Chapter Thirteen: Grief
Nobody ever said that life was gonna be fair
You’re never going to get nowhere by running scared
If you look down deep inside you'll find
The faith to make you strong
Carry on
~Tim McGraw
“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pasture, He leadeth me beside still waters, He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his namesake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for thou art with me.”
Ororo stood woodenly, her hand gripping Logan’s to the point of pain. Though heavy clouds swirled above, darkening the sky and joined by distant rumbling of thunder, she would not allow her emotions to pour from the heavens. On the hilltop just north of the mansion, beneath his favorite sycamore, beloved friends and family gathered to bid their leader farewell.
“Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
When the prayer was finished, she could hear several of the gathered mourners sniffling weekly, some openly weeping. Grief was as thick on the air as the scent of rain before a storm. Nothing and no one seemed the same in the wake of such a tragic loss.
“We are gathered here together to pay final respects to Charles Xavier. Philanthropist, leader, beloved friend; Charles was a man of incredible vision and endless patience.”
As the preacher continued, Ororo chanced to look around at the assembled mourners. Many of the children had opted to take their Christmas vacation early, leaving those closer to Charles to mourn him in peace.
A thin blanket of snow still covered the ground, but Ororo ensured that her family would not become overly chilled in the winter day. They would all be provided with enough time to bury their mentor “ the father of the X-Men and their dream “ if it was the last thing she ever did.
Logan’s strength had not waned in the last week. Though their problems were only pushed aside in the aftermath of such tragedy, they would have to address them eventually. Now, however, was not the time. There was nothing either of them could say that would not be tinged by pain.
The night Logan had surprised her by appearing in the loft was remembered with both sorrow and relief. While he had slept so peacefully beside her, Scott and Jean were in deep discussions with the late Professor. They had spoken on all manner of topics that evening, from school business to the personal crisis his four core X-Men were currently enveloped in.
Nothing had prepared the Summers for the swift hand of death. As Scott later told Ororo in confidence, Charles had never even completed his final words.
“Scott, I believe the four of you should…”
That was the last thing he would ever tell them. No warning, no lingering to say goodbye to those he had loved throughout his too-short life. He merely grimaced and put a hand to his bald head. A moment later, Scott and Jean realized something was very wrong with their friend.
An aneurysm had apparently worked its way to Charles’ brain, leaving no symptoms or even hints that the fatal condition was even there. When it ruptured, the doctors told them all that Charles had been dead in the space between two heartbeats. There was nothing anyone could have done.
Of course, that knowledge did not stop each and every one of them for casting blame on themselves.
Now, gathered on this lonesome hilltop, they were made to say goodbye before they were quite ready. None of the X-Men had ever given a thought to what they would do should Charles leave them. Ororo herself had always seen him as larger than life, something no man or even God could take away. Her faith, what little remained after events of the last months, had deserted her.
She had only Logan to rely on. His massive hand squeezed hers as the preacher droned on. Glancing at him, she thought she caught the hint of tears in his eyes, but it could have been a trick of the light. Ororo weakly tightened her fingers around his, while her control slipped just a little more.
When she cast another glance around the assembled group, her eyes landed on Jean. While Scott moved to give his eulogy, Jean was left alone. That beautiful face was blotchy from frequent crying and Ororo knew this was not one of her friend’s games. Above all things, Jean loved Charles as she did; as the father neither had ever dreamed of having.
“I must go to her,” Ororo said softly to Logan even as Jean’s shoulders began to shake.
He glanced in the direction of Jean, sympathy written clearly on his rugged face.
“Go on, darlin’.”
Releasing his hand, Ororo slipped through the crowd until she came to the front row. Jean turned, as though sensing her, and it was as if nothing had happened between them. She allowed Ororo to take her into her arms, rocking her as those impossibly slender shoulders trembled.
Jean wept onto her shoulder and Ororo found herself unable to maintain her ruthless hold on the elements. Hot, salty tears slipped down her face and the accompanying rain drenched the area around them.
No one cried out in surprise or turned their attention from Scott’s broken voice as he told them all of Charles, of his love for the man that had molded him. Jean held on to her, though they were both soaked in mere seconds. She spoke quietly with her mind, apologizing for things Ororo could not understand as grief consumed her.
