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Disclaimer; don’t own don’t sue.


Thank-you to all the reviewers (and extra love goes out to NemB and Tough Spirit, who let me chew their ears off when I was freakin’ out! Always appreciated, my good friends, M’iko, xx!)


Chapter.13.




Logan traipsed back to the motel room; the quiet of the morning having an adverse affect on him, making him...uneasy. His talk with Smitty had been like a great weight off his shoulders; a relief to talk to someone from his old life at last---but perhaps that had raised more questions than it did answers. He unlocked the catch on the door to room twenty two, stepping soundlessly in, hoping that the way he’d left hours before had not broken her slumber. His eyes travelled, heat-seeking, to where she was laid out on the bed, but now the sheets, though the thick blanket was now heaped at her feet, a mountain terrain, covered her entirely except for the bright crop of snowy hair. Her dark face was turned too far down into the pillow to be visible from where he stood; masked by the deadly nightshade of white.


Yanking lose the liquorice black laces before toeing off his boots that shone from the slick layer of wet that came from the snow and latterly sleet, he padded across the room, making up the relatively short distance to the bed. At first he simply sat on the edge; the soft mattress sinking slowly with an aged creak as his weight lowered onto it. He sat still for a moment, his glittering gaze intent on the way that the thin white sheet hung from the perfect curve of her body, that soft landscape, making the cheap polyester look like the finest muslin, just by the act of touching her.


He reached down and laid his left hand on her hip, lightly at first before closing his thick, arctic fingers over it; red and dry from the bitter weather outside. The firm against the yielding; the sheet against the line of her body felt so good beneath his palm, so good...She felt hot to touch, that constant ember. The contact compelled him to climb onto the bed, resting down close against her.


“Huh!” Ororo awoke with a sudden start, rolling out the side of the bed and clamouring to her feet. But the haste with which she’d exited from his side made her pitch back awkwardly. The whip of cloth, a sudden crack and then a crunching sound quickly followed by another surprised exclamation from the sable beauty, “Oww!”


“Shit!---what’s wrong?” Logan asked hastily as he kneeled up on the bed, looking at Ororo with a mixture of concern and confusion in the dull light of the sun’s slow rising.


But she wasn’t paying any attention to him as she half-sat, perched on the bedside table and brought her leg up so that her right calf lay horizontally across her bent left knee. Her hands held her foot; long white tresses covering her face as she studied its pale fleshy sole. “Damn light bulb,” she hissed to herself as she tried to pull a concaved shard of imbedded glass from her foot, covered in the ruddy ooze. She pinched at the small amount that was still protruding out with her thumb and forefinger, attempting to get a grip but it wouldn’t come out; the severe stinging sensation making her eyes water as a thick trickle of crimson ran along her skin, coursing ever downwards until it dripped down to the floor with the punctuality of the hand of a clock.


Logan froze for a moment, transfixed by the slow movement of the blood as it ran down, flowing into the pale creases of her foot like they were gullies. He swallowed; only when he had tried to do so did he realise how dry his mouth and throat had become; a starved river bed. So much so that his voice sounded distinctly raspy as he was finally compelled to say, “Let me have a look.”


He roused himself to move, coughing very much consciously as he walked ploddingly on his knees to the other side of the bed before bring his legs from beneath him and perching on its very edge beside her. “C’mere,” he motioned his hand towards him with two quick flicks of his fingers and then held the palm out, ready to take hold of her foot.


But in all her ineffable stubbornness, she tried once again to remove it herself; her teeth gritted, her lips drawn back as she sucked in a breath at the sides of her mouth. “Ahh---damn!” she gasped in equal amounts of pain and frustration as her grip slipped from the bloodied piece of glass; it was stuck like ice and just as smarting. Little tendrils like static shock crept up, shooting through her lower leg.


This time Logan didn’t bother to ask, he simply reached over and took her foot from her grasp, laying it on his lap. He looked up at her curiously as he tried to locate the shard beneath the dark flow by touch alone. She wasn’t looking at him tough, her attention focused on the wound too---perhaps a little too focused. Diverting his gaze back down, he finally found the offending object and gripped at it firmly.


