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Series: Seasons Change (vol.1)

Category: AU

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of the X-Men or any other Marvel characters--Uh, U know what?? I wish I DID own 'em, cuz then I could stop this madness JoeQ & TIIC are planning w/ Ororo and (ugh) The Black Panther... But, still don't, so don't sue.

Feedback: Please, and thank you.

Dedication: To All ROLOers, Everywhere! Keep RoLo Hope Alive!




A Summer of Sunsets
Chapter #6, “Choices & Decisions”, pt. 1

Southampton Long Island, NY
June 29th, 2004
7:15 a.m.

Summers at the beach estate of the Xavier family were often filled with youthful excitement and an air of the unexpected was the norm. One thing, however, remained the same: waking to mornings filled with the delightful aroma of Mrs. Duvahl’s special family recipe for Belgian waffles.

Rubbing his growling belly unconsciously, Scotty Summers bounced down the stairs in his Xavier-embossed sweat pants, his eyes searching the seemingly quiet downstairs grand foyer for signs of life. Seeing none, he followed the enticing smell that called to his empty gut, heading for the kitchen (where he was sure others had gotten to breakfast first).

As his mind wandered for the few moments it took to get there, he admitted to himself that he was secretly glad he’d decided to take Charles up on the hospitable offer of staying there in the mansion as an honored guest, until after the mid-August family reunion took place in a little over a month & a half. It gave him the perfect opportunity to catch up w/ friends and relive some of his fondest memories from childhood.

He always considered Charles Xavier a second father or uncle-figure; it had been the powerful telepath that changed Scott’s life forever in teaching the young mutant how to better control his ‘gift’ of optic blasts. Though he had been somewhat out of practice the last few years he’d been in the Air Force, Scott had maneuvered the ability to keep the bursts from escaping his eyes for a short period of time, allowing him to remove the specialized spectacles Moira & Charles had invented for him.

Pausing in his steps for a brief moment, Scott smiled just a little wistfully; he remembered that the first time he’d been able to take them off on his own, he and Ororo had been outside late one afternoon on the beach, watching the sunset…

Clearing his throat just outside the kitchen entrance, Scott shook away those sorts of tho’ts about Ororo. In the past couple of weeks since they’d been ‘vacationing’ under the same roof, the two former childhood sweethearts had had very little to say to each other past informal pleasantries and “safe” meal-time chatter w/ the others. Her obvious rebuff of his attempts to get even five minutes alone merely amused the tempered AF Captain; Scott knew Ororo well enough that he guessed it was a matter of time before she’d eventually see things his way. And by “his way”, meant simply that Scott knew he’d F’d up what they had before, but intended to smooth things over with a minimal amount of un-masculine pleading & begging. He hadn’t come to Southampton without a plan, you know.

“Good morning, everyb--!”
A sharp chorus of “SSshhh!!” rang out as an answer from the gathered bodies sitting around one of the countertop islands in the spacious kitchen. Scott raised a brow at the reception, but didn’t say a word as he came up behind them. Marie, Kurt, Brian & Beth were perched on stools drawn up against the island. Bobby had gotten a kitchen chair and pulled it up close to the side, cradling a mixing bowl almost overflowing w/ a nauseously sweet kids’ cereal that he was still spooning into his gullet, despite the fact that his eyes were glued to the screen of the wall-mounted 42” plasma before them.

Just around the corner, Scott caught sight of Mrs. Duvahl and one of the morning-staff cooks, who were still getting breakfast together, but found themselves continuously pausing to watch the T.V. Curious, he turned back to the screen, watching as the camera panned back to well-known National field journalist Trish Tilby, who stood dressed in light green-grey fatigues, one hand up to the side of her head to brace her wireless mic against the wind. She was outside, that much was sure, but exactly where was unknown, until the crawl at the bottom of the screen spelled things out quite bluntly for him.

“Yes, I’m here, Stone. The wind has kicked up a little due to the helicopters coming in and landing every few moments, so forgive me if I have to speak up a little to get over the noise.” Trish’s statement was punctuated as the momentarily died-down winds suddenly began to stir up again, and she visibly braced herself, ducking her head down for several seconds.

The screen split in two, as the other journalist”safe in his New York studio 3B set”came into view, and w/ little apparent concern, asked, “That’s alright, Trish. Tell us, what’s the atmosphere like down there?”

As a large UH-1 Huey landed behind her, she turned sideways, motioning to the chopper, which the cameraman seamlessly zeroed in on. “Well, Stone, the situation here in Genosha has definitely deteriorated significantly in the last 36 hours. Behind me you can clearly see helicopters taking off and landing here on the rooftop of the joint U.S.-British Embassy; top officials & their entire staff of aids here have been ordered by their respective governments to leave with no further delay, as civilian rioting escalated overnight and early into the morning.”