She knew only that, for a moment, she and Jean were as they once were. Friends, sisters, bound together by circumstance and love neither of them had ever addressed nor understood. Taking hold of that moment with both hands, Ororo tightened her grip, listening as Scott recounted some of Charles more shining moments.
Time slipped by her unnoticed. Jean was quiet at last, in her mind and vocally, though her violent trembling had not ceased. The rain did not pour from the skies, but drifted in a gentle drizzle, ensuring that the earth would not wash away as Charles was lain to his eternal rest.
Finally, as the preacher and mourners cleared away from the fresh mound, Ororo pulled back from her friend. Jean’s chin quivered helplessly and her eyes were filled with sorrow Ororo could only understand in her heart.
“I want him back.” Was all she could say before Scott appeared to collect her.
Logan’s hands found Ororo’s shoulders as she watched the troubled couple move away, their arms linked together intimately. The sight caused her more pain, knowing that their love could overcome any evil, any hurt.
She was not sure who Jean had spoken of. Scott? Charles? Did it matter? Overcome with sadness, Ororo resisted Logan’s entreating and comforting embrace to stare at Charles’ headstone.
The ornately carved marble seemed to mock her. Though she was alone with Logan on the sopping hill, she whispered as though telling a secret.
“You swore.”
A choked sob escaped her throat.
“You SWORE!”
She collapsed on the wet ground, not caring that her black dress was soon caked with mud. A shaking hand reached for the cold stone, upon which her beloved mentor’s name was so elegantly chiseled.
“You said you would never leave me,” she sobbed brokenly. “Come back. I promise, I will do anything you ask, just return. Charles…please.”
The weeping skies shattered with a resonating crash. Thunder boomed and echoed as lightning slashed the heavens. Heavy, fat raindrops fell in roaring harmony around the woman that controlled it all.
Losing Erik was hard. Parting with Charles was almost more than she could bear.
Two impossibly strong arms encircled her, an anchor on a hurricane sea. Turning toward Logan, she could only beg him in childlike whimpers to make it all go away, to take the pain from her wounded heart.
“Can’t do it, darlin’,” he replied in an emotion-thick voice. “But ya know I would if I could.”
“I cannot leave him.” She replied, scooting until she was cradled in his lap, forcing him to sit on the muddied ground.
“We’ll stay a while, ‘Ro.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “I’m here. I won’t leave ya.”
He shifted her suddenly limp body until her back molded to his chest, so she could stare at the hateful mound of earth where Charles rested forever more. Logan rocked her softly, whispering consolingly into her ear as the rain fell around them.
~**~
The day following the funeral, Scott called the adult X-Men into the Professor’s office. Ororo had agreed with him; the terms of Xavier’s last will and testament would have to be made known sooner rather than later.
Lawyers had flooded the school early that same morning. Cyclops had called upon her, citing that Charles left instructions that the will was to be given to Scott and Ororo, his heirs.
Surprised that she played a role in Charles’ last wishes, she had come immediately from her seclusion in the boathouse, asking that Logan wait for her there. She knew her emotions were touch and go at best, but reading the final words of their mentor could not be borne alone.
Charles had, of course, left everything to Scott. The mansion, the school, the X-Men were all now his responsibility. This came as no surprise. Charles had never hidden the fact that he spent many years grooming Cyclops to take the reins when he passed on. No one had expected it to happen so soon, but she was sure he had made the right decision.
The boathouse and the land surrounding it were left to Ororo. Letters to each of his X-Men were to be distributed when they were informed of the particulars of the will. Ororo had hers in her pocket already, Logan’s clutched in one hand as Scott sent the message to meet him.
Scott had ordered the lawyers to begin the proceedings to put the school under his control, which would take a few months. Until then, they agreed that the school could operate, so long as regular progress reports were made. The teachers would likely escape a formal review, for Charles had a long arm, even in death.
Before the X-men assembled, Cyclops moved to the chair beside her.
“Erik will be allowed out of Muir Island, under heavy guard, to attend the public memorial for Charles next week. I think you should…”
“Stay here and behave myself?” she teased as lightly as she could.
“Well, I wasn’t going to come out and say that, but yes,” he said with a weak smile.
“I have no pressing need to watch politicians and other government officials pretend to mourn. I will remain here,” she agreed, clearing her throat.
