DISCLAIMER: I literally own nothing recognizable.
______________________________________________________________


Ororo gripped her bags tightly, her knuckles whitening over from the stress and strain. She wasn’t ready and she doubted she ever would be. And yet, she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. With two knocks, she announced her presence. A beat later, the door opened.

“Ororo,” said Jean, her voice slightly surprised. “Hello.”

“Hello, Jean,” Ororo said calmly, not even letting on just how distressed she actually was. There was a pause; the two women took each other in, mentally remarking at just how different they were. But that didn’t matter now; there would be time for them to talk. “May I come in?”

“This is your home,” Jean said softly. “Always was.” Ororo nodded and stepped across the threshold. She flicked her eyes around the immediate area, noting how some of the statues she’d grown up seeing were covered in white cloths. Ororo put her bags down and looked around, her heels clicking on the wood floor. “Everything’s pretty much the same,” Jean said.

Ororo turned back to Jean and nodded. “Does that include my room?”

“Everything’s pretty much the same,” Jean repeated, her voice carrying a slight edge to it. Ororo nodded, holding Jean’s stare. “Do you want some help with your bags?” she asked civilly.

“Oh,” Ororo said, almost forgetting herself. “No, I’ll be...” Ororo sighed and tipped her head at Jean. “I didn’t want to come back like this--”

“But you did,” Jean said, folding her arms to her chest. She clicked her tongue and looked away. “Let me get Scott to help you.”

“Scott’s here?” Ororo asked, slightly excited. Jean nodded once. “Yeah. Great!” Jean walked away and Ororo watched the redheaded woman go. When she was firmly out of sight, Ororo sighed and palmed her forehead. This really was the worst-- coming back home when everything had changed.

“Ororo!” said Scott. Ororo turned and faced a smiling Scott, dressed in his signature khaki pants and polo shirt. He opened his arms and enveloped her into a hug. Squeezing once, Scott rested his chin on Ororo’s snowy head. “Missed you!” he said, his voice cheery. He pulled away and grinned, then rubbed her head. “All your hair has grown back.”

Ororo laughed and smacked Scott’s hand away. Despite what everyone said, Scott wasn’t a total jerk. There were times when the strict man would show his true colors. “Of course it’s all back. Hair grows.”

“And I guess eight years doesn’t hurt.” Ororo felt her genuine smile turn into something tight and forced. Scott squeezed her shoulder, his smile just as tight. “Let’s get your bags, hm?”

“Yeah,” Ororo said softly.



A few hours passed. Twilight passed and Ororo ate dinner alone; Scott and Jean had already made dinner plans that couldn’t be broken. Ororo... didn’t begrudge them; had it been Scott or Jean who randomly returned, Ororo would act just as strangely. At least they had the common sense to mask their true feelings in polite conversation.

They would have to let everything out in the open eventually, though. Ororo dreaded the day, and yet she looked forward to it for some dark reason.

When midnight rolled around and Scott and Jean still hadn’t returned, Ororo decided she would take a walk around the premises. When she was a girl, she used to spend more time outside than inside. Ororo loved nature; she couldn’t get enough of the foliage and the weather that borne the plants. Moreover, she loved the lake hidden in the forest.

She left her childhood room-- now a mausoleum of a life Ororo could hardly remember-- dressed her sweatpants, sweatshirt, and sneakers and began her trek to, and through, the forest. She had no intention of getting her cute nightie dirty and certainly not the silk robe Charles bought her dirty.

Charles.

The name filled her chest with ache and she hated herself for it. Not the emotion, but the reason behind it. She’d... ruined things between them. It took until the very end for her to stop acting the way she had and accept what was. While she was thankful she had, she still wished she had done so earlier. She became one of those people who wanted to fix a problem, but willfully remained ignorant to the solution. She’d been so stubborn and young; Ororo hated herself for it.

She shook her head and reached the lake. It was late, but she still checked the immediate area for people before she stripped down to her birthday suit. As a child-- and later teenager, she would swim in the very same lake stark naked. Charles often admonished her for it, saying that while HE could understand the human body was both beautiful and unremarkable, others wouldn’t get that; she had to cover up to respect Western customs.

Memories kept battering her mind and she swam hard, trying to tire herself out before she could cry herself to sleep. When she finished, she struggled to shore and collapsed on the grass and sand, not caring how gritty her back was getting. Her chest was heaving from exertion. Ororo looked up at the stars, her mind blessedly blank. It was so nice, not having to think about anything.

