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Secret Burdens
Chapter Twelve: Laying Them Down



“Sometimes we hold so tight to things because we fear not finding anything else worth holding onto.”

* * *


“You did what?”

Ororo groaned inwardly at Hank’s tone. She could see his profusely fluffy blue eyebrows knit together over the video conference they shared. Leaning back in her desk chair, she rubbed at her temples mildly. It was the end of the school day, and the orange glow of the lowering sun that filtered in through the window behind her did little to ease the tension. Outside, it was still snowing softly, and children littered the grounds, trying to soak up the last of the sun’s rays before their warmth left then entirely. She rolled her chair closer to the desk and laid her arms across the wood surface. Her monitor sat in the left corner of her desk, Hank’s worried stare gracing the screen. She could see by the room behind him he was back in his office at Washington.

Ororo sighed as she pulled her shoulders back to address him once more. “I stated that I accepted Logan’s proposal.”

A frown crept its way across Hank’s face. “Ororo…”

“Yes, I am aware of the possible consequences,” she interrupted before he could protest, a hand waved through the air to hold him off. “However, I have examined his case and have come to the conclusion that, unorthodox as he is, Logan may very well be essential here at the mansion, as more than an X-man. I admit, my reaction was quite the same as yours when he first suggested the position he wished to fill.”

She could see Hank searching for a reason to object. “But Ororo, really? Logan as school nurse?”

“Okay, you make it sound as if he will be wearing a white frock and hat with a red cross emblazoned on his chest.” Ororo had to pause a moment and imagine Logan curtsying in such a costume, but shook her head to rid it of the image and returned her attention to Hank. “It will be more of an active health course, concerning self-defense and immediate first-aid care. You can hardly claim him to be inexperienced in such subjects, Hank. And it will be offered to all students, though those selected as X-team candidates will later receive advanced medical training and self-defense courses in focus groups with Logan.”

Taking his glasses from their place atop his nose, Hank rubbed between his eyes. “Ororo, dear, please tell me that this is some theatrical play on my sense of humor, because I can hardly believe you to be serious right now.” Hank stopped, and dropped his hand from his face, staring at Ororo. “You realize he is not the role model for healthy, active living, considering his mutation can easily repair the damage he’s done. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already killed his liver six times over with all the alcohol he consumes.”

Ororo placed her hands in the air in mock surrender. “I grant you, you are most likely correct in that assumption. However, because of his knowledge of pain and the effects it has on the body, he may be a better proponent for relating what your body is in need of better then most, whether his attends to such needs in a quicker fashion or not.” Ororo lowered her hands, clearing her throat to continue. “He has given first aid to many of us in times of need. He is aware of the procedures needed to stabilize a patient. You and Jean have made sure of that in the time he has spent at the mansion.”

Hank’s frown grew deeper, not because he remembered such instances, but because Jean no longer could. He was pulled from his momentary grief when Ororo continued, her voice level and sure.

“And when it comes to combat and defensive maneuvers, he is as skilled, if not more so than any of the other X-men or faculty, you and myself excluded of course,” she finished with a sly smile.

Hank found himself chuckling softly. “I’d like to see him try and best you, my dear.”

Ororo smiled at the compliment, but continued. “I would claim that the two of us are a far match. Now,” Ororo placed her arms crossed atop the desk once more, “I am convinced he will make a sufficient fitness instructor. Mind you, I am aware that Logan’s brand of fitness is more maintenance than preventative, though I assure you I have given him ample material on health and the body to read up on in preparation.”

Raising a brow, Hank deadpanned “You honestly believe he will read anything you suggest to him?”

Ororo bristled slightly at the thought. Yes, she thought, Logan respected her wishes enough “ and her authority as headmistress regardless “ to agree to her small request of some book reading. He was not a complete Neanderthal.

Well, maybe just a little.

“Yes, Hank, I have faith that he will take this position seriously, and thus my requests of him,” she answered confidently.

Hank sighed once more and placed his glasses back atop his nose. “Well, you needn’t ask my permission. You are headmistress, and you must stand by your decisions, whatever havoc they may bring with them.”

Ororo narrowed her eyes and smirked playfully. “The vote of confidence is appreciated, Hank.” Her smirk eased into a small smile. “And though I know I need not ask your permission, I should like to have your approval all the same.”

Hank opened his mouth to answer when a knock sounded through the screen and Ororo heard a door open somewhere in Hank’s office. “Dr. McCoy?” a voice asked from behind the screen. Ororo saw Hank look up past his monitor and smile politely. “Yes, Davis?”

“The SecNav is on line two.”

Hank’s eyebrows rose slightly and he dismissed the faceless voice civilly.
When the click of the door sounded again, Hank’s gaze returned to the screen. “Ha, the SecNav is waiting on my line. And mother said I’d never amount to anything,” he joked.