“Where were you?” she asked out of the blue; casual not nagging.


Logan looked up sharply, only the perceived coldness in her voice making him do so. It was strange, he thought suddenly, how he could hear that now; the slightest inflection in her voice, the near missable change in subtle tone. He could hear what no-one else could. “Just out,” he stated and then yanked at the glass; it came out instantly. “I needed some air,” he added to appease.


Ororo took in a sharp breath through her teeth as the burning sting ripped through her foot, slowly forming into an aching throb of its own accord. She pulled the limb from his hands, taking it back into her own and wrapping it into the loose corner of the sheet that covered her body. A dark patch quickly bled through it; the scarlet blotch spreading with impunity.


Logan straightened up, drawing himself back as if in readiness for confrontation, despite the fact there was none to be had. “Why’d you jump outta yer skin?”


“You startled me.” She finally looked up at him, her irises looking dense as soot, unemotional. A lock of hair fell down into her face as she inclined her head back down at her foot, briefly pulling the makeshift dressing away before placing it back over, holding it tight to apply pressure and stem the bleeding that still came. The wilderness’ silence filtered through the room, the icy blue azure of the light adding emphasis to the cold. After a short while Ororo removed the sheet again and the blood had ceased to flow, congealing darkly over the cut. Carefully she placed her foot back on the ground, making sure she avoided the shattered glass that littered it; it had the oddly elegant look of a broken diamond. As she stepped around it her eyes fell upon Logan’s leather that she’d placed on the floor as it lay in a crumpled heap next to the bed. Quickly she pulled it up from the floor and reached into the pocket, or rather the rip in the seam of the left pocket. The handle of the blade seemed larger in her palm, heavier, as she let the jacket fall back to the ground with a dull thud. She held it up for him to see, her eyes waiting for an answer to an unspoken question.


Logan focused on the black handle; the image of Ororo blurred behind it. She threw it down onto the bed on his left side; the bouncing thud an accusation. “What?” he asked simply as he looked down at it and then back up at her.


“Why...why’d you have it?” she replied uncertainly to his question, countering it with one of her own. With all her might she tried to stop the images...a hot and dusty night in Cairo, clamouring into her mind; the vicious and intrusive as a stab.


“I’ve had it fer years,” he shrugged, not seeing the problem. It was only a knife. But she was obviously spooked. He picked it up, turning it over once in his hands before laying down on the bedside cabinet on his right. The hard clunk was resonant. “C’mere.” Suddenly he needed to hold her, feel her warm insistence against him again. When she didn’t move he reached out to her, still within arms length, all the while holding her eyes with his. She didn’t make any attempt to come to him but willingly allowed herself to be pulled into his arms. Coming to a rest sideways on his lap, the chill that came from him wrapped her body within its cocoon; the cool moisture was as sure as the caress of his hands as he held one about her waist and the other around her exposed thigh with tight possessiveness.


“Does it bother you?” Logan asked quietly, close to her lips.


“No...” she sighed as the roughness of his fingers slid up her thigh in welcome distraction. Free white strands rustled about her face and shoulders as she shook her head, for a moment uncertain as to whether the notion was against the question or his actions. But she allowed him to anyway; the cold grate of his hand reached over onto the inside of her thigh as it pushed further up, in encroaching territorial action---reaction.


“Then what is it?” His lips half kissed her as he spoke into her mouth, their chapped surface scrapping across in their initial lightness, not giving her the chance to respond as he pressed to her lips in earnest then, encouraged by the unyielding grip of her hands at his wet, saturated collar. Shifting his hands to the bold curve of her hips, Logan turned her down onto the bed, moving back to take hold of her thighs and spread her legs for him. Coming in close, his sure weight bore down on her; a colossus incumbent for her and her only.