“Thanks,” he sighed. “I don’t want to go, but I don’t think I have a choice.”
“You could call in sick.”
“Mental health day?”
“Exactly.”
Their banter, while easy and friendly as always, was still tinged with sorrow. Ororo looked back at her hands, shuffling Logan’s farewell letter with the deed to her very own property. Her blue eyes shone with unshed tears again.
For many years, she had told her beloved friend that she dreamed of owning her own home, her own land. When he had given her permission to remodel the boathouse, it was with the promise that one day she could buy the home and surrounding land from him.
Over the months and eventually years, the arrangement was forgotten, at least on her part. She had thought that, perhaps, he would will it to her. Evidence was as hard to take as the headstone the day before. She had her home; he had fulfilled that promise to her now.
“He always said he’d give it to you,” Scott said as though reading her thoughts.
“That he did,” she agreed softly. “And he nearly always kept his promises.”
Scott’s light brown brow rose above the edge of his ruby-quartz lenses.
“Nearly?”
She sighed, fingering the slim envelope bearing Logan’s name in that achingly familiar script. What had he said to Logan, knowing it would be the final words? What was so important that he needed to ensure Wolverine would one day know it, even posthumously?
“He promised he would never leave us. Me.”
Her friend surprised her, yet again, by scoffing loudly. “Not much for faith, are you?”
Ororo sighed, her heart and mind so tired from the last few months that she feared anymore pressure would cause spontaneous explosion.
“What do you mean by that?”
“He lives on, Oreo,” he said quietly, using a long-abandoned endearment. “In you, in me, those kids, this school…the dream. That’s what you need to hold on to. He’s still here, in some form. He loves us all too much to leave us unattended.”
Touched by such a spiritual sentiment from a usually grounded man, Ororo leaned over to embrace him quickly. He returned the gesture, holding her tightly, as though needing an anchor even with so much grim determination.
“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing his cheek.
“Anything for you, Storm. You know that.”
When they parted, Ororo shifted away, hearing the telltale sounds of the other X-Men “ Betsy and Logan in particular “ coming toward the office. Everything was muted in the aftermath of the Professor’s untimely death, even conversations were hushed, from respect or sorrow, she was unsure.
Before the others joined them, Scott took Ororo’s hand, making her turn to him curiously.
“Jean and I…”
She immediately held up a hand, old wounds bleeding into the new. There was one thing Ororo Munroe did well, and that was covering her feelings. Left raw by Charles’ departure, she was not eager to rehash everything between Jean, Logan, Scott and herself. Time would scab the wounds over again, leaving them forgotten for another decade or so.
Ororo was the master at hiding pain. She would push it aside, put on a smiling face and fool everyone…with the exception being Logan. Perhaps.
“I am glad you two have decided to give your marriage another chance,” she said, inflecting sincerity she did not truly feel into her voice. “You have not hurt me, Scott. I promise.”
Mentally crossing her fingers behind her back, she turned in her chair to greet her best friend as the office door opened. Scott need never know that a second rejection “ at least that was how it felt in any case “ was more hurtful than the first. He and Jean need never know that her torn heart could take no more and wanted desperately to simply ice over as a shallow lake in high winter.
No one need ever know the secrets of her heart. She would lock it all away along with Erik and Charles and her departed parents. It got a little easier every time.
Perhaps one day she would find a way to fool Logan. From the look on his beautiful face, he was not deceived in the slightest. He came across the room, flanked by Betsy and Warren, completely demanding that her attention on Cyclops cease immediately. Logan was nothing if not overprotective.
She allowed him his interference, slowly handing him the envelope bearing his name. He took it, a confused furrow creasing his brows until his dark eyes caught the elegant handwriting.
This time, it was not a trick of the light or her own heightened emotions playing tricks with her. Unshed tears shone in her friend’s eyes. Pain, so deep and profound she suddenly felt hers dwarfed completely, filled those ebony pools. Heart aching for him, she watched as he gingerly, lovingly folded the letter and placed it in his pocket for safekeeping.
He looked up when he was finished, giving her a mournful half-smile. Charles had touched him deeply, perhaps more than they had ever known. Logan once told her, on the long trip in Japan, that “Chuck” was the first person to ever treat him as a human being. At least to his shattered memory. Losing that link was a deep, bleeding wound, more painful than losing that metallic skeleton.
