1. Under the New York Sky


The lilacs were blooming. Their pale and dark purple set against the sudden shading blue of the New York sky, cris-crossed with trails left by jets and marked by barren clouds. Underneath the towering bushes, their sprigs of tiny royal blossoms dipping delicately to the ground, spread a carpet of green Bermuda grass shooting up to the late spring sun, flushing a vibrant emerald, which was almost as bright as her eyes.
He stood quietly on the stone walkway, his arms folded over the old rock wall near the house, looking in on the courtyard in secret, his mouth quirked up as he watched the puppy squirm.
"Hold her still, Ana," Ororo laughed, grasping the golden puppy around the ribs as the small girl plopped down on the grass in front of her mother, bending her head of dark brown curls to grab at the puppy's head, squealing as the small dog strained forward to lick her on the chin.
"Be still, Buttons," she cried, wrapping her small fingers in the puppy's thick gold fur.
He laughed softly, still wondering how any child of his could willingly name their first dog Buttons. Yet, that had been the first thing out of her mouth when the golden retriever had come bounding down the stairs and into the little girl's arms.
"Whoa," Ororo crooned as the puppy wriggled and stumbled, trying to get free. He watched his wife press the tip of her tongue between her teeth in concentration as she fitted the bright pink collar, picked out especially by Jean, around the puppy's neck, her long fingers working nimbly as she buckled the small piece of material, finally letting go.
The puppy bounded out of Ororo's lap, taking off across the courtyard. Ana jumped up also, taking after the puppy in full pursuit, her wild hair bouncing around her head in the sausage curls that she had been born with, exactly five years ago.
As Ana chased the tawny puppy around the yard, he watched Ororo lean back on the grass, crossing her jean-clad legs at the ankle, her feet bare under the sun. Her bright blue eyes were focused on Ana, a satisfied smile curling on her mouth. He smiled himself, returning his gaze to his little girl, wondering in the back of his mind how the two of them had created such a perfect creature. He knew it was well within Ororo's capability, but definitely not in his.
It hadn't been so long since he had found her on an island covered in white, reflecting the rays of the hot Greek sun and lined with oleander blossoms quivering in the harsh wind. Ana had been born there, opening her shocking green eyes for the first time to see the rushing blue-green sea.
When he turned back to Ororo he was surprised to see that she had found him standing there in the shadows. She cocked a regal eyebrow at him and grinned, silver-white hair gleaming as she shook it out behind her head, the platinum strands slipping over each other softly.
He watched her with dark eyes, rubbing his thumb over the gold wedding band on his left ring finger, feeling the perfect smoothness of the element circling around his rough skin.
He could remember sitting on the hydrofoil, staring out at the rising sea as they skipped over the waves, the wind whistling through the vents over the low growl of the engines as he made his way back across the Mediterranean, back to her room decorated with rainbows.

2a. Blue-Green

He should've felt it. He didn't know why he didn't. Yet, only the soft bump as the hydrofoil flew over the last large wave rolling in toward the white shore woke Logan from sleep, his dark eyes opening to an attendant shutting the vents overhead with loud popping noises as the relentless wind suddenly ceased streaming in from over the ship's curved hull.
Mykonos was there before him, looking comfortingly the same, its white buildings glittering under the high noon sun, the waves lapping around the harbor in green and blue, white froth sizzling around the edges.
The hydrofoil groaned and hissed to a halt by the dock, its sleek body bobbing quietly. Logan felt his bag by his booted foot, and with a rake of a rough hand through his wiry black hair, he leaned forward and unfolded his body from the disconcerting airline-like seat, grabbing the bag as he went.
People were already filing off the boat, ducking their heads as they stepped high out of the exit and onto the ramp, clomping down to the smooth concrete harbor. Logan followed along, ducking down and straightening, shielding his dark eyes at the sudden intensity of the Greek sun that spilled its rays on the ground, bathing the coarse land with harsh heat. Logan stopped for a moment, staring out to sea.
He had stayed in Crete a little less than a month, discovering, as usual, nothing more than a burned down unit by the Libyan Sea, the cold blue water gurgling up onto the remains of scrap metal and broken glass. There were no tire marks, and there were no papers. He had gone through it all, and there had been nothing left to salvage.
Then there was nothing left to lead him except to go back to the beginning. Canada, which had always seemed strange to him. Canada, of all fucking places.
And as he had stood there on that black and dark gray beach in southern Crete, watching the sea worn glass roll in toward shore as sparkling white pebbles, the water lapping quietly around his heavy black boots, he suddenly realized that Mykonos was waiting, sitting to the north like a giant beacon flashing in the night.
So he made his way north, abandoning the quiet underbelly of Crete, his head set on the matter. The first hydrofoil out, he promised himself. The first.