Ororo submitted with pleasure, wanting to lose herself and all thought in physical sensation; her mind flitting from the still smarting sting in her foot, an acid burn, to the sting of three long, thick fingers plunging into her without recourse for warning. She gasped in a breath, being compelled to half cover her mouth with the back of her hand, a brief barrier between them as they drew out halfway and then plunged into her sex again, refreshing the memory of their earlier encounter; the primal spirit of all that had gone before it. Taking her hand from shelter, greedily she kissed at his mouth, biting softly and then hard as his fingers became quicker; opening up a small cut on his bottom lip that heralded the mark from the previous violence, allowing her to lap up the metalic tang. She dug her fingers into the back of his neck, beneath the thin wisps of hair at the nape, replying to his pain by administering equivalent of her own. Her teeth burrowed and tongue tasted; savage and real.


As the deep scratch of her nails tore in, Logan quickly withdrew his fingers, grabbing at her legs just in the gentle pit of her knee, the membrane soft and thin to his touch, hitching them up. She could feel the warm, thick moisture from her on his right hand cover that fragile layer in the swooping curve and the press of his erection through his jeans---taking her mercifully further away from thought. A person no-more but a lover---moving to their plane; the interlacing of bodily contact remained tempestuous in control and yielding; their forms serpentine in their aspect against one another.


Pulling his head away and breaking her attentions on his mouth he moved his lips down to her breast plate; his kisses without doubt against its solidity. He continued to smatter them and his fleshy bites as he felt her fumblingly, opening his belt and then his zip, hurriedly trying to push the jeans away; her desperation to feel him inside her almost driving him insane. His hot breaths were frantic as they scrambled from him to blast against her body; the cigars and beer that mingled being oddly comforting to her.


They were both running, this they knew...Further and further as they delved into one another; a mutual oblivion by unspoken consent. This was the body he dived into to be swallowed whole like the claiming mania of a raging ocean, fruitless in his efforts to assert over it once and for all. His submission to it wonderfully incongruous, as they sought the same thing from each other; alternately giving and taking but it was never enough...never enough...


As soon as his penis was free Logan pushed forwards immediately, shaken by the sure feel of her hand around it, guiding it into her quickly. His fingers dug into her legs, threatening to break that membrane as he drove in, pulled back and then drove in again, lifting her lower body from the bed so that the sheet that wrapped her fell higher up about her waist, exposing her lower half totally. There were no cries, just the fast, exerting breaths of each of them as their bodies settled into a quick rhythm; the tinkle of a belt buckle, the sharp slap of skin against skin. He concentrated hard, manically, on everything that was her; the dream was lost in each space, in each pitch that pierced the internal and external silence. His silence. The quickening pace of his heart, her heart, dragged it further back, kicking and screaming as it lost its hold over his mind, his soul...


Ororo pushed herself up on her elbows, high enough to meet with his face and began to kiss him again with matching ardency. One hand flew up to settle on his face, gripping around the chin, climbing up his cheek, through the stubble, the strong bone structure and soft red and purple swell above like an outcrop, not shrinking back at the pain she caused. Curious fingers almost delved into his mouth with her tongue as the kiss ravaged them both and his ruts became harder. She elicited a long, mean groan through the swift rasping breaths, tailing off to an almost pitiful sound as her hand moved down to his back, gripping around it near to the neat hard dip of its small as he pumped into her. Lower bodies began to lift from the bed as they smashed violently into each other as if in competition. Her hand lay on him almost like her assurance, holding him there, making certain that he would not stop. Her hips snapped upwards ever swifter, meeting every thrust as her other hand left the security of the bed’s surface and joined her right at his back, forcing Logan to fling an arm down to the mattress to support both of their bodies against falling.


The bed trembled with the frantic movements of their bodies; him moving so hard and quickly against her that he hardly left her anymore and the smart slaps seemed to have merged into one long sound. Ororo gripped at his arse, her back arching, head falling back, smiling at the rough feel of his lips going straight to the bent length of her neck, unable to resist what was so deliciously served up for his leisurely consumption. And there...there she lost herself completely, finally nothing but him remained.


Her pleasure, her pain, her escape from all...