As his companion, she reached out to take his hand, hiding the rather public display of affection from the prying eyes of the X-Men. He caressed her fingers lightly, reassuring her.
They turned their attention to the meeting without a word between them.
~**~
“I can’t open it.”
Ororo looked up from the floor, where she was searching for an elusive pink bunny slipper. Logan sat on the edge of her bed, bare-chested and beautiful as ever. He stared in a sort of wondrous horror at the innocent envelope in his hands.
Half hidden by the bed, under which she could not locate aforementioned slipper, she grimaced. Logan confided in her just moments ago that no one he cared about had died, that he could remember. Charles was a lifeline between the often-ferocious Wolverine and the other X-Men.
From this wild man Charles had not-so-gently shaped a caring if somewhat gruff hero and school teacher. Through careful teachings and sometimes blunt behavior, Xavier gave her the best friend she could imagine and fitted the world with a man dedicated to a future he might never live to see.
Ororo knew something about that. But where she had decades under Charles’ subtle guidance, Logan was robbed of that time. As a clever fox in an unguarded henhouse, Death had taken away the only authority Wolverine answered to. Ororo grieved for him, knowing intimately the type of pain he would have to endure.
“No one says you must read it now, the pain is still fresh,” she said gently, abandoning her search for the missing slipper.
When she stood, Logan was sighing. His breath shook as it left his lungs and for one terrifying moment, Ororo realized she would witness him break. Hundreds of times she had seen Logan injured, incapacitated, without clothing. Now, she would see him naked. Vulnerable.
The very idea that he was as human and fallible as she was frightening.
And yet, part of her had waited for this moment since her tearful admission that night one week ago. She awaited the time when Logan’s resolve to seem aloof and apart would break, that he would reach for her to receive comfort, in lieu of giving. Though her mind had braced for this moment, the raw sound of Logan’s first sob broke her heart.
She was by his side in seconds, enveloping him in her arms and easing him back onto the bed. He curled into her embrace, still clutching that unread letter in massive hands. Wide shoulders shook with his grief and Ororo effortlessly stepped into the role those years together afforded her. She comforted him softly, crooning soothing words into his ears as his body wracked with pain against hers.
It took perhaps minutes, or hours, or even several days for the tide of Logan’s grief to ebb. She rocked him as gently as she could, ensuring that he could feel her presence both emotionally and physically. There would be nothing more between them; for this was the only side of her beloved friend that she had never seen.
He was raw. Fractured. Exposed for the world to see.
Ororo knew that he kept this side of him from her out of that soul-deep need to protect himself. Not a single part of her blamed him for that need. She understood something of hiding oneself from the world, after all.
When, at last, he was still in her arms, he propped his head on her shoulder. Those dark eyes held hers and he silently brought his letter up. Steady fingers reverently slipped the seal open, allowing him to remove the papers held within.
Without waiting for her to ask if he wanted to be alone, he began to read.
“Logan,
How does one begin a letter they know will be read by the addressee only after death? Perhaps I will simply begin by saying how very happy I am that you came into my life. Yes, I believe that is a proper opening.
I am more than happy to have met you, Logan. In all my years, I have met few mutants I wanted to help more. The woman beside you is one of them and I have never feared that either of you would be alone since your first meeting. I have such high hopes for you, my friend, and I do not doubt you will more than exceed my expectations.
I write this letter for one reason and one only. Perhaps I have said this by now, but in case I have not, I must say what my other X-Men “ my children “ have known for many years.
I have loved you as a son these long years, Logan. When I first located you, sent Cyclops and Storm to retrieve you, I never thought I would gain another family member. I will not have said this before, but I began your training as a selfish maneuver to repent for previous sins.
In the end, I learned so much more from you. I hope that I taught you many things and that even after my death, you will remain with those that count you among family. I entrust Scott with the school, but I trust only you to care for my family.
Take care of that family, Wolverine. Care for beloved Ororo as only you can. Even if the dream is abandoned, I hope that you can protect the family I have built and loved as no other.
You were wrong in the belief that none can love you. I did, I do, and that experience changed my life. I can only hope that you will understand that someday.
