Chapter Twenty-One: Goodbye
When I woke up this morning
Wiped the sleep from eyes
I found a new day dawning
And suddenly I realized
You’re gone
~Travis Tritt
It was snowing.
Like that night, snow fell in soft, silent flakes. Everywhere they landed, specks of white clung like a frightened child. It blanketed the grounds, covering the remains of an old boathouse, sweeping onto the frozen lake.
Something so pristine, so beautiful… it was the kind of morning she’d loved. How many times had Logan awoken on a day like this to find his beloved weather mistress high aloft, reveling in that freezing air?
Never again.
No one had spoken in a long time. They were waiting for him to say something. They would keep right on waiting. He didn’t have anything to say to them. Not a damn word. Nothing would be enough. No one could know what she meant to him. Her heart, her wisdom, the soul that shone with the brightest light.
No one would ever know what a treasure they’d had under their noses all this time.
There was no casket, she wouldn’t have allowed it. They’d talked about it once, about their wishes should they fall in battle. She didn’t want to be put into the cold earth, alone and confined. Logan had promised her “ promised he wouldn’t put her in the dark.
Instead, he’d constructed a bier, draped it in white silk. She lay atop it now, wrapped in the ceremonial cloths of her mother’s tribe. He stood beside her, where he’d been for so long. Her beautiful face still bore evidence of the explosion, but he barely saw it.
What he saw were years of laughter. Boxing and beer. Rooftop talks at sunset. Harrowing races through icy Japanese mountain passes. Making love in the bed they’d shared. The way her eyes turned ice blue when she was pissed off at him. Her smile reserved only for him.
Thousands, millions of memories seemed to come at him at once. Everything, every scent, sound, look…it was all in his mind. Those memories no one could take from him. They were all he had left.
He watched as each of her students, friends, and family members bid their goodbyes. Several of them, including Scott, Henry, and Jean kissed her dark cheek through the gauzy material covering her long, slender body. Logan could not move, even when the bitter winds tore at his flesh and clothing like an impatient lover’s hand.
Never again would he hear music on the winds or laughter in the rain. The world died when it took his ‘Ro away.
“I love you,” he said simply, so suddenly several mourners startled. “I love you, Ororo Munroe. I woulda spent my whole life provin’ that. I’ll miss ya. I’ll miss ya every minute of every fuckin’ day. Take care of Chuck fer us, baby.”
That was as much of a eulogy as anyone was getting. Ororo knew him better than anyone else on the planet; he didn’t need words.
He took the thick torch from Scott and stepped closer to the bier. A steady hand reached forward, touching the flame to the waiting woodpile. In seconds a roaring fire took to life, taking a thick column of smoke into the clear, winter air.
Soft crying joined the sound of the crackling fire, but Logan could scarcely hear it. All that mattered to the Wolverine was the death of his Storm, his own grief. For so long he had depended on her. His friend, his confidante, mate. To be so suddenly without his other half left him spinning.
Losing his adamantium was a garden party compared to this.
“Logan?”
Scott touched his shoulder gently. Logan resisted the urge to shrug him off. In truth, he felt so completely, utterly alone that the simple gesture was a welcome comfort.
“She’s really gone.”
His friend’s voice was tight with emotion. “I know.”
“Scooter?”
“Yeah?”
“Find me the bastard that did this. Now.”
~**~
Muir Island
He sat heavily on the chair before his desk, shaking hands held to his face.
“No.” He whispered in disbelief. “No.”
“I’m so sorry, Eric,” Moira said gently, crouching so she could touch his shoulder comfortingly. “I told ya as soon as I could.”
The woman’s thick Scottish brogue was normally comforting to the amnesiac mutant, but tonight he only wanted her to leave. Nothing could make this right and no amount of sympathy would bring her back.
Ororo Munroe. Dead.
His mind spun. Half-remembered memories warred with consuming grief. For many months now, his decimated mind seemed to heal. He recalled more and more of his previous life.
Most of it revolved around Windrider.
“She cannot be dead,” he said stubbornly. “Not Windrider. Not that beautiful child.”