She knew instantly, before the first touch, kiss and this intimate game, that it was the same for him too. They used each other like a vehicle. Moving far from a pain they didn’t realise they shared, but knew instinctively that the other understood.


His cock pushed against her clitoris again and again and the inside of her thighs ached with the smash of his body against them, forcing them into a near impossible wideness; their bodies shifting back and forth on the mattress, the beds tenor rumble threatening. She moved her head forwards as she felt herself reaching her endpoint, its forceful inevitability making her whimper, a strangely tender, bruised sound as she moved her lips back to his.


A breathless cry into his mouth and her entire body jack-knifed, trembling with the force of release as she felt the wet flood down from her sex. The finality of it almost drew a line beneath all. Suddenly Logan stopped too, pouring himself rapidly into her, some of it spilling out with her own flood, covering them both. A wet, glistening pool stained the bedspread beneath them, intermingled together. With a hoarse, stuttering groan; he let them fall back then, into the space where the coming sun made an oblong of light on the bed, like a window to a blissful realm; a sharp yellow warmth in the blue grey of the bottom sheet, rudely encroaching on its mournful shadow. He wrapped his arms around her, their exhausted weakness disguised by the sheer strength of his need to enfold her, encompass her frail, shaking form. His face pressed to her left shoulder, his cock still inside her, his body still moving slightly, like he didn’t want it to end. The act of their love-making was a story that never finished, played out merely in acts; each one opened their eyes, revealed a new place to them.


She slid her hands up his back, pushing up the damp shirt as they travelled over hot skin, settling close to the shoulder blades. “I want to go with you,” she stated in her broken coarse voice, whispering into his ear, taking the lobe between her teeth, the light lick of her tongue a moist balm to the bite.


“Where?” he didn’t move from his place high on her shoulder, his voice a rumble against her collar bone. His teeth made a brief nip over it, folding over each side as it stood out against the skin laid over it, masking it from his hungry eyes, his devouring intentions.


“To wherever it is you’re going....the reason we’re here.”


He pulled his head back, taking his teeth from their light clamp around her collar bone, hovering his face over hers, their noses barely touching, a hairs breadth between them. He hadn’t needed to tell her and so he had no fear of agreeing. “Alright,” her foot rubbed up his back and down again, the sweat searing into her wound that hadn’t ceased to weep, the scarlet smear she left on his skin dispersing outwards in the shimmer. It was pure pigment dropped into water, floundering for a way to go. She would carefully wipe her brand from him later, under the cascade of the shower, fascinated by it as the cloth removed all trace of her from his body.


They held each other for a while longer as the light in the room grew, flooding through the thin curtains before he began to move within her again, breaths panting, their bodies never parting, fingers travelling well known paths. Blind, they could find their way through each other, of that there was no worry.


* * *


They’d walked all the way here in silence; skirting around the edge of the sizable mining community to get to the outer reaches on the east side of town. All around were mounds of black coal, lining up like tall artificial mountains; devilish mountains, coarse and ominous. Ororo could not imagine what it would be like to grow up around such sombre surroundings after having experienced such wide beautiful ochre planes as she had---there gloom evident in everything here. But every now and then the sun would glint down, streaming through the clouds in their ever present battle for infiltration, bouncing against the mat surface, for a second making it shine like black pearl. Even with the wind, coal dust hung in the air; an invisible invader until it settled on the light clapboarding and vinyl siding of people’s houses, the cheap, convenient shops and on the pavements and roads. Everything looked dirty, adding a strange nobility to the appearance of the large but remote, sprawling township, tucked in the furthest corner of the Alberta province.


