Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
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“What the hell do I know about buyin’ a turkey?” Logan snarled staring moodily into a large refrigerated bin in the middle of the grocery store. It was sparsely filled with professionally packaged turkeys complete with little mesh carriers.
He was at a complete loss. Ro had sent him to buy turkey to feed twenty-five people. That was how many planned to stay at the school for Thanksgiving break. Usually Professor Xavier had dinner catered in for anyone who chose to stay at the school, but this year Ro was determined to cook it herself. Somehow she had managed to rope half the staff and students into running and fetching for her.
Interrupting his musings, Betsy rounded a corner with a heavily laden shopping cart.
“Logan,” she burst out half irritated, half amused “where are the turkeys? I’ve been waiting by the bloody checkout for twenty minutes.”
Logan slanted a death glare at his violet haired housemate. “I’m trying to decide.” He gritted between his clenched teeth.
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Betsy deposited the cart next to him “You don’t have to decide. Ororo already ordered the turkeys. You just need to tell that chap over there that you’re picking them up.” Mumbling under her breath she walked toward the high meat counter. Logan thought he caught words like ‘men’ and ‘idiots’ and ‘don’t listen.’
With the trunk of the car loaded with food, the two made their way back to the Xavier Institute. Logan whistled tunelessly to a country western tune on the radio while Betsy shifted restlessly.
“Logan…” she began hesitantly “How is Ororo, really?”
Logan looked at her briefly then hitched his shoulder a bit defensively “You live with her same as I do Bets, how ya think she’s doing?”
“Oh don’t put on Logan. You know what I mean. She’s going about doing that serene Goddess bit.” Betsey was silent for a beat “I think I heard her crying a couple of days ago.”
Logans’ head whipped around “Where? When?” It horrified Logan to think that Ro had broken down at school. But where else would Betsy have heard her crying? You could barely hear shit from one room to the next in the house they lived in. The walls and the doors were thick as hell. And forget trying to hear anything coming from Ro’s third floor rooms. Logan figured Ro could have a howling orgy with the entire Giants defensive line and he, Piotr and Betsy would be none the wiser.
The house they all shared actually belonged to Ro. She had bought the stone farmhouse because she had loved the fact this it was more than one hundred years old and was rock solid.
“Families have lived here Logan,” she had murmured on the day she took ownership of the house. She and Logan had stood in the empty great room, the keys held possessively in her hand. “They don’t make houses like this anymore, with real oak doors as thick as tanks. It is solid and real. It’ll last.”
But the thing that really sold her on the house was the third floor. The previous owners had converted the attic into a lofty, airy space complete with sky lights, a wrap around balcony, a private sitting room and bath. It was its very own apartment. And Ro took it as her own with the intention of renting the other three rooms out. Logan and Piotr, both of whom had been living in dreary studio apartments, had jumped at the chance. Betsy had come along a bit later.
“I couldn’t sleep so I went downstairs to have a cup of tea and I heard sounds coming from the laundry room. It sounded like…sniffles.” Betsy’s liquid almond eyes reflected both worry and a rueful admission “I froze for a tick. I wanted to go in and comfort her, but what if she were, I dunno, blowing her nose or something. So I continued on as if I’d heard nothing. But I felt so terrible about leaving that I popped into her office the next day to ask her if anything was bothering her. But she just smiled and said she was fine. By the time I left her office she was reassuring me. I figure if anyone knows how she’s really doing it is you. You’re her mate.”
Like quicksilver, a mental picture of him and Ro together, mated, flicked across his mind and a warm, pleasant little feeling bloomed to life in Logan’s belly. And then he translated her British to American. Mate = Friend. Got it. The image disappeared almost as quickly as it formed.
“…Well you and Jean, of course.” Betsy continued “But its not like I can just go up to Jean Grey and say,‘fancy a cuppa, dearie? Oh and by the way, what has Ororo told you how she’s going on after Hank’s death?’ I just don’t see myself having a cozy little chin wag with Jean Grey.”
“You got problems with Jean?” His eyebrow quirked, this was news. Betsy and Jean had always seemed to bump along fine.