As the Huey took off behind her, Trish straightened her posture, and her voice lowered to a normal octave as she continued. “These dignitaries are quickly being replaced by U.N.-sanctioned troops, many from the U.S. and Great Britain, as they try to regain some measure of peace in this civil war-torn country.”

Stone’s face remained emotionless as his name, as he did his best to remain objective. “Trish, we’ve been told that the estimates on Genoshian refugees trying to flee the country are in the tens of thousands”perhaps even hundreds of thousands; had you been able to confirm that from Embassy officials before their departure?”

“I’m sorry, Stone, could you repeat that?!” Trish ducks again, as the loudness of another chopper drowns everything out.

In the kitchen, Scott takes the opportunity to try to get some answers of his own. “What the hell’s going on??”

“SSSsshhHH!!” Hands wave him Quiet, tho’ no one takes an eye off the screen. Exasperated, he draws up a stool, and plunks himself down dejectedly.

On the screen, Stone repeated his last question to Trish, who began shaking her head negatively. “As of this moment, those estimates are all we have to go on, Stone. But I can tell you, even as we were flying in over the Atlantic towards the island, several national coast guard agencies were busy attempting to stop civilians from leaving the island. They’ve commandeered any make-shift floatation devices, boats, yachts, and even a few brave souls who thought to take their chances and swim the distance.”

“The situation seems pretty tense, there, Trish.” Several groans in the kitchen mutely indicate the severity of that understatement.

“It is, Stone. Unfortunately for these people, we understand that many surrounding countries have issued statements publicly withdrawing any support for political asylum for Genoshian citizens”regardless of whether or not they are carriers of the so-called Legacy Virus. We’ve learned this afternoon that President Bush intends to make remarks about that very subject, later today.”

“Well, thank you Trish.”

“No problem, Stone.”

“I understand you’ll have an update for us at the end of the hour.”

“That’s correct. We’ll be getting reaction from members of Genosha’s Parliament, as well as civilian reaction. For now, reporting Live, this is Trish Tilby, from the U.S.-British Embassy at the capital in Hammer Bay, Genosha.”

As the screen squeezed her image out to go back to the studio, where Stone Phillips began a recap and commentary on her report, the kitchen suddenly erupted with chatter from the gathered mutants.

“Ah can’t b’lieve this! How ‘kin they just strand all those people like that??”
“Quarantine, is more like it,” Bobby talked through his cereal, chewing loudly.
“Can they actually do that? Keep free citizens on thet island against their ‘vill?” Kurt turned questioning eyes to them, then looked at Scott.

The Air Force pilot raised a brow, then a shoulder. He kept his mouth shut for a moment, wondering why Kurt had seemingly chosen him of all people to ask that. Scratching his bare arm slowly for a moment, he finally conceded, “It’s the U.N…”

Beth eyed him closely for a second, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t like the vibe he’d involuntarily broadcasted right then, but she wasn’t going to put him on the chopping block just yet; the lovely young woman knew that Scott’s position in the military afforded him a certain amount of access to sensitive information, and that it wouldn’t be fair to try to make him break any oaths he’d taken, no matter how much they all wanted to know what was going on. Turning to Kurt, she interjected, “I think that the reasoning behind that is to keep the rest of the world’s mutant population from going inte’ a full-scaled panic. It’s easier to keep a couple million mutants in one spot, rather than tens of millions all over, isn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t want ‘te be the devil’s advocate, but isn’t that the smart thing ‘te do?” Brian turned questioning eyes their way.

As the others got ready to blast him for such an inconsiderate remark, a voice behind them all interrupted. “Brian is correct…”

Turning, they saw Hank standing just inside the doorway, already dressed in slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose. His expression was stern but sympathetic. The group fell silent as he advanced, and Scott especially noted the tired expression behind the young doctor’s eyes.

“…Can you imagine the world-wide chaos that would erupt if large numbers of infected Genoshians left the island? Most of the public”mutant and Sapien alike”are ignorant of the particulars of TLV; they won’t want to be educated either. In this case, right at this moment, I do not believe anyone could get most people to believe the truth about how the disease is spread. Rather than have wide-spread panic across the world, the U.N. is treating this ‘outbreak’ with, eh, a band aid…a very large band aid.”

Scott turned to Hank fully, asking quietly, “Does the Professor know about this?”

“I think he got a call from the State Department last night.” Henry rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then pushed his glasses back up.

“Wai’aminute,” Marie stood up from her stool, whirling around to face her brother. “Why’re they callin’ Dad? …Henry??”