Ororo tried to smile but she could not help the curious gaze she knew she was giving Hank. He caught it immediately, and suddenly his features were sober. “Ororo, I know he wants to speak with me about comments I made at a military consultation with the president last week.”

Unbidden, Ororo’s brows knit together and her hairs stood on end. Even the mention of armed forces had Ororo tensing these days. “What sort of consultation, Hank?” she asked slowly.

Hank glanced above the monitor once more. Making sure the door was indeed closed, he leveled his heavy gaze on Ororo. “We had a meeting concerning a special-operations assault task force consisting solely of mutants.”

Ororo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion immediately. Unconsciously, she leaned in closer toward the screen. “Why, after the events at Alcatraz, would the U.S. put together a regiment of militarized mutants and especially regulate them to special-ops combat missions? How did this ever get past the committee?” Ororo didn’t realize her voice had been rising steadily.

“Ororo, please,” Hank hushed her, one finger over his lips. He glanced above the monitor screen again and back, lowering his finger. “The idea was proposed by General Timothy J. Shrap. He’s the head of the Armed Forces Committee. I cannot tell you any more over this line. I will fly back into Westchester on Tuesday and there, I can go over everything with you in detail. Until then, I need you to find out anything not on record about General Shrap. Can you do that?”

Ororo opened her mouth to protest, demand an explanation of what Hank knew but he held up his hand at her fuming. “Please, Ororo. I need you to do this for me. Employ Kitty if you need but try to keep as many people as unaware as possible, at least, until I can brief you fully. Okay?”

Ororo’s shoulders slumped at the sight of his softened features. She never really could say no to him. Sighing, she nodded her head silently. “Alright, Hank, although I do not like operating uninformed, if you feel this is best then I will do as you ask.”

“Thank you,” he answered, smiling warmly. “Now, I really must not keep the Secretary of the Navy waiting. And Ororo?”

She lifted her eyebrows to him in question.

“I will always approve of your decisions, especially when they concern the school. Yours is the only judgment I have never had to question. And it will always remain so.” Hank nodded to her solemnly, before waving a hand before the screen and suddenly blacking out.

Ororo leaned back in her chair. “I am glad at least one of us does not question it,” she said softly to the empty room.


* * *


As he made his way down the corridors of the hidden X-Men facility underneath the mansion, Logan realized that he hadn’t been down here much lately. He used to plague these halls daily, especially the path he now took, toward the med-lab. These walls had become as familiar as his own skin, welcoming and comforting even, as much as he hated to admit it. But now, Logan doesn’t remember the last time he came here to feel Jean’s presence. There was the Danger Room session he had with Ororo just before she blew up at him in his room. Grumbling, Logan rubbed his arm sorely in memory of the electric bolts she’d hit him with. Well, he could hardly say they weren’t warranted. And yet, the last time he can remember being down here was…

Logan stopped before the doors of the med-lab, watching them slide open almost soundlessly. Lights flicked on throughout the room upon the opening of the door. The stark white of the room filled Logan’s vision.

Oh yes, that’s right. The day this whole confrontation with Ororo started.

Glancing down the hallway one last time, Logan stepped into the room. There were the observation tables to his left and on his right sat the monitor system and computer desk.

Even above the anti-septic and plastic smell of wires, the room is filled with the scent of African acacias. Logan closed his eyes and breathed in deep, a rumbling starting in his chest.
His eyes flash open. Jean, he tells himself. He was here for Jean. Not Storm.

Logan focuses his attention once more on the observation table next to him, shaking the scent from his head. Walking over to the table, he places a hand on the surface almost reverently. This was where they first met. He figured that had to mean something. Turning, Logan pushed himself up on the table, letting his legs dangle below him. He leaned over his knees, rubbing a hand down his worn face.

“Oh, Red…” he sighed. “Things would be so much simpler if I hadn’t killed you, huh?” he chuckled darkly.

There was silence in the room. Not even the beeping of machines answered him. There was nothing here.

He picked his head up to look around the room once more. Glancing over the desk opposite him he noticed the stack of folders next to the screen, the pulled out rolling chair from the desk, and there, at the corner of the desk, was a small hair clip. Logan narrowed his eyes at it and caught the gleam of white from a hair tangled in its grip. He swallowed and looked away.

Logan rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Look, Jeannie…,” he started roughly, not sure how to make the words out. He figured he’d start at someplace familiar. “I came here ‘cause I got to put something to rest. And I need ya to help me do it.”

The silent response from the empty room was not helping.