“Well, she’s a bit of a cold fish, now isn’t she?” Betsy snorted, but then she hesitated for a second before continuing. “You may not be aware, but this is not my natural hair colouring.” Logan sent her an amused look as she waggled a hank of her violently tinted purple locks “my salon is directly across from a Motel 6. About a month or so ago, I thought I saw Jean coming out of one of the rooms in the Motel. I caught a quick glimpse and thought to myself ‘that looks like Jean.’ But before I could even get a more solid look she had turned back to the door and was speaking to whomever it was inside. And it was more than just a conversation, because a hand came out and clasped her bum and the two of them began snogging right there in the doorway.”
Logan’s hands clenched on the steering wheel as a new feeling blossomed to life in his gut. This one wasn’t as warm and pleasant as the last.
“Before I could see anymore, I was whisked away for a rinse.”
“So what’s the big deal? It was probably Scooter. I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them sneak off now and then for a sexy game of hotel maid and uptight businessman.” He was amazed at how easy and nonchalant his voice sounded in his own ears considering his heart was practically doing the Riverdance in his chest.
“That’s the conclusion I eventually reached. “ Betsy sighed, chuckling a little at Logan’s comment. “Until a bit later that evening, Ro made a remark about being locked up in an all day session with Scott doing student evaluations. As it happens, he was in Ro’s office all day. They even ordered in for lunch. So it wasn’t Scott.”
Logan’s gut clenched even tighter. God, his liaison with Jean was shaping up to be the quintessential Bad Decision of Life. They thought they were being discreet, yet they had been careless on more than one occasion. Hell, at one little motel they had to manufacture a cover story about being horny newlyweds because the proprietor was outraged about renting them a room for only a few hours.
Laboring under the weight of his own self disgust, Logan couldn’t even muster a reply. He just grunted and clicked on the signal to make a turn.
“Look, Logan…” Betsy said urgently “I don’t know why I even mentioned what I thought I saw. I can’t even say with certainty that it was Jean. It could have been anyone. It was irresponsible of me to even speculate. Jean may not be my bosom bow but I certainly don’t want to be carrying tales out of school that may not even be true. I don’t want to be responsible for ruining someone’s reputation. Not to mention hurting someone as nice as Scott in the process. So just forget what I said.”
“I ain’t no gossip.” Logan grunted. Silence once again reigned in the car until he cleared his throat “About, Ro… I know ya think she’s headin’ for a breakdown or somethin’ but just know that she’s fine. Just like she said. She’s dealin’ with other stuff that’s all mixed up with Hank bein’ dead. But she really will be ok.”
“That’s good, then.” Betsy nodded a bit relieved. “I feel better, now.”
Logan wished he could say the same.
-:¦:-•:*'""*:•.-:¦:-
The recreation room of the main building of the Xavier Institute was in wild disarray. Cardboard boxes of all shapes and sizes littered the floor, their colorful contents spilling out of the open flaps reminiscent of a crazy cornucopia.
The four occupants had been busily sorting through the boxes looking for table cloths, napkins, place mats and other table settings at the behest of Ororo. They had been charged with finding “suitable and festive table décor” for the Thanksgiving feast. However, they were soon distracted from their merry little task by a picture flashing on the giant plasma screen television in the room.
“The police say they still have no leads in the search for a person who opened fire at the Galleria mall three weeks ago. Two people were left dead and three others critically wounded in the noon time attack.” The blonde reporter wore a suitably grave expression on her normally perky face as the scene shifted from the studio to a visibly upset woman sitting in a painfully neat living room.
“My daughter did not deserve to die that way. I can’t think of anything more crazy and more senseless.” The camera stayed steadily on her face as she sobbed into a wilted tissue.
Another scene shift and a group of excited teens were ranged before the camera. A pretty young African-American girl was acting as the unofficial spokesperson.
“It is just plain scary. I mean, how do you go anywhere when some crazy man is out there shooting people and the police don’t even know what he looks like?” The crowd behind her made noises of assent “I mean, you don’t know where he’s gonna hit next. It could be a supermarket or you could be out pumping gas. It could be like that DC sniper.”
The camera shifted back to the blonde in the studio “If anyone has any information that could lead the police to the identity, apprehension or arrest the shooter, you should contact the police at the number on our screen.”
On cue, the anchorwoman shifted to look at another camera angle and her face lightened considerably as the screen over her left shoulder now showed a picture of a cartoon Turkey.