As they ascended the hill, along the dirt track, Logan became aware of the smooth trace of her hand slipping into his. He closed his fingers tighter, affirming its grip; their walk slowing as like a megalith, the house came into view; their preset destination at last in sight. He halted and it engulfed him. As she had earlier, as the terror, the blue funk of dreams in the mist of memory had threatened to overtake him. The battle had been fought, he’d been fighting them for years but the war had not been won. A lead weight settled in his chest, woven into the fabric of his being, encasing his ribs, resting unbearably atop of his heart. The sensation of it seemed to sink within him, dragged him down---he could swear he was falling, collapsing to the earth below. But it wasn’t there, the earth had gone. Its constant presence had broken apart too, crumbing under foot leaving him no certainty to anchor himself to. But her hand was still there...He roused himself to move again, the sprightliness of the midmorning air sharp against his face, the injuries of the previous night’s fights with the scrappers at the roadhouse and then his lover, telling on every nerve end. The lead solidified. He couldn’t do this...he truly couldn’t...


“What’s wrong, my love?”


He hesitated, unable to look at her as the question washed over him, the only sanity in the whirlpool of his metal landscape. He wanted to answer, tried his hardest to form the words, but it wouldn’t let him. It taunted him there, before his very eyes for the first time in years---this towering accusation, this silent punishment. An informal question mark over everything he was then and had since become.


“This was a mistake.” he growled under his breath, his blank, empty eyes fixed on the house. The plain white suffused with the veil of grey murk on the clapboarded building made it a beacon, in so many ways. It stood alone, without companion, no formal garden to speak of, just the endless open space of its setting; dark hillocks in the distance, an uneven green carpet of new grass beneath it, overgrown close to its proximity, the place that acted like a yard. Many of the houses in Bistcho stood like this, disjointed from all around, as if sprung from the earth haphazardly, no thought for order. It was odd for one to feel that so much could be tied up in so impersonal, inconsequential products of the human hand. A house---that he could associate all that pain with its four walls, its simple architecture...everything that had chained him.


“We can go back to the motel, if you want?”


The sound of her was as temporary as a passing breeze for in his minds eye he was inside the house now, imaging all as it was. The patterned runner in the downstairs hallway, the pristine line of the wainscoting, even the quirky kitchen clock. He couldn’t entertain that any of it would have changed since that last time he saw it. Even as he gazed at the outer shell it was as if his eyes didn’t register the expansive of boards, dismantled fruit crates plugging up doorways and windows to intruders or vagrants. All he could see was the house as it was for him; the years spent living there, the regular lick of paint it received every spring after winters rapture had taken its toll, keeping it in check. A family home. But not all scars could be erased so easily, white-washed so thoroughly---would it were that simple.


The porch swing that had always moved, constantly pitching, an annoying background noise as it banged subtly against the side of the house, hung lamely from one chain now, broken, defeated. Last autumns deathly brittle leaves were trapped in a pile beneath it, despite the fact that it was now very late spring, advancing rapidly into early summer. The fruit tree outside the kitchen window twisted and decrepit, riddled with disease, incapable of ever producing anything ever again. But he could see the fruit still there---the perfectly round apples that could be plucked through that window whenever one wanted. This place of his past was irreparably broken down, surrendered like he was, to everything that had destroyed it. Here it was, staring him brutally in the face---a literal picture of everything he had become, at his core, his unknowable centre, deep inside. He had thought he could beat it, thought he could unburden himself from it...


They were close to the building, right by the porch steps---Logan unaware that they hadn’t ceased advancing on it until he was right there, able to reach out and touch his past. He could smell it, the history of his years here summoned up in one breath; the scent of an entire life. He almost couldn’t bear it...


“Logan?” Ororo was almost afraid to utter his name. The pallid complexion of his face, this ghastly pale form frightened her. His hold on her hand was getting to the point of hurting her. Slowly, gently she eased out of it. She wanted to say something but knew not what. She was woefully out of place here and she knew it---this, the atmosphere that surrounded it...it was no place for her. It was the Logan she did not know and maybe she did not want too. A little selfish perhaps, but something she understood only too well. Would she ever have the strength to confront her demons too? She envied that in him at least. But maybe he didn’t want her too be here either, not really---there were things for them both that they had to individually draw a line beneath. Baggage that had no place within what defined them.