“I’m sorry, Eric,” Moira repeated. “Do ya wanna leave for the ceremony?”
Tears slid down his aging cheeks as he brought a hand to his mouth. Pain, acute and overwhelming, spread from his heart to his entire being. He could remember, with such clarity now, what he had done to his Windrider and her beloved Wolverine. She had died believing him a monster.
What right did he have to mourn her loss beside that same lover?
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly. “But please, tell me how.”
Moira perched on the edge of his writing desk, one hand still comfortingly on his shoulder. Eric could feel the rage begin to boil in his veins. Whoever had seen fit to murder that beautiful child would pay for it, with blood. He would see to it if it were the last thing he ever did.
“Sentinels,” his doctor replied quietly. “Several of them broke onto the grounds and one of them destroyed the boathouse. Logan and Ororo were on the porch when it happened.”
“Oh. God.” Eric covered his eyes with his hand, a fleeting image of his darling girl flung from her home amid fire and fear tore his heart open anew.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Eric?” Moira pressed, her lovely eyes dimmed with concern and grief.
“Leave me,” he demanded, turning away from her. “I need to be alone.”
Her footsteps carried her out of the room and down the hall. When he was alone, Eric covered his face with both hands and prayed quietly in Hebrew. He prayed for the safe journey of her soul, for the family she left behind. He prayed, and hoped with all his heart, that Ororo and Charles had found one another.
Oh, how he missed his friend. With the cherished memories of Ororo came a smattering of Charles. He recalled, with fleeting lucidity, how they forged such a strong friendship. He would have done anything for Charles Xavier, at one time. Had they been able to resolve their differences, he was sure they would still be sitting on the mansion’s porch together, sipping tea like all old men.
Instead, one was dead and the other vowed vengeance.
His heart ached within his breast. Violence mingled with grief inside him until he could no longer distinguish one from the other. Someone would pay for this terrible injustice, for this pain now visited upon the X-Men.
Eric dropped his tear-soaked hands from his face. They landed with a plop on the plastic desk as rage contorted his features.
“I will avenge you, my dear child. I swear it.”
~**~
Westchester
There wasn’t much to pack. A spare change of clothes and his X-Men uniform were about it. He had spare car keys in the garage, would grab some food on the road.
Logan moved through the mansion on quiet feet, mostly because he didn’t want to wake the children. Many of them still reeled from Ororo’s sudden death. Even as the New Year passed, there was little celebrating. A fallen X-Man would take years to recover from, especially one as adored as Ororo.
He stepped into the garage without so much as a glance back at the mansion. This, to his dismay, was not his home. Ororo’s boathouse, with its wide windows, secluded placement, and the memory of laughter, had been his home. That tiny house had kept him in place all these years.
It was gone now and with it, the woman he’d so readily given his heart to.
Nothing remained for him here. Scooter and Jean could run the school without him. Betsy and Angelcake would head back to London soon anyway. Logan felt alone here, lost in a crowd. He needed solace.
And blood.
Scott, though he obviously worried for Logan’s sanity, had done some checking. The thorough mutant finally located a company name, someone manufacturing parts for the Sentinels in southern Arizona. That was to be Logan’s second stop.
“I thought you’d be long gone by now.”
He didn’t bother to startle at her voice. The soft English accent came from the corner of the garage. Logan sighed, shaking his head as he walked to the white racing Mazda Ororo’s will designated as his.
“I can’t stay here, Bets.”
“Oh, I don’t blame you,” she responded. The tall woman stepped out of the shadows until she faced Logan on the opposite end of the car.
He inhaled deeply, unlocking the Mazda and tossing his light bag into the backseat. The scent of Ororo’s perfume hit him instantly, twisting the knife in his chest. He could almost see her behind the wheel of this beloved vehicle, screaming into the night like a force of nature.
Damn, he missed her.
“It hurts, Bets,” Logan offered, meeting her violet eyes. “I can’t even breathe.”