“If you haven’t already chosen your turkey for Thanksgiving Day, you may want to head on down the supermarket sooner rather than later. Local retailers report that supplies of those succulent gobblers are already run-“ her voice was abruptly cut off as a teenager with a funky streak of white in her hair angrily snapped off the tv set.
Turning to her now silent companions in the rec room, Marie’s face was a mask of fury.
“What kind of Keystone Kop state are we living in? How did a crazy shooter manage to get out of a crowded mall without anyone being able to describe him or see where he went?” She demanded making her way back to the opened boxes.
“I know,” Jubilee spoke around a big wad of bubble gum. “That one girl is right. This lunatic is out there on the loose. He’s already opened up fire in a crowded mall what’s to stop him from doing it again?” She disgustedly looked over a runner that had been woven with bunnies and brightly covered eggs. “There should be a massive man hunt with road blocks and people kicking in doors and the cops shining lights in people’s eyes. Instead they are treating it like it’s no big thing!”
Bobby Drake snagged the runner from her and placed it back in a box before she could absent-mindedly add it to the pile of linen they were actually planning to use.
“I heard the police don’t think it was random. They think one of the people who got shot was actually the target.” He said, looking at a napkin ring carved with vines and leaves. He thrust it toward Jubilee “does this look Thanksgiving-y?”
“Well, that’s just stupid,” Kitty Pryde burst out from behind them. She had cleverly managed not to contribute to the linen sorting/choosing process but was instead “keeping them company” as she web surfed on her laptop. “If someone is really a target, you don’t open up fire in a crowded public mall and hope you actually get them. You break into their house and kill them or find them alone.”
“That’s if you’re rational.” Bobby shot back irritated. There was something about her that always got under his skin. “This guy is obviously not rational. Anybody who opens fire in a mall has to be a few hairs short of a beard.” He shrugged “I just heard that they have guards at the hospital room of the people who are still alive. In case one of them is the real target and he comes back.”
“Well, that’s small comfort for Mr. McCoy’s family.” Jubilee said in a subdued voice. “I feel awful. Mr. McCoy was my favorite teacher. Well, after my uncle, that is. He was so nice and patient. And he always let you re-do your assignments instead of giving you an ‘F’ straight off like Mr. Summers.”
“I know.” Kitty agreed. “He was so decent. I actually understood genetics when I had it with him. I feel especially terrible for Miss Munroe. How awful that only a few years ago her fiancé walked out on her right before her wedding and now her boyfriend gets killed in a mall shooting.”
“I heard he was planning to propose and was at the mall to buy the ring.” Jubilee chimed in.
Gasps greeted this revelation.
“Where did you hear that?” Marie demanded abandoning her box and scooting over closer to get the scoop. Kitty and Bobby sidled closer as well.
Jubilee shot Marie a smirky look and popped her gum. “I have my sources Ms. Darkholme. And they are good. Almost horses’ mouth.”
“Dang, Jubes, what does that mean.” Kitty burst out in frustration. “Did your uncle tell you?”
“Good God no!” Jubes shot Kitty an outraged look “Uncle Logan doesn’t gossip. He’d give up beer and his Harley before he’d dish dirt with me. Naw, I overheard certain people talking.”
Marie blew out her breath on a huff and went back to her sorting. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jubliee’s information was almost always on the money, she’d scoff and tell Jubes that she was full of crap. But Jubilee was better than the CIA in getting dirt on people and she was always right, drat her!
“Well I don’t think it’s true.” Kitty scoffed plopping down next to Bobby as she finally decided to actually help sort linens “I mean, wouldn’t she be much more torn up about it. If I had heard my man was going to propose before he died tragically, I’d be mental.”
Another gum pop “Don’t believe me then,” Jubilee shrugged. “But remember when it becomes common knowledge, you heard it here first.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed as she noted the proximity of Kitty to Bobby. Before she could think of an excuse to summon Bobby to sit nearer her, a few other students trooped into the rec room lugging heavy, flat wooden boxes and jars of cleaning supplies.
“Oh man you guys got lucky.” Jimmy exclaimed when he saw the piles of linen. “She has us cleaning the silver.”
-:¦:-•:*'""*:•.-:¦:-
Ororo knocked softly on the heavily carved mahogany door.
“Enter.” Came the smooth, round tones of her boss, mentor and adoptive father.
“Emma said wanted to see me, Dad?” Ororo smiled briefly at him as she sat across from his massive desk.
