely.
you leave me
it’s so hard to move on
still loving what's gone
they say life carries on
carries on and on and on and on…”
Stuffed animals slept at the bedside and a huge Barbie house had drawn curtains in the corner. His eyes rose to the walls, where hand-drawn pictures in bright crayon and paint lined up from waist-high almost to the ceiling, numbering in the dozens. Unframed photos were crudely thumb-tacked in the remaining spaces on the wall, each with a single theme in common: Amahra.
And her father.
Logan found himself drawn to the small wooden desk near the windows, where pencils, crayons & markers were still splayed about in childlike abandon with a thick drawing pad. A half-finished picture of little Amahra Howlett, her mother & father at Cinderella’s Castle with Mickey Mouse & The Little Mermaid smiled back at him.
Sighing in despair, Logan nodded and whispered, “I asked you…to draw me a picture of where you wanted t’go first…after gettin’ out of the hospital…”
“You weren’t supposed t’look yet, Daddy.”
He whirled around, eyes wild & pained, to see his little girl sitting behind him on the neatly-made bed of sky-blue frills and lace. She was exactly as he remembered her, springy red curls falling into her face, tired silver eyes finding the strength to admonish him. Her frail little arms and legs poked out of a child-sized hospital gown decorated with floating multi-colored balloons, and as she slid off of the bed to come toward him, pulled at it in discomfort.
Caught off guard, Logan watched her until she stood right beside him, also looking at the picture. “It’s a surprise. For you, and moma.”
“I know.” He whispered, recalling the day after she died, when he came upstairs and saw it then. It was the last time anyone had been in her room.
She looked up at his broken face, a look of curiosity and sympathy in her eyes. “I didn’t get to finish it. But it’s ok.”
He was shaking his head again, mumbling something incoherent. Her brow furrowed momentarily. “Daddy?”
Logan didn’t look down at her, and after a few seconds she tugged on his pants leg. When he still didn’t budge, she finally reached up and slid her fragile fingers through his, squeezing with a reassurance someone her age rarely was able to give.
Glancing down then, he watched their intertwined hands, and turned hers over, catching sight of the transparent-blue hospital bracelet stamped with her first initial, last name & patient ID number. When she started to speak again, Logan found himself trapped by her gaze.
“Daddy, it’s ok.”
“No it ain’t. This was my fault, baby girl. This was all my fault.” He sank to one knee, still holding her hand.
“Moma says it isn’t. She told me, up here”“ Amahra touched her forehead, indicating the telepathic exchange, “”why it happened. She doesn’t blame you. Me neither.”
He reached out and held her round little face in both his hands, smiling with sad eyes into her ashen features. “You don’t?”
“Nuh-uh. I love you daddy. And you love me. That’s all.” She stated simply in that lovely, factual way that children do.
He reached for her and she opened her arms, standing on her toes to hug his neck with a strength he knew she shouldn’t have had. “…it’s alright, daddy. Now you can let me go.”
He opened his eyes to protest, to assure her he’d never be able to forget even if she could forgive, but Amahra was already gone. Staring down into his empty, aching arms, Logan’s head slowly twisted from side to side, as if he expected her to reappear.
while the final rattle rocks its empty, empty cage
and i can't handle this
i grieve for you
and you leave me
“Let me go.”
His mouth opened to deny it, but his eyes were already stinging, and he didn’t know why. His head hurt, and he couldn’t understand the feeling welling in his chest; it felt like someone was squeezing his insides, burning his gut and fucking with his mind. Bending over, hugging himself, Logan grunted in excruciating pain.
After a year of building and waiting, churning & festering…finally his grief found release, a first stinging-hot tear breaking free from his eyes…
missing what's gone
they say life carries on
they say life carries on and on and on…
From the threshold Ororo could hear his sobs, which racked his body almost violently in their intensity. Her own eyes brimmed as she struggled to keep her composure, coming into the room to sink down to the floor beside him. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she drew him to her bosom, and he came, tightly hugging her waist, his face buried in her clothes as he cried.
She stroked his tussled dark hair, whispering soothingly to him Over and over. Speaking from the difficult experience of a daughter’s love for her father, she murmured, “She loved you, Logan. She always will. Nothing can change that. Ever.”
Through his sobs she barely heard him respond, “I...I n-never wanted to hurt her…”
“I know. I know.” She gulped, unable to continue. Ororo found out that the very thing that made Logan”and Wolverine”who they are, a defining trait of the man who was also James Howlett, had in fact, been the very reason his daughter died.
It was his healing factor.
Inherited from her father’s DNA, some sick, twisted turn of fate & circumstance in little Amahra saw her father’s ‘gift’ turn against her own body, very much like Logan’s had when he was a young child. The only difference was, as Jimmy Howlett had been able to overcome his unexplained childhood illness, Amahra’s body, in a vain effort to “fight off” Jean’s DNA”which it took as foreign agents” had actually resulted in her body’s internal war as half of her ‘rejected’ its counterpart. Leading to her death.
For him, it was difficult enough dealing with his troubled past, his transgressions & failures, and his own feelings toward his mutation, knowing he’d likely outlive anyone he loved, but when Logan found out from the doctors the reason his little girl seemed to only get sicker with no reprieve, he couldn’t take it.
It broke him.
Along with the rift in his psyche at Jean’s hands, initiated by Dept. H, it was no wonder he’d suffered a mental break. It was no wonder Wolverine seized the opportunity to try to take over again. It was pure survival. It was what he’d been trained to do…
Closing her eyes against the memory of Jean’s explanation, Ororo didn’t fight her own tears any longer, gently pressing her lips against the top of his messy head, never complaining once as his full weight nearly bruised her to the bone, and just sat there, holding on to him as Logan clung to her for dear life.
or did i believe this dream?
now i can find relief
i grieve”
TBC…