Scott looked at Hank’s face, then, “You can’t be serious. He’s not actually considering going back there…In His condition??”

Quietly, Henry came up to the counter, resting his clenched fists on the cool top; he was doing his best to remain objective, due to his official position as his father’s primary care physician, but as the man’s son, he was a mess of emotions inside. “They asked.”

Brian laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder, as Beth became visibly agitated. Kurt’s eyes widened, as he shook his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe they actually had the nerve,” Bobby set his bowl down at this.

“Well, I understand his feelings toward what’s going on, but somebody’s got to talk some sense into Charles,” Scott said simply, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

Turning to him, Hank said simply, “Ororo’s already upstairs.”




At That Very Moment, Charles Xavier and His daughter were on opposite sides of the room, and opposite sides of this debate.

Sitting at the small desk in his large master bedroom, Xavier had been dressed for many hours already, as he finished going through some old files on his desk. Standing far away in body and mind, Ororo faced the opening morning, looking at the slightly rough surf her father’s bedroom window faced. Her arms were crossed tightly, her expression tight, but she remained quiet…for the moment.

“Ororo, please try to understand. You know this is just as difficult for me…” He didn’t face her, knowing that if he saw that look on her face, his resolve would probably dissolve. He couldn’t bear to see that little girl in her. Besides, this wasn’t about them; not when so many others were suffering so terribly.

“Please, Dad, don’t say that to me. I’m not here to make you feel guilty.”

“That’s not what I”“

“Okay. But still…I thought that Hank and Moira told you that you needed bed rest above all else?! Now you’re contemplating going back to Genosha? Especially now, with all the turmoil going on?” She turned her head just barely, tho’ not enough to actually see him. She didn’t need to; she could sense the look on his face, where his heart was.

“You know why this is important to me, Ororo.” His voice was quiet; almost hauntingly so. It was filled with so much emotion, and unspoken memories, and unfulfilled wishes…

How could she possibly deny him this? Charles had never asked her for much; just for trust. It was partially what he was asking for even now. The only real question, was whether or not she could get over her own insecurities, to let her father complete this last act of kindness for a suffering people…Yes, she knew why it was especially important to him; that didn’t mean she had to like it. “I know.”

The room was silent for a long moment, then she heard the wheels of his chair squeak briefly, as they came to rest beside her. A father’s warm hand reached out to clasp his daughter’s slightly trembling fingers. The flood of emotions that coursed through their link almost sent tears down her cheeks; everything inside Ororo said that this was wrong; that she should tell Charles not to go, that those Genoshians be damned--she didn’t want to lose her father any quicker than their disease was already taking him.

She didn’t say those things, but to be truthful, that’s exactly how she felt; Charles knew it, he didn’t have to acknowledge it; it was an understanding between father and daughter.

*When will you leave?*
*Erik & I will try to do as much from Washington as we can.*
*WHEN.*
*…I may not be back in time for the reunion.* He knew that was the real answer she was searching for. That, and whether or not he’d die over there in some forsaken country. But Ororo wasn’t ready to ask the latter…not yet.

She suddenly shut down their link, and Charles allowed her to keep those thoughts to herself. They just stayed there in front of the window for a while longer, watching the rising sun glisten over the horizon.




Later that day…Four miles down the beach, someone had been knocking at the door of the Howlett estate’s main house for over four minutes. It was the only person brave (or stupid?) enough to do so; even the neighbors who’d known the Howletts years ago, when there was the refreshing sound of young laughter in the back yard, knew better than to do that these days.

But then, Ben Campbell’s mother always did call him a stubborn mule.

“Colonel Howlett! Sir, it’s Ben!! Ben Campbell!” He’d announced who he was three times now, but still no sign of the Colonel. He was about to give it up when he got a sudden thought. Rapping on the door once more, he called out, “I’ve got a message from HQ, sir…it’s about the “trip” you were gonna take..?!”

He hadn’t even finished that sentence before the door was swung open harshly, rattling the windows and the frame. Logan emerged from the depths of the house, his eyes cold and very hard, despite the fact that he was looking at his protégé. Without a word, Logan reached out and took the letter Ben was still holding up in the hand he hadn’t been knocking with, and turned around, going back into the house. The fact that he left the door open told Ben he could come or stay”Howlett really didn’t care (which was saying a lot, considering).
The young man gingerly entered the abode, stepping carefully over the mess in the front foyer and into the small study just off of it, where Logan had gone, opening the letter with the flick of one adamantium claw, leaving the remnants of the envelope in his wake.

“I’ve been calling you, emailing you for the past week. When I saw this pass the General’s desk this morning, I had to come out and show it to you.”

As Logan read the letter, his grey eyes widened in anger. “What the fuck.”

