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Bar in a Nowhere Town


The engine was silenced. One strong leg swung over the stolen motorcycle to dismount. A signature cigar was clenched tightly between two sharp canines. A calloused hand swept through windblown jet black hair. This man was no stranger to no name bars. He reveled in their obscurity. The bars allowed him to hide from what was chasing him. Of course he didn't call it hiding. He called it an 'extended leave of absence'. That made him feel better about why he couldn't stay in one place for more than a few weeks or months. He sniffed the air to see if there was any hint of threat. It was clear. Not that it mattered if there was a threat. He could handle it if it came. He always did.

From where he stood he could hear the muffled sounds of a Patsy Cline song. He rolled his eyes. Did every bar in the sticks have to play Patsy Cline? He adjusted his leather jacket and entered the bar.

It was dim and reeked of forty years of Marlboro cigarettes. The cloud of smoke was so thick he had to part it like the Red Sea with his generous chest. He searched to find the darkest corner of the bar and began his short journey. All the while he kept his steel grey eyes on the patrons. Most looked like truck drivers making pitstops or townies whose daily routine it was to get drunk out of their minds and start trouble with the same people. The women in the bar had hair that could rival a Bon Jovi groupie. The decor was nothing to write home about. Not that it mattered to him. He was only there to get his beer and mull over his thoughts. The phone call that he'd received earlier kept his mind going. For the first time in his life, he was unsure of what he should do.

He settled himself at the bar and waited for the bartender to approach. The bartender looked to be in his late sixties. He was sweaty and had that dirty look of someone who'd worked hard labor a good deal of their lives but was never able to wash away all the filth. He gave the impression that his name could be 'Zeke' or 'Big Tom'.

"What d'ya want?" The man eyed Logan suspiciously. He cleared his cancer ridden throat and chewed on his copenhagen waiting for Logan to answer.

"Beer. Canadian." Logan held his stare. Daring him to try something funny. He was in the mood for letting out a little aggression.

"Only sell domestic here. We don't take to no foreign ales. Take it or get the hell out." Logan had to smirk a little to himself. The man had guts to talk to a stranger any way he damned well pleased.

"Domestic is fine." A bottle was promptly placed in front of him. The barman went back to wiping off the bar top with a dingy rag.

Logan downed the piss poor beer quickly and told 'Zeke' to keep them coming. He lit his cigar after his third beer and took a savory drag from it. As he was lifting his fourth bottle to his lips, he noticed a busty bottle blonde slithering over to him. He growled low in his chest, not wanting to be bothered. He'd smelled her cheap perfume and Aqua Net hairspray long before he saw her. She eased onto the stool next to him. Making sure her breasts were well pronounced, she leaned closer to him.

"Hey there stranger. Lookin' for a good time tonight?" She slid her had across the bartop and began to play with one of Logan's empty bottles. She gave him her best 'come hither' look. When he didn't answer, she moved even closer. This time running her hand up her acid washed jean clad thigh.

"Are you shy? I like shy men. It gives me a chance to play teacher." She pursed her lips in an attempt to make them pouty.

"Lady do I look shy? I ain't buyin' what yer sellin', so leave me the hell alone." He went back to ignoring her and finished his beer.

Far from taking a hint she moved her hand to rest it on his. "You don't really mean that. I can change your mind just give me a--"

Logan quickly snatched up her wrist and glared at her in his feral gaze. He growled a little louder to make sure she heard. He instantly smelled the fear on her and smiled inwardly. "I thought I made myself clear the first time. I ain't interested. Now go bother another fool, 'cause I'm all set." He released her wrist and got up to pay his tab. Leaving the frightened barfly in his wake, he stomped to the door and swung it open. Stepping out into the cool night air, he decided to take a long ride to nowhere in particular. Maybe then he could finally figure out what he was going to do about that phone call.



Xavier Institute -The Next Day


The silence in the office was defeaning. All eyes were staring in disbelief at their stoic team leader. So many questions were running through the minds of the occupants in the room, that the two telepaths gave each other knowing looks.

Only one pair of eyes was not directed toward Scott Summers. These eyes belonged to a woman who could care less about living or anything else at the moment. Her melancholy azure eyes were staring in rapt wonder at a falling leaf outside the Professor's window. She watched the brilliantly colored leaf waltz on an eastern blowing breeze. If only that were me, she thought to herself. She watched the leaf until it was out of her line of view. She absently twirled a lock of her snow white hair in her slender fingers, vaguely aware that she was being watched by a bald telepath and a blonde Adonis with the wings of an angel.

Scott cleared his throat in his pompous manner. "Doesn't anyone have anything to say about my decision?" He was clearly irritated that his team hadn't accepted his choice in a more vocal manner. Of course he knew there would be shock, but their silence was unnerving.

"I think they are letting the recent news sink in Scott." Prof. X offered in his soothing, cultured voice.

"Well, I think you've lost your fuckin'--sorry Prof.--mind. This guy nearly killed you, and you want him back! I always thought you were the level-headed one. Your ass is tight enough." Those eloquent words were spoken by the mansion's resident singer and foul-mouthed bad girl Alison Blaire. Alison ran a hand over her violently pink, pixie cut hair. She looked like she had not slept all night and she smelled like she spent the night club hopping.