“Excuse me, but who the fuck are you?” Ororo jerked up, a gasp falling from her lips. She e reflexively crossed her legs and pulled them up to hide her bare chest and crotch. “Taking a little dip in the buff, darlin?” asked the strange man. He cocked a brow and sauntered over to her, a pack of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other.

Was this guy serious? Ororo wondered.

“You a mute?”

“I think you mean deaf,” Ororo corrected nastily, annoyed by the man’s presence. Had he not shown up, Ororo would have most likely fallen asleep outside. Not that that was a problem; there was a gate surrounding the premises and really: Who would break into a forest?

“No, I meant mute. I knew you could hear me but you weren’t saying nothing.” He stopped where her clothes were and kicked her sneakers. “Huh,” he grunted, but said nothing after.

Ororo pursed her lips. “And how would you know that? I’ve never seen you before and you’ve never seen me.”

The man scoffed. “Actually, you’re wrong.” He stepped over her clothes and continued towards Ororo. He popped his cigar into his mouth and reached into his pocket, fished out a lighter, and then lit his Cuban. He puffed twice and went back to regarding her. “You’re in Charles’ office. Roro, or some shit.” Ororo rolled her eyes at the man’s words, but felt her heart swell and sting at the information he shared with her. “And I knew you weren’t deaf because you covered yourself up and I shouted at ya. You were faced the other way. Were you deaf, you wouldn’t have known I was there.”

Ororo hummed her agreement, but stayed quiet. She wasn’t about to bare herself to this man, not when she could feel the heat of his gaze on her body. Which was odd, because Ororo felt the body wasn’t sexual or anything worth hiding. She argued that it was because she didn’t know this man and she didn’t like showing off her nude body to strange men.

“It’s Ororo, not ‘Roro,’ and certainly not ‘some shit,’” she snipped.

The man gave her a bemused look before snorting his laughter. “Well, Ororo,” he said, dragging her name out sarcastically, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet ya,” he said, bowing low to her. “You are much prettier than yer picture; Charles got that one right.”

Ororo hated herself for it, but she actually giggled. She bit her lower lip and looked away, shaking her head. “Er-- who are you?” she finally asked.

“Logan,” he said, hunkering down beside her. “Logan Howlett at your service.” He put his hand in hers, shook it once, then stroked her knuckles with his calloused thumb. “And I do mean service,” he drawled, kissing the back of her hand.

Ororo rolled her eyes and grinned. “Are you always this smooth, Logan Howlett?”
Logan smirked. “Nope. Usually I’m smoother.” He puffed on his cigar while Ororo laughed. When she calmed, he popped the tab of his beer and offered it to her. Ororo respectfully declined. “Suit yourself,” he murmured before slurping the white foam into his mouth.

They fell into a strangely amicable silence. Logan alternated between drinking his beer and smoking his cigar while Ororo watched the sky. It was comfortable, Ororo assumed, because she could sense some kind of hurt coming from the man as well. Or maybe she was reading too deeply into herself and wanted to transfer some of her pain onto another. What was the expression--

“Misery loves company.”

Ororo looked at Logan, startled. He was staring intently at her, his second beer in hand. “I’m sorry?”

Logan shrugged. “I’m thinking we’re both out here for the same reasons. Can’t be in that house without remembering every fucking good time without feeling like shit for it.” Logan rubbed his chin and put his beer in the sand. “But I could be wrong.” He took a long pull on his cigar and exhaled slowly. “Probably not, though.”

Ororo scoffed. “I didn’t know you were so philosophical.”

“And what do you know about me, darlin’?” he asked immediately, though not nastily. It was more... curious than cruel. “Hm?”

“Well,” she started, feeling nervous. Ororo shifted in the sand and shrugged a shoulder. “He didn’t... really mention you. When we wrote each other, it was always more about me. About how everything was fine and how...” Ororo looked down at her toes. “I never asked about anyone else.” She paused. “I regret that,” she admitted quietly. Without warning, her body began shaking.

Logan gave her a soft look she missed and began rubbing her back. He put down his beer and snubbed his cigar, then pulled her to him. She went without much argument and buried her head in his shirt. She wasn’t crying; Logan recalled the proud stories Charles told about Ororo, how she wouldn’t shed a tear and how she was able to remain composed.

This was the woman Charles was so proud of: this strong, resilient character he’d groomed since she was little.

Logan frowned. While he didn’t know why Ororo ran off, he was beginning to see what might have caused it.