Her smile was answered by his equally warm one. It never ceased to amaze her that this wheelchair-bound, thin featured man exuded such an aura of effortless power. She let a small sigh escape as she took in his familiar and dear features. As usual he looked very elegant in his impeccably tailored Savile Row suit, however there was evidence of strain around his eyes and he looked somewhat tired.
“Yes, my dear. Have a seat.” His voice was deep and cultured, carrying the resonance similar to that of a classically trained actor. One of Ororo’s earliest memories was of his voice as he read bed time stories to her. “You look tired.”
Ororo smiled “I was just thinking the same of you. You’ve been incredibly busy handling the fall out of Hank’s death. His mother told me that you’ve been a source of great comfort for them. You’ve been dealing with the authorities here and arranging counseling sessions for the students. You need to delegate more. Isn’t that why you hired Emma, so that you could ease back a little?”
“Oh, no you don’t” he admonished her “You will not turn this around. I wanted to speak to you about how you were coping.” His dark blue eyes bored into hers, searching for something only he could see. “Moira and I were discussing your ambitious plans for Thanksgiving. It isn’t too late to have the meal professionally prepared you know.”
But Ororo was shaking her head. “No, I wish to do this.” She hesitated a bit and allowed herself to slip from her Ororo-the-employee role into Ororo-the-daughter “Not, just wish but I need to. I need to keep myself occupied and creating this meal for my family and the people closest to me is a way to help me remember what is important and all the things I am thankful for. I have to because it can all be gone so easily.”
Charles studied the woman before him with compassion. Ororo was not the daughter of his body but she was definitely the daughter of his heart. She had captured it from the moment he’d first seen her as a squalling infant. He’d watched her grow from a serious young girl into a rebellious teen and finally into this incredibly beautiful and composed young woman.
He hated when she was in pain. For a moment he closed his eyes knowing that he was shortly going to be responsible for a little bit more. His thoughts were interrupted when Ororo abruptly stood and walked to look out the windows at the expansive lawns. It had snowed lightly the day before but not enough to completely cover the season dead grass.
“Hank was planning to propose you know.” She said softly, her gaze steady on the slate colored panoply. “That’s why he went to the mall. To buy a ring.”
“No, my dear, I had no idea.” The compassion of his gaze had moved to his voice.
“I hadn’t either.” As she turned back to face him, he noticed that her eyes were bright with unshed tears “I’ve had to come to terms with that over these past few of weeks. The guilt. I am learning that he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and that I shouldn’t feel responsible for that. I am trying to heal. I think of cooking this dinner, and being elbow deep in turkey guts as my therapy.”
Charles wheeled over to her and clasped her hand.
“Sweetheart, whatever Moira and I can do we will. Please just let us know. In the meantime, the kitchens are yours.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Leaning down she kissed his bald pate lovingly. “Now did you need to see me for something other than just to tell me that you didn’t want to eat my cooking?”
Charles hesitated briefly and shook his head. “No. I just wanted to be sure that you were cognizant of what you were undertaking.”
They chatted a few minutes more before Ororo took her leave. After she had gone Charles wheeled back to his desk. With a heavy heart he opened a file and studied the contents therein. Rarely did he ever question his own judgment; however, for once he wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing.
The door opened quietly and in walked his wife of five years. She saw the troubled frown on his face as she sat in the chair that Ororo had recently vacated.
“How did she take it?” Moira asked. As Charles raised his reluctant gaze to hers, Moira sighed. “You didn’t tell her did you?”
“I’ve decided to wait.” He said more decisively than he felt. “She is struggling so with Hank’s death. I think this would be a little too much. I think it is best for all concerned if I hold off on this. Maybe I’ll even wait until after Jean and Scott’s wedding.”
Moira felt a deep sense of unease at Charles’ uncharacteristic cowardice. But she conceded to him in this.
“Just don’t wait too long. She can’t be blindsided by this. She’d never forgive you.” Moira hesitated before floating her own personal opinion “You can always change your mind. Nothing is written in stone.”
“I know. But I must consider the needs of the school and the students. Ororo will understand and I believe she would do the same in my position.” Charles wheeled over to his wife as the two of them left the beautifully appointed office to head toward their private apartments to have dinner. “I promise to speak to her directly after the Holidays. We have plenty of time.”
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