Be well, my son,
Chuck”
Stunned by her late mentor’s honesty, Ororo did not notice the tears wetting her face until rain pelted the open windows. She blinked, coming out of a stupor in which she imagined Charles’ face while writing such a loving letter. Glancing at her friend, she noted the soft, almost tender look upon his face and smiled sadly.
“He loved me,” Logan grunted after a moment.
“Of course he did.” She replied softly, tenderly stroking his cheek with the pad of her thumb.
“Never had anyone say that, dead or alive,” he went on. His eyes danced over the paper again, obviously rereading the contents.
“I say that to you,” she defended, nudging him playfully.
“Well, yeah, but yer a girl. Ya love anyone.”
Rolling her eyes heavenward, she shook her head. “You are impossible.”
“Read yers,” he nudged back. “I bared my soul, s’only fair.”
Ororo shook her head, looking toward the dresser where hers was safely tucked into the jewelry box Logan had carved for her.
“Not tonight, please,” she whispered. “I cannot.”
“Shh,” he nodded, kissing her cheek. “S’alright, we’ll save it fer later.”
He slid from her embrace, leaving her arms with an empty feeling. She watched as he moved across the room, opening the box bearing her name and slipping his carefully folded letter inside it with hers. Logan did not turn to face her for several moments, simply gazing out of the windows and into the starry night sky.
“I wish I had somethin’ ta fight,” he said gruffly. “This brain thing…it ain’t right. I’ve got nothin’ ta revenge against. Don’t feel right.”
Understanding more than he likely guessed, she slipped out of bed as well. Standing beside him, she rested her hands on the dresser as well. They stared out into the ink-black sky, as they had so many other times.
“Ain’t right, a man jus’ leavin’ like that,” Logan went on. “Didn’t get ta say goodbye or anythin’. I don’t wanna go like that. I wanna have time ta say what I need ta say.”
“We do not always have a choice, Logan,” Ororo replied softly.
“Yeah.”
They lapsed back into silence. Unfortunately, Ororo knew something was coming, so the silence on her end was less than comfortable. Logan never spoke such a way unless he was thinking about something unpleasant. Charles’ death took it’s toll on her, but she knew his faith was always fragile at best.
She hoped she could talk him out of anything rash.
“I’m resignin’.”
Hope dashed.
“What?”
He turned to face her, grabbing her arms roughly, though not painfully.
“I can’t do it,” he whispered hotly. “Knowin’ I nearly died, twice, on missions…that you woulda been left all alone? It tears me up. Ya lost Erik, ya lost Chuck, I ain’t goin’ out like that.”
Flabbergasted, Ororo immediately flustered, which was not something she was inclined to do. She reached up, allowing him to keep his hold on her arms as she touched his grizzled cheeks.
“What are you saying to me?”
“I’ll take Chuck’s place as the homebody,” he explained quickly. “No missions. I can’t do it. I can’t go out there with this…”
He joined their hands, putting them over his chest so she could feel the frantic tattoo of his heart as it beat against his chest.
“Its like fear only a hundred times worse,” Logan’s voice was broken, something that shook her to the core. “I remember that lost look on yer face when I woke up the first time, I can’t be the reason ya lose it cause I went an’ got killed.”
“Logan, you cannot…”
“Quiet, darlin’.” He touched her cheek with his free hand. “I can’t go out there like this. I ain’t no damn good when I’m too scared to get down an’ dirty. I’m puttin’ myself out here, ‘Ro. I’m too fuckin’ terrified ta set foot in goddamn Blackbird.”
Ororo had never seen him like this. The very idea that he could be frightened enough to leave the fighting to her and the others was something nothing could prepare her for. Why had she not expected this? Why did she allow herself to become so consumed with Jean and Scott and Erik that she could not see what was happening beneath the surface?
Charles death had been the straw to break the camel’s back. Logan’s mortality was something she never wanted to face, had never wanted him to face. And yet here it was, staring them both in the face.
“Sleep on it,” she pled, drawing him back toward the bed. “Do not make such decisions rashly.”
Something in her eyes must have touched a cord in him, for he ceased to fight her. They moved lazily toward her bed, lying together in the moonlit darkness as steady rain washed over the world around them.
She already knew it was too late. The X-Men had just lost their Wolverine.