_______________________________________________________________
Author's Note: This story is a little half baked so if there is ANYTHING you want to see happen (that would fit) JUST LET ME KNOW. Seriously-- I've sort of got an idea but it can become very dark very quickly and I don't think I want that to happen.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is more to show awkwardness. I think I'm gonna make this story relatively short but if you guys want to see anything happen LET ME KNOW. (might stretch it a bit.)
_______________________________________________________________
Ororo rubbed her brow, trying to not feel her massive headache. She’d stayed up way into the early morning talking with Logan, catching up. (But she wouldn’t be so bold as to call it that. "Catching up" required a shared history and they had none.) She’d had a beer or two and he’d had a beer or four. It was nice. And now she was exhausted and had a pounding headache. She’d never been a lightweight but it had been a while since she had alcohol; her tolerance was close to “no.”

She poured herself a cup of coffee, not caring that it would probably agitate her headache. She’d already popped an analgesic; she just needed to wake up.

Taking a sip of the overly sugared, overly creamed coffee, Ororo sighed. Pure heaven, the stuff was. Her already jittery body relished the hot coffee making its way down her throat. Ororo opened her eyes and looked out the kitchen bay windows. It was a beautiful day, but she already knew that having watched the sun come up with Logan.

“Morning,” Scott said, grabbing a cup from the cabinet.

“Morning,” she returned, taking another sip. When her stomach growled, she moved to the fridge, ready to make herself a quick breakfast. “How was dinner?” she asked kindly, refusing to let herself be bitter that they’d excluded her. You brought it upon yourself, Ororo reminded herself.

“Good,” Scott said vaguely, taking a sip of his black coffee. He glanced at Ororo. “Uh... Sorry we didn’t...”

“It’s fine,” Ororo interrupted, waving her hand. “I had a fine evening.” She took out some eggs and mushrooms. “I met Logan.”

Scott hummed around his coffee cup, watching her grab a skillet and fire up the oven. “Oh? And how was he?”

“He’s alright.” Ororo said, cracking some eggs. “Nice,” she amended. Scott rolled his eyes. “What?”

“Why does every woman say he’s nice,” Scott muttered to himself. He shook his head and put his cup down, moving to grab some slices of mostly dry bread. He’d have to go shopping later today, he mentally noted. Dropping the pieces in the toaster, he looked at Ororo. “Wait... He was home last night?”

“Well, yes.” Ororo wasn’t about to mention what time she found him or how she found. The fact that she was mentioning this to Scott at all was remarkable in some small way. The fact that they were talking at all was what mattered, though Ororo felt bad that she was using Logan as a crutch. She wished she could just dive into the conversation. Like how things used to be. But they weren’t how they used to be so why should they act like it? “I’m guessing he’s not really your number one fan, huh?” Ororo joked, nudging Scott in the side.

Scott smirked. “Only if there’s a chance I’ll walk in front of a train.”

“Wha--” Ororo put her spatula down. “You can’t be serious!”

Scott nodded. “He hates my guts. I’m sure of it.”

“Why does he hate you, Scott? There’s got to be some sort of reason.”

“Oh, there is. And it’s got red hair and green eyes,” Scott said, not looking at Ororo. A heavy feeling settled on Ororo’s heart. Were Scott and Jean having some sort of trouble? Ororo certainly hoped not. “So you’re making omelets? That’s nice,” he said, smoothly changing the topic.

“As you can see,” Ororo joked, pointing at Scott’s glasses.

“Oh, har-dee-har,” Scott said flatly, a smile on his face. “My sight isn’t all that bad.”

“You sure?” asked Ororo. “How many fingers am I holding up?” she teased. She raised her hand and waggled her fingers in front of Scott’s face.

“Four and a thumb,” Scott said, grabbing Ororo’s hand from his face. “I didn’t forget everything from when we were kids.” Ororo thinned her lips to a smile and turned away from Scott, pushing her eggs around. Scott fell silent and picked up his cup of coffee, moving slightly away. “I wasn’t talking about it, Ororo.”

“I know,” she said hastily. “I know.”

“Then why are you--”

“Is that fresh?” asked a sleepy Jean. “I could use a cup of hot coffee. I’m worn out from last night.” She stretched as she walked over to the cabinet and grabbed herself a mug. Pouring herself a cup, she smiled at Scott. “Morning.” Scott returned the greeting, his cup raised. “Morning, Ororo.”

“Morning, Jean.”

Jean fixed her coffee to her liking and stood beside Scott, watching Ororo cook. “You’re making breakfast?” she asked, slightly confused.

“Yeah; I figured people would be hungry in the morning,” Ororo said loftily, not looking up from her cooking. Well, Ororo could see who she would be making headway with first. Scott, while still tense, was at least able to put up a front while Jean was being straightforward. It was weak, but she could work with a fake person than someone who was being upfront-- there would be less resistance and more willingness to hear her out. “Want some?”