Tears sprang to those beautiful eyes, loss echoing in her every word. “I know. I keep expecting her to drop out of the sky with a huge smile, asking if I’d like a ride.”
Betsy sniffled and sighed, as though trying to shake off her pain for a moment. He watched her swipe at the tears falling from her eyes with an impatient hand.
“I just wanted to say goodbye,” she explained, coming around the car.
Logan wrapped her in a strong embrace the second she came into reach. Betsy had been his friend “ and ‘Ro’s “ for a long time. If anyone understood the way their relationship worked, it was the pretty telepath holding him at this moment. She would never judge them or expect anything.
He’d needed that right now.
“Take good care of everyone, Bets,” Logan demanded as he kissed her hair. “Make sure Scooter snaps out of it soon, yeah?”
“I will,” she promised. “Don’t worry about them.”
They parted quickly, each smiling somewhat sadly. Betsy stepped back as Logan settled in the car. He had to adjust the seat and squash the urge to scream at being inside her car without her. Betsy darted into the house with a small wave, closing the door behind her.
Almost the instant Betsy vanished into the still dark home, the passenger door opened. Logan jumped in his skin, testing the air and almost relieved when he realized the honey-blonde woman was Raven.
“I’m going with you,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Logan sized her up for a moment before nodding. “Only as far as Arizona. Then, you’re on your own.”
“Fine.” She reached up to click her seat belt in place.
Logan tapped the garage door opener and rolled the Mazda into the night.
~**~
They took the fastest route to Scotland by stealing the Brotherhood’s jet. Mystique, while still a part of the organization, assured Logan that the interim leader would never allow her to take it. Ororo was an X-Man and to many that placed her firmly in the enemy category.
Mystique fired the jet up with Logan flying co-pilot. They left the base at Nova Scotia and headed toward the British Isles like beings possessed. Raven never explained “ or even offered to “ her insistence that she go with Logan. He didn’t need her to.
Storm had saved her life scant days before her death. Something like that stuck with a mutant like Raven. Her loyalty, while twisted and sometimes obsessive, was deep and true. Ororo had saved her life and for that, Raven would exact vengeance in her name.
He almost liked her for a moment.
She’d reverted back to her blue-scaled form once they left Westchester. For all her posturing, she obviously realized that it would be more of a hassle if they were outed as mutants before they left the country.
When they landed on the wide runway at Muir Island, Logan pulled on his uniform and turned to his unlikely companion.
“These people are trying to help Magneto, keep that in mind. Don’t hurt them.”
The order was clipped and gave her no doubt that he meant business. More innocent humans didn’t need to die during this little excursion.
“I know,” Raven nodded.
“Good.” Logan snarled as they moved toward the ramp to leave the jet. “Lets go get your boy.”
As they stepped onto the black runway, Moira appeared. Worry furrowed her brow, but Logan easily caught the suspicion in her scent. She was a pacifist, but not an idiot.
“Wolverine?”
“Moira.”
“Eric missed the funeral.”
“I know.”
Their eyes met across the precious meters separating them. Moira’s emerald green eyes flashed with something akin to precognition and before Logan even moved, she was shouting for her security guards.
Mystique, however, moved in behind the petite woman and easily hit a pressure point on the back of her neck. Moira went limp, caught by the metamorph’s slender arms and lowered gently to the ground.
Snikt. Logan allowed his claws to slip free from their natural hiding place, shoving aside memories and pain. He didn’t have time to mourn, not yet. There would be years for regret, for grief. Now, he had shit to take care of.
Black clad security guards, drawn by Moira’s half-scream, flooded the runway. Mystique shot Logan a teasing, wicked grin, to which he rolled his eyes.
“No killin’.”
She, to his great amusement, stuck her tongue out at him. “Spoilsport.”
Without another thought, Wolverine flung himself into the fray.
~**~
He felt her coming, as he always did. He didn’t know exactly who she was, only that he had been expecting her for some time. Fuzzy images of blue flesh and the feel of undying loyalty moved him toward the bolted door of his room.
She was coming for him, as she always did. They were rarely apart, rarely without the other in their thoughts. Who was this woman? Would we remember her on sight, as he had his Windrider?