Logan rolled his eyes slightly. “I dun’ even know why I’m in here talkin’ to ya like this, Red, but I figure you’re more real to me here than under the ground o’ the cemetery out back. Tombstone never fit ya anyway.” Logan linked his hands together, resting his forearms along his knees.

“Anyway, I just wanted ya to know that…I ain’t gonna be comin’ down here any longer. Maybe I kept doing it in the first place ‘cause I felt guilty. But I don’t anymore. Storm helped me figure that out. If I felt guilt, well, it’d be like spittin’ on yer grave. No regrets, right? That’s how it’s got to be, right?” Logan gripped his hands tighter, swallowing thickly. “Anyway, you should know that I’m…,” Logan’s voice caught in his throat. God, if only it wasn’t so goddamn silent. If only Ororo’s scent wasn’t everywhere.

He cleared his throat roughly, closing his eyes. Logan braced his hands along the table beneath him, gripping the edge tightly. “I’m sorry, Jeannie. I really am. Sorry that me lovin’ you brought nothing but pain. And…sorry that I kept you in my thoughts as an excuse. An excuse to be angry because I was helpless. I know that I’m not the only one who feels helpless. And…” Logan shook his head slightly, thinking of the day he had Ororo against the wall of the med-lab, screaming at her in righteous anger. Stupid, ignorant anger. He hates that he had ever thought to hurt her. Her of all people.

“It ain’t right. I know it ain’t right but…” Logan opened his eyes once more, and instinctively his gaze fell on Ororo’s clip atop the desk. He clenched his teeth together, pulling in a shaky breath. “It ain’t right but…I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout…” Logan’s gaze turned dark, the hair rising along his arms. His voice became a rumbling growl.

“I want to touch her,” he breathed.

Suddenly, his heart beat was in his ears. The words aloud made everything seem more present. His breathing was heavier, the lights in the room were brighter. Logan had this irrational fear that the table beneath him would crack under his tightening grip.

“I want to touch her. Ororo. If only to prove that she’s real, and that I can touch her. To prove that…that what I’m feelin’ ain’t wrong. And to see if she…” Logan growled lowly, his brows furrowing together. “To see that I’m not the only one. I’m not the only one feelin’ this.”

Suddenly, the faraway tread of footsteps caught Logan’s ears. His body tensed up immediately and the adamantium beneath his knuckles itched for release. It took only a moment to recognize the soft and bouncy tread belonging to Kitty, nearly four corridors away. She had wondered off to the east corridor. Logan rose a brow in suspicion. The only room down that way was the research lab, and it had been a long time since the X-Men had been in need of information regarding a mission. Logan’s gaze narrowed in concentration. What was Kitty doing down here?

Broken from his attention to the barren room before him, Logan glanced once more to the hair clip on the desk. He sighed lightly, releasing his grip of the table below him and dropping down to the floor.

“I guess it’s easy to love someone when they’re alive and with ya. It ain’t so easy when they’re dead, huh Red?” Logan asked softly. “But I don’t want to hurt ya anymore, and I don’t want to hurt her either. So I need to lay this to rest, or I can’t be sure of anything.” Logan pulled out a cigar from his back jeans pocket, and raised it in a salute to the empty room around him. “To you Red, and to laying down burdens. God knows we could be so much more without ‘em.”

With one last deep breath, Logan grabbed the clip from the desk and shoved it into his jeans pocket. He then pulled out his lighter, and ignited the end of his cigar, placing the lighter back in his shirt pocket. The doors of the med-lab closed softly behind him as he strolled off in search of Kitty. The lights had already gone out.


* * *


“Hmm, Shrap, Shrap, Shrap…” Kitty was mumbling to herself as her hands flew across the keyboard before her. She was sitting Indian-style in the rolling office chair before the X-Team’s computer system of the research lab. Storm had asked her to do a little illegal researching on a “General Timothy J. Shrap”. Kitty had no idea who the man was, nor why she had to keep it in strict confidence but if the leader of the X-Men asked her to hack into both the Homeland Security and Armed Forces committees then it had to be important. And X-related no doubt.

She heard the sound of the sliding doors behind her swish open and smiled proudly, perking up in her seat. Her hands continued their typing as she spoke to the guest walking up behind her. “Guess what, Storm, there’s a bit of info our little general decided not to share with the public. And I’ve found some interesting emails between him and the Secretary of Defense. I’m still decoding the encryption on the committees’ data though so just a minute and…” she swirled her seat around to find Logan standing there. Full-blown smirk and all.

Kitty’s face fell. “Uh, Logan…” she stuttered.

Logan brought his smoking cigar to his mouth, pulling in a deep breath. He lowered the cigar, exhaling a cloud of smoke and leaned down so that his face was level with Kitty’s. She could see his mischievous eyes dancing.

“So who’s General Shrap?” he asked, grinning.





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