Jean looked at the eggs and sniffed. “Well, I guess I’ve never had your cooking before--”

“You makin’ breakfast?” asked a disheveled looking Logan. He, like Scott and Jean, grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee, then proceeded to watch Ororo cook. (It was an annoying feeling-- being watched.) “You gonna make anything else other than eggs?”


Breakfast was just as awkward as Ororo expected it to be. They didn’t really talk and if they did, they didn’t really look at one another. Ororo could just feel their gazes, though. She just knew they wanted to ask questions and she half wished they would, but she half wished they wouldn't. There would be time to discuss what had happened; Ororo was moving back into the home Charles bequeathed her.

When it was finished, Logan flicked his eyes from Jean to Ororo. He cleared his throat loudly, breaking the silence. “The breakfast was nice, Roro.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Ororo smiled, feeling grateful.

“Mm, yes,” hummed Scott. “Your cooking is much better than it originally was.”

Ororo screwed her face in mock-anger. “I wasn’t that bad--”

“You could burn water,” Scott said flatly, a smile tugging his lips. “In fact, I think you’re the only person in the history of the world to make bad tea.”

“How do you make bad tea?” asked Logan, catching onto the light bantering. “You just dunk the bag into the water.” Scott broke out into laughter-- actual laughter-- and doubled over from the memory. Logan cocked a brow, thinking it over. “Oh, you didn’t! You don’t open the bag.”

Ororo groaned. “I didn’t... know that... then.” Scott’s laughter became louder and Ororo playfully whapped him. “Oh, stop! I was a kid and I wanted to do something nice.” Scott snorted his laughter and evaded another punch. “Quit laughing!”

“We were sick,” Scott explained, his smile and good humor so infectious Logan nearly smiled. “She was with one of the maids and asked to make the tea she was given when she was sick.” Scott sighed and shook his head. “The maid turned her head for just a second and Ororo cut the tea bags open and dumped them in the water. I think I nearly choked to death on that tea.” Scott rubbed Ororo’s back. “Thanks for that, Ro.”

“Any time,” she said sourly.

There was a silence. Jean took a sip of her coffee. “But I guess you learned how to cook in... Arkansas, was it? Or was it Louisiana?" Jean cocked her head. "Or maybe Africa.”

Ororo picked up her cup of coffee and copied Jean’s stance: elbows on the table, eyes focused on the cup of coffee. “I learned the basics in Arkansas but officially in Louisiana. I only got better in Africa.”

Jean hummed and nodded. “Was that all you learned on your... travels?”

Ororo looked at Jean and gave a tight smile. “I learned about more than just cooking while I was away.”

Jean returned Ororo’s smile. “And, tell us: What else did you 'learn', Ororo?” Jean put her coffee cup down and rested against her chair. “Enlighten us.”

Ororo put her coffee cup down, traced the rim, and then wiped her lip print away. “The usual thing one learns about while away from home.” Ororo rose to her feet and gathered her plate as well as Scott’s and Logan's. “Life.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm gonna have to rework this story a bit. I know how I want it to go but the whole romance aspect of it is beginning to seem a little unnecessary even when it's crucial to the conclusion (everyone has a dog in this fight, I suppose,) so postings could potentially become erratic.
______________________________________________________________
Stuffing his hands in pockets, Logan wandered around the mansion, trying to figure out what he was doing here. He was almost positive with the way things were now that he didn’t want to stick around; Scott and Jean were being fucking annoying, and without Charles, Logan really had no one to talk to. For a second, Logan almost considered Jean as someone he could talk to, but Logan had to factor in Scott and how annoying he was-- it was a circular thing and Logan wasn’t a fan of not having options.

Truth be told, he wanted to talk to Ororo, but there were more than a few reasons as to why he wanted to talk to her. First and foremost: Ororo now owned the mansion and everything in it. So that meant she owned Logan’s room and in turn, Logan’s fate. Now, he could always go back up to Canada and figure out something there, but Logan was used to the mansion. He liked having one constant room. All he had to do was turn on the charm; the woman needed an ally and he could be just that... But at a cost. Ororo didn’t know about Logan so obviously she wasn’t aware as to the fact that Logan was living in the mansion on a semi permanent basis. With a little working, that room would be his. (It was shitty, he knew, but could you blame him?-- who wanted to be homeless?)