There were similarities between the two, at least in Eric’s eyes. He had trained them both to embrace their gifts, to rise above what society drilled into their heads. They were beautiful, powerful creatures.
But Ororo chose one side of the line and this mystery woman the other. She became not only his student and friend, but a lover. Would Ororo have filled that place had she left Xavier’s mansion with him all those years ago?
No, he thought confidently. Her destiny was Wolverine all along. She’d fulfilled it as only she could have. This other, strange vixen was meant for him alone.
Sounds of gunfire and human screaming echoed down the massive white hallway. Eric could not see anything out of the tiny window in his door, but he knew they were coming closer. He drew himself up, taking in the metal atoms in the air, preparing himself.
All these months had taught him much about his gift, he could use it if necessary now.
“Eric!”
A masculine call of his name. An expected intruder.
“Here, Wolverine.”
The door slammed from its hinges scant seconds later and the feral mutant stepped into the room.
“Calvary’s here.” He grinned, the gesture somehow mad on his ferocious features, his eyes hollow with loss.
He looked like a man destroyed, hanging on to every breath for no other reason than blinding, maddening revenge. Magneto looked into the soul of his Windrider’s lover and saw how effectively the loss of her killed him. There would be no mercy from this beast, no quarter. He would kill prisoners, destroy civilizations if he had to.
His reckoning would shake the very heavens.
Eric looked into this man’s eyes and was humbled. Grief here knew no bounds, no limits. It consumed him until it became him.
As he mentally catalogued this awe-inspiring anguish, a long-limbed, blue-scaled woman stepped up behind Wolverine.
In a painful flash, Magneto remembered who she was and why he knew she was coming for him.
“Mystique.”
“Magneto.” Her smile was darkly enticing, speaking of whispered pleasures and dark delights. Oh yes, he remembered her now.
“Do we have a plan?” Magneto questioned, shoving aside sudden lust forcibly.
“I know where they’re buildin’ the Sentinels.” Wolverine offered, his voice rough. “I’m goin’ there. I’m killin’ the bastards behind that attack. I’m destroyin’ the base. You two can come along or get the fuck out. I only came here cause I know ya loved her too, an’ she’d be damn pissed if I left you behind.”
The simplicity in the man’s words, the emotion in them, was something Magneto would remember for the rest of his life. He had destroyed this mutant’s body, nearly killed him in the name of madness, and yet he had come to his rescue simply because he knew Ororo would want it. If Wolverine was to have his revenge, he assumed Magneto was entitled as well.
“Where is the jet, my dear?”
“Waiting on the runway,” she replied as the trio left the room.
He followed Wolverine with Mystique beside him. For a moment, everything seemed to slow, every step took an eternity. There was a new mutant force, neither Brotherhood nor X-Man. This trio worked only toward their own goal and that was blood for blood.
Magneto lifted his hands as armed security filled the hall before them. Mindful that these people had done nothing but help him, he gently lifted them by metallic pieces in their uniforms. A flick of his wrist deposited them in an open exam room and he welded the door closed.
The Sentinels would not be so lucky.
~**~
New York City
Lazy E couldn’t remember a party being so sad. Music was soft, kept at that curious level all people seem to think is respectful. Pictures of ‘Ro were all over the room, flanked by hundreds of candles.
Racers, mechanics, fans…they all gathered in E’s home to mourn. Anger was rife in the air, want for justice bubbling just under the surface.
His heart felt heavy in his chest. Just hearing the news, seeing her body burned, knowing how this was killing Logan had killed something inside him. Ororo and Logan were like a fairytale, in his mind. Friends that stayed true through thick and thin. Lovers unmatched in the world.
Now Fate saw fit to tear them apart. Had the cold-hearted bitch not realized what a terror she would unleash?
When the phone rang, he was relieved to hear Logan’s voice. The conversation was fast, clipped, and right to the point.
The instant E cradled the receiver, he glanced about the party and raised his voice.
“Who’s up for some tin-can-stompin’?”