“They’re giving your assignment to Maverick’s crew. I heard from one of Acken’s assistants that he’d been getting pressure from the Pentagon to get this back on the fast track, especially after all the shit that’s goin’ down in Genosha”“

At that, Logan raised a puzzled brow at the young man; obviously, catching the evening news had been very low on his list of priorities.

Ben waved it away, however. “Don’t worry about that, now. You can get back up to speed; here.” He handed Logan a flash drive on a short rope, unmarked. “I thought you’d wanna know. If you don’t care, just give me the word, we’ll pretend like I was never here.”

Logan stood there, holding the letter and the portable drive. Maybe this was just the thing to get his mind off of shit…He could just as well bury himself into work as this dirty-ass house with all its broken promises, painful memories and haunted ghosts.

Tossing the flash drive to Ben, he pointed toward the iMac on the desk, which hadn’t been used in close to a year, but had managed to survive the decimation of the house. (Luckily for him, his bills were paid through auto bill-pay, or he’d be truly living in the dark ages”no lights, water, heat or internet.) “Boot that piece o’shit up.”

Ben turned to the desk, as Logan headed for the bathroom. Once by himself, James Howlett stared into the mirror in the downstairs bathroom. He looked worse than death warmed over, that much was true. If he was going to convince Ackens and his higher-ups that he was serious about taking on this mission, he needed to get his act together. Unfortunately, his “act” included getting over the death of his baby girl. At that moment, that wasn’t something Logan wanted to touch.

Reaching into his dirty undershirt, he pulled out his dog tags. Unknown to his superiors at the Pentagon, he’d secretly taken one of his U.S. military tags, and replaced it w/ another, from a time long ago, from a life he’d done almost everything to forget. Now, he looked at that ‘lost’ tag, and the coded inscription on the back of it. ‘Just one friggin’ phone call, Bub. That’s all it’ll take.’

With slightly trembling fingers, he dropped the tags back into his shirt, and sent his thoughts anywhere but where they’d just been. He wasn’t ready to go there. Not just yet.




The Xavier Estate, about 6:24 p.m. that evening…
The day had been much too somber for the gathered members of Charles’ extended family. By now most of them had gone into the city, trying to escape”if only for one night”the thought that the family Patriarch would be leaving them soon (perhaps in more ways than one).

He had insisted that his ‘children’ “have a good time and don’t come back until you do”. Most of them had obliged, for his sake as well as their own. But there was one child who could not be consoled; who refused her father’s wishes that night. Right at that moment, she sat outside on the wide patio facing the beach, her long, graceful brown legs drawn up to the knees, which she rested her chin on as her eyes watched the rolling Atlantic come in and recede repetitively. It was that rhythmic action that was helping her to keep her emotions in check, and the weather from turning extremely foul.

“I thought I’d find you out here again.” That voice, however, threatened that calm.

“Scott, you should know better than most, I’m not in the mood.” She barely spoke above a whisper, but knew he heard her, as he came to stand beside her reclining chair.

“Come on, Ro. I come in peace.” He held one hand over his heart, the other up with his palm showing, trying to look very trustworthy.

She glanced up at him, and suddenly just didn’t have the energy to fight with him. Their petty arguments and the decline of their friendship/romance seemed so trivial at that moment. She was still mad at him, but she needed someone who understood what she was going through right then. Scooter would have to do (at least until Marie & Beth got home).

At her lack of a negative response, he took that as an affirmative, and pulled up one of the wider chairs, able to fit two, so he could spread out his legs comfortably. “So, I guess you didn’t feel much like partying either, eh?”

She scoffed lightly at that; she wouldn’t have exactly used that term to describe what the others were doing. “No, not really.”

Scott remained silent for a moment, just looking at her profile, which told him a lot about her mood and where her thoughts were. Slowly, he reached out a hand, and covered hers. “Hey…”

She looked at him, her eyes full of pain. They just stared at each other for a few seconds, until Ororo felt herself giving in, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. He tugged on her wrist a little, but she shook her head. Deep down, Ro still didn’t trust herself”her emotions”around Scott. She saw that he was trying to comfort her, but after all this time, she didn’t know how to treat it.

Scott kept her gaze, trying to show her he was serious; he was There for her if she wanted to lean on him. “It’s alright. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

She let out a little chuckle at his blatant plagiarism, more tears following.

Above them, the skies darkened w/ the coming of night, but lightning also flashed in the distance, thunder a distant roll away. A light misty rain showered them, but Scott didn’t move, his eyes watching her intently.

Searching his eyes, she finally caved, and reached over, crawling onto the chair with him, settling against the crook of his arm as he held her close, letting her cry.



TBC…





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