Logan turned a corner and found himself looking at the slightly ajar door of Charles’ office. He peeked inside whilst knocking on the wooden door once. He spotted Ororo reading a piece of paper, a serious expression on her face. “Hey,” he said. Ororo looked over at him and gave him a smile that belonged in a toothpaste ad. “Whatcha got there?” Logan walked over to her and rested against the desk.

“It’s some old letters from the bank. Nothing important.”

“Getting the estate in order,” he noted.

Ororo nodded, stroking her chin. “For the most part. Charles was prepared before... Well,” she put the paper down and rested her palms on the desk, “just before.” Logan nodded understandingly. She just wasn’t ready to say ‘died;’ Logan wasn’t either to some effect. “Er, was there something you needed? I’m a little busy,” she said, stacking some papers neatly to emphasize her point.

“Nope. I was bored so I figured I’d come bother you.”

Ororo let out a bark of laughter. “Well, you’re succeeding.” She fell into the leather chair and gathered some of her papers. “If you’re bored I can put you to good use.” She reached under the desk and hefted a box up. “Can you categorize these letters? And if you could prioritize them, that’d be great.”

“Christ, woman,” Logan remarked. “I thought you said the man was prepared!”

“He was,” she said, looking at some unopened envelopes. She tore one open and began reading. “For the most part.”

“If this is the little bit he left undone then the man was really somethin’ else.”

“He was,” Ororo said seriously, her tone slightly defensive.

Logan held her gaze. “I know.” She looked down and went back to letters and he reached into the box and pulled out a few letters. For a while they were quiet until curiosity got the better of Logan. “So Jean mentioned you went to Arkansas.”

“I did,” she said softly, not looking up from the letter but not reading it either.

“Why’d you--”

“That is not up for discussion,” she said bitingly. She looked up at Logan, her lips pursed but her eyes wide. Almost afraid. “Not that, Logan. Not that.”

“Fine,” Logan agreed. “Can I at least ask which place ya liked best?”

Ororo let an annoyed sigh. “They were all pretty much the same. They taught me different things but they were essentially the same.” She rubbed her brow. “You should’ve asked which place I wouldn’t return to,” she muttered.

“Which place wouldn’t you return to?” he repeated.

“Arkansas.” Logan opened his mouth, a question on the tip of his tongue. “But that’s all I’m saying for now.”

The other reason he wanted to talk to her was because well... She was gorgeous, interesting, and as far as Logan knew: Unavailable. Jean had Scooter and now he could have someone to himself. Not that he wanted to get tied down like Jean and Scott and find himself in an empty relationship, but Logan figured Ororo was most likely a great lay and a phenomenal conversationalist.

And while today was slightly different, last night had been so refreshing. Though she was dancing on eggshells with Scott and Jean, Logan didn’t mind Ororo at all. She was insightful, witty, adorable when she was embarrassed, and most importantly: Dark.

When she calmed from her not-crying fit, they began talking.

She shifted away from Logan, and fisted her hair. “You alright--”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. Logan snorted. She wilted and gave a defeated expression. “I just... This is hard, y’know?”

“Not really. I don’t know you, darlin’. I don’t even know why you’re back. I don’t even know why you left. And I’m not askin’,” he added, holding up his hands. Ororo nodded and bit her lip. “But if I may: Did you even want to come back?”

“That’s a bold question from a man I just met.” She grabbed a beer and popped the tab, ignoring her nudity. Logan watched her drink, waiting expectantly. She moved the beer from her lips and stared out at the lake. “I think I did want to come back. I was all over the place but never home. But then it got to be so many years and then I just felt like I wasn’t allowed to come back. Charles...” Ororo scratched her chin, “he always said I was welcome back. He didn’t care about where I had gone or how I’d been or how I was. He just wanted me back. But I wasn’t ready. I’m still not.”

“Why weren’t you ready to come back?”

Ororo didn’t bother to correct him. “That’s the question, isn’t it? The one everyone wants to ask but won’t. Because after a while you forget why leaving mattered so much, and you forget what you were so angry about. But even then you can never find the answers for why you want to return.” She shrugged. “Or if you even need to.” Ororo took a sip of her beer and wiped her lip. “Sorry if I’m not making sense.”

“No, you are.” Logan sipped his beer and furrowed his brow. “But if you can’t even remember why you were so angry, why did you feel like you weren’t allowed to return? Nothing was stopping you.” He glanced at her. “Or was there something stopping you?” he asked.

Ororo smiled, but it was so heartbreakingly sad, almost to the point of being pathetic. Logan waited, but she said nothing. And after a while of waiting, Logan assumed the question was too intrusive. If she didn’t answer, he wouldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, Logan would clam up just as quickly.

And then: “I felt free.”