As if their connection ran that deep, he articulated just that, “I...” He shook his head, bereft, his brow creased at some inner turmoil. “...I shouldn’t o’ brought you here...this ain’t...” For the first time he turned to her, acknowledged her fully as being in his presence. “You should go back to the motel darlin’.” he said seriously, catching her eye unnervingly.


She shook her head, contradicting him, contradicting her first instincts, acting on something baser. She had come this far, therefore she would stay. “I don’t think I should Logan.” she replied lightly, but with her subtle force that usually he could not resist. “This place,” She glanced up at the derelict building, an unknown element of it frightening her. Why? She couldn’t say. “...whatever it means to you---it obviously still has an effect on you, still...hurts you.” She reached up and touched his face, stroking at the side lovingly, her dark eyes held an unexpected sadness as she regarded him, her head inclined. “I don’t pretend to know what happened to you but...my love,” she whispered tenderly, her smile bitter-sweet as she paused for what seemed forever. Her brow creased with a melancholy concern as she said, “You...you look so...pale, so...”


“Don’t!” he told her edgily; his voice sonorous but not loud, shocking her even more by the accompanying action of pushing her hand away from its contact with him.


“Logan!” she exclaimed, too confused to be incredulous, “I only---.”


“I said...don’t.” he confirmed gravely as she tried to reach to him again, that look of emotionless steel she had seen often in their fledgling months together, so far away from them now, making an unwelcome return. He stepped away from her and then back again, loosely meandering like a stumbling drunk. He scratched at the back of his head; he looked confused, lost---as if being here was too much for him, driving him to brink of somewhere she cared not to dwell on. Taking a seat on bottom step that lead up to the porch, that curved smoothly in its centre, the wood smooth and indented from years of service, he tried to steady himself; stop the topsy-turvy sway. It felt so familiar to him, this old seat, that against all the odds it almost made him smile. For a moment he held his head in his hands, fingers laced in the tussle of dark hair, before running them back down his face and propping his chin up on his fists, elbows resting on his knees. “This is---,” he started sharply, like it hurt to say the words, made him angry even. “This---was---my house...but you’ve probably figured that one out by now.” He scratched his forehead distractedly, then stood up once more, agitated. Pulling in a coal tinted bleak breath, he wandered away from her, over to the west side of the three story house. His hands in his pockets, then out again and then in again.


Ororo moved to take up the place where he’d formerly been sitting, lowering down, never taking her eyes from him. Her hands rubbed slowly over her raised knees in mirror of each other, a subconscious action. She didn’t know what to do, watching him struggle through his own internal torture hurt her more than she ever thought it could---hurt her more than her own. His lost countenance, his confused manner. But she didn’t know what to do, she simply did not know...In truth, there was nothing she could. She couldn’t ask him anything, she had no words to offer, she was caught in an unfathomable limbo.


“Logan...” She called fragile, unable to stop the break in her voice. He didn’t respond, didn’t return to face her. “Hold me...”


He did turn, “What?”


“Hold me?” A choked sob threatened, from where she didn’t know. “Just...hold me.”


Logan strode over, suddenly a purposefulness back in his manner, coming back from the place he’d been stranded in, against his will. He was in a near run by the time he came to her, as she practically flung herself from the porch step, into his body and he did exactly as she bade him to. Embracing her manically, crushing her too him, he didn’t care how hard.


“I want us to go...we should go. This---this isn’t you, it isn’t you anymore...” She tripped over the words, scaring herself, let alone him, by her sudden compulsion. Almost like she knew what had taken place here...Her face lay buried hard in his shoulder, against the frosty leather, her voice muffled. “Why did you bring us here?” She shook her head quickly, rubbing against his jacket, asking the question in a near accusing tone, “Why?”


He felt her sagging within his grasp, wilting away; a lily killed by winter’s benign cruelty. Why did he return? Why did he bring her to this place? All good intentions seemed to have disappeared in the mire, null and void. “I...I don’t know...” He stared blankly over her head, refusing to notice anything beyond the realm of her silver mane, cupped by his hand. She didn’t need to see this, what this place made of him. He cursed himself for his selfishness. Perhaps, deep down, he felt her knowledge would mean