She was curled up in the chair by the window, watching the south wind pick up, the chimes on the porch beginning to dance so rapidly she just knew it was going to be one of those days. The sea was rising, surging toward the shore as the ocean liners prepared to leave, their anchors being pulled from the salt, dripping and clanking. She watched the people swarm over the decks from above, staring through her window with unmoving eyes.
The waves were crashing into the liners as they pulled away from port, kicking up spray that flew into the wind, whipping up into the air before vanishing. Ororo closed her eyes as the liners accented their departure with the echoing horns. She ran her hands over her stomach and splayed out her fingers, wondering exactly what sort of gift this was, confused as whether she should rejoice or weep silently.
Whichever the case, she was not ready for the knock on her door, muffled by the horns and the relentless wind.
In fact, it startled her. She knew who it was. In the back of her mind she had no doubt, and yet all this while she had the nagging suspicion that there was no chance he would return. It had happened once, she figured, and why now would it be different?
Even at the same time she had figured there was no chance, the optimist in her prevailed. Each morning she would wake up, the hot sun rising red over the sea, simmering through the windows, through the lace, rays falling on her face and glimmering frost hair. Each morning she would open her clear eyes and gaze forward, staring at the other side of the bed, watching the bursting sun gleam over the soft metal of the tags still on the pillow beside her.
She couldn't have moved those tags if she had tried, as though she were fated to roll over each morning, stare at the cold metal rectangles and links, and proclaim herself a fool. Especially now.
Another knock, more impatient than the first, and she unfolded herself from the chair, padding over to touch the door knob briefly with the tips of her fingers, wondering which doubt was right. She frowned unconsciously, and opened the door.
He stood with his back to the sea, his hair mussed and tangled from the wind, his face just as worn as when he had left. Ororo stood beside the door and stared, her eyes quietly taking in the sight, her mind processing the information, and now all that was left was a greeting. Perhaps a hug, or maybe a kiss. Maybe just a smile.
She opted for all three, pulling him into the house before the wind picked up again, driving the chimes hanging at the corners of her house into another round of melodies.
"A month this time," Ororo breathed, taking a step back from him. "That wasn't too bad."
"Missed me so much?" Logan asked gruffly, laughter in his words.
"More than before, if that means anything," Ororo shot at him, pulling him into the kitchen and sitting him down at the table. He watched her carefully as she spirited around the room, opening the refrigerator. "Are you hungry? It's past noon. We could eat late, or..."
"‘Ro," he interrupted, standing up and grabbing her hands, kicking the fridge door shut with his foot. "Stand still for a minute."
Ororo paused, her heart racing in her chest as she watched him. Nervously she dropped her eyes, settling on watching his hands that left hers and went to her face, tipping her head up so he could see her.
"I guess I just didn't exactly know what to expect," Ororo explained, taking a chance and looking up into his eyes. She found that they were most disconcertingly boring into her own, their darkness so overwhelming she had to look away.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Ororo asked, breaking away and leaning against the counter, looking up from a safe distance.
"No," Logan said, watching her carefully. "From the looks of things there was most likely no link to me in Crete even before they burned everything to the ground."
"I'm sorry, Logan," Ororo replied after a moment, pushing a piece of stray white hair behind an ear. "I know how important it is for you. I suppose now you must go back."
"To Canada," Logan shrugged. "Eventually. I'm not very partial to the idea of traveling right now."
"Is that so?" Ororo asked, her heart, as strange as it sounded, most likely skipped a beat.
Logan walked up to her, lifting a hand and burying it in her thick white hair, watching it disappear among the platinum locks. "When I was down in Crete all I could really think about was jumping on the next hydrofoil back here. It took me forever to find that damn base and each day the longing to just give it up and head north got stronger. Amazing I did find it, at the rate I was going."
"Logan," Ororo tried to say, but he cut her off, kissing her deeply against the counter top. He pulled back for a moment and looked down at her, not letting her go, and not stepping back.
"What?" He asked softly, his voice rough.
"I have been waiting for this," Ororo smiled at him, letting him suddenly pick her up.
"Me too, darlin'," he grinned, baring his teeth at her as if he felt he needed to remind her of what he was. "Waiting for a long time."

It took far more courage than Ororo had thought. Far more. Days after Logan had returned she kept silent, running around the subject, eyeing it, wishing that saying those words could somehow be easier. She would say them over and over in her head, but when she thought she had picked the perfect moment for them to come spilling out of her mouth, they wound up sticking there, behind her teeth, refusing.
It was irritating, to be sure. It was a package of anxiety and nervousness and despair rolled together, breaking her nerves. She knew Logan's mind about such things. She knew all too well. He would panic, she was sure. It would be a blind search for the door.
And still she tried to force the words out, picking one day, just after the sun had risen above the blue-green sea. The wind was silent today, which made the stillness Ororo felt worse. She gathered her nerves together and sat herself on the bed, watching Logan mill around in the bathroom.
He was wearing the dog tags again. The first thing he had done when he saw them on her pillow was laugh and pick them up, holding the pewter metal dangling between them for an explanation, which Ororo didn't particularly have.
She watched him, keeping her heartbeat down by will, her breathing even, her eyes locked on target. He was brushing his teeth, completely unsuspecting, and she opened her mouth.
Then the words flowed forth like a waterfall.
"Logan," she said, and he looked up, the toothbrush still sticking out of his mouth.
"I'm pregnant."