"Now look here Alison, I know what he did. I was there remember? The fact is that he is a weapon that is too dangerous to be on the opposite side. We need him here with us. I am a big enough person to look past his prior acts to see that he is experienced and will fight to the death if necessary." Scott finished voicing his piece and went to stand beside the cause of his near death experience. Jean Grey looked into the eyes of her reinstated boyfriend and gave him a reassuring smile.

"Scott is right to want him back--" Jean began before being interrupted.

"You would want him back. After all that I heard when he was here, he was screwin' you good." Alison delivered with a very unladylike guffaw.

"Alison, that is enough. This meeting was not called to discuss such things. I expect you all to be civil to one another. Is that understood?" Charles Xavier waited until he received confirmation that all members in his office would respect each other. When they all accepted he politely nodded his head so that Jean could continue.

"As I was saying," Jean continued with slightly tinted cheeks. "He is an expert assassin and he is somewhat familiar with the opposition. He could tell us their strengths and weaknesses. That's all I wanted to say."

"Has he chosen to accept your offer Scott?" Kitty Pryde asked from her seat beside Kurt Wagner on the lush coffee colored sofa. She was wary of the possible return of Logan. She had been there when he'd betrayed everyone's trust. She did not like the idea of having to face a man so callous that he would go to such great lengths for a fickle woman.

"He hasn't reached a decision yet. Logan only said that he would think it over. Whatever that means. He actually sounded a little shocked that I'd forgive him." Scott said with a smug little smirk on his face.

"I suppose all we can do is respect your decision. You are the leader after all Scott. If you feel safe, then I feel safe." The blonde Adonis had let his steady gaze drift from the silent beauty long enough to make his presence known. Warren Worthington III stated his few words and went back to his watch.

"I agree with War. I can accept his return." Robert Drake seconded Warren's motion.

A chorus of voices sounded to rally around their leader. Ororo continued to gaze out at the crisp autumn sky. No one expected her to speak. She only spoke when it was absolutely necessary. Ororo wanted to be outside riding the winds. That was the only solace she found in life now. Being alone and one with nature. Life outside of that did not matter much anymore. Not since the day she lost one of her true friends.

"Well my X-Men, that is all. You are free to continue your day as you wish." Charles replied. As everyone began to file out of his office, he called out to the person who's hand was inches from the doorknob. "Oh Ororo, I would like to speak with you privately."

Ororo's hand paused in midair. "Now?" The irritation was thick in her voice. She knew he meant now, she was just stalling for time. Talks with Charles had recently become a tug-o-war of wills. She was not in the mood to fight him today.

"Yes now." Charles' words left no room for argument. Defeated, Ororo stomped back to her seat in the comfortable chair opposite Charles' massive desk. The others in the room gave both Ororo and Charles sympathetic looks. Warren gently rested his hand on Ororo's shoulder before exiting. Ororo heard Scott telling Piotr that they had a training session in the Danger Room before the door was silently shut by Kurt.

"How have you been, Ororo?" Charles began immediately after they were left alone. He knew he had to start soon or she would leave without giving him the chance to help her. His heart went out to her. For someone so strong, she had the tendency to become extremely vulnerable when it came to her emotions. Of course he understood that it was a part of her mutation to keep her emotions in check, but lately he'd grown more worried about her.

His query was met with a weighty silence. The only sound in the room came from Charles' antique grandfather clock at the far side of the room. Charles tried a different approach. "Would you care for some tea? I have a delicious new blend from the British Isles."

"Do you think tea will wipe away the past months Charles?" Her words were cloaked in bitterness. This was the furthest she'd come to talking about her feeling regarding the recent events.

"No I do not think it will wipe away the past. I was merely trying to be a gracious host. I suppose I have failed miserably." He finished with the hint of a smile. He quickly sobered his expression sensing the darkening sky outside.

"Ororo, I only want you to heal. Grieving is healthy, but anger won't help in the healing process. If you can't pull yourself together or at least attempt therapy, I will have to put you on sick leave. You are not in the right state of mind to perform in missions." Charles was reluctant to say this. He only wanted to give her a gentle push in the direction of therapy.

"Do what you have to do. I don't give a shit anymore." Ororo stood and began walking toward the door.

"Ororo please do not walk away. You need help handling your grief. You are human, it is normal to harbor feelings of--" Charles was interrupted by Ororo's abrupt turnaround.

"Don't you dare sit there and tell me how I should feel. You do not know enough about me to tell me what is normal to me. The only part you got right is that the grief is mine. MINE! No one elses! I'm done talking about this." Ororo flung the door open before Charles could protest further. She raced to her attic room, passing the ever watchful Warren along the way. She was able to make it to her room without incident. Slamming and locking her door, she divested herself of her unwanted clothing. Opening her balcony door she let the autumn breeze wash over her skin. Reveling in the silken air, she approached the parapet. Without a backward glance Ororo took to the sky to forget her troubles. If only for a few hours.





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