shoulder ;

"I'll see ya later, Hank." Logan waved a cigar over his shoulder as he stepped out of the kitchen and into the crisp night air. Charles was as strict as ever about smoking within the school grounds, so he'd decided to have his cigar out in the backyard. Hank waved back, chuckling to himself quietly. This new Logan had his differences from the one that he had come to know, but in many ways it seemed they were exactly the same.

Hank rose from the seat he'd taken at the kitchen table, stretching his joints with a mighty yawn. It was late; he and Logan had lost track of time while catching him up on the mansion's security and tech outfit. Hank and Forge were the brains behind most of the tech around the Institute, but they'd always kept Scott and Logan in the know about how it all worked together. With Logan's memories gone, it had been up to Hank to get him back up to speed. Thankfully, Logan was as quick a learner as he'd always been. It was taking long, but, to Hank's surprise and pleasure, not any longer than it should have.

Hank was just gathering his things together - a slim tablet, a holo-emitter, an old-fashioned manila folder - when a voice spoke up from behind him.

"I see you two had a late night." Hank looked up and spotted Ororo by the door that opened into the hall. She was still dressed in her "teacher clothes", neatly tailored slacks and a ruffled blouse buttoned all the way up, though he was pleased to see that she'd at least left her blazer undone. She walked over to join him by the table.

"Yes, well, we had quite a bit to cover..." Hank said, smiling and shrugging one shoulder.

"As well as a few to drink?" Ororo lifted one of the empty beer cans that he and Logan had gone through together earlier that night. She gave him a teasing grin and he reached out to tap her on the nose playfully.

"Minx." Hank chuckled as she gave him a cheeky smile. "We only had a few, my dear. Not that it matters overly much; Logan's tolerance for his microbrew of choice is as high as ever." He grinned back, moving to help her collect the cans. "Rather curious, really; physiologically he is exactly as he was a few short weeks ago..."

Hank let the second half of that statement go unsaid; Ororo knew just as well what he meant, after all. But he looked up just in time to see her lingering smile turn into a thoughtful frown. She took the cans to the recycling bin under the sink, tossing them all in before she spoke up again, quietly:

"How is he, Henry? Really?"

Hank regarded his friend sympathetically. She still had her back turned to him, busying herself with straightening out dishtowels, putting abandoned bowls into the dishwasher...

"He is adjusting, Ororo." He said at length. "It is taking time, naturally, but he is getting there." Hank took the last of the cans over to her, tossing them in. Not liking the pensive look her expression had taken on, he tried for a bit of levity. "But I think you would know; you seem to loosen his tongue when precious few of us can claim the same... In a manner of speaking, of course."

Ororo's cheeks caught a hint of pink and she shot him a brief look, reproachful and sly all at once. "Hank."

"What?" He put his hands up innocently. "It's true."

Ororo shook her head, trying (and failing) not to roll her eyes. Hank counted that as a win, short-lived as it was.

"It's just..." she began again, and this time Hank could hear the slight hitch to her voice, "He's different, yes, but when I look at him..." She trailed off, glancing outside. Logan had walked a fair distance away from the mansion for his smoke, but he was near enough that she could just make out his figure in the darkness, as well as the glowing end of his cigar.

The worst part, she felt, was looking at him and seeing two men: the Logan at present, and an echo of the Logan from before. She didn't mean to, but she compared and contrasted them on instinct - cataloging their similarities and differences before she even realized what she was doing.

Neither Logan deserved that. But at the same time... was it fair to simply forget the one that had left them when he hadn't had any say in the matter?

She felt a hand rest on her shoulder - heavy, but its weight was comforting and familiar. Ororo looked up to find Hank smiling gently at her. "It's alright, you know. I imagine he feels much the same way when he looks at us." He paused. "And at you."

Ororo fell silent. She knew how he looked at her; she wasn't blind. She didn't know the story behind it, wasn't sure if she wanted to know, and wasn't sure he wanted her to know.

But, she wondered, what did he see in her, when she looked at him?

"You should talk to him, my friend." Hank prodded gently when she had nothing to say.

"We have been talking-"

But Hank shook his head. "He talks to you about what his world was like, and you tell him of ours. But have you talked about yourselves?"

Ororo paused, and sighed. "... Even if there was an us for him, Henry, there wasn't an us for me."

Hank gave her a look. "Wasn't there?"

She looked away, biting back the reply that hovered on her lips.

"Have faith, Ororo. Talk to him," Hank urged again, patting her shoulder. He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, and it lifted her spirits enough to give him a small smile.

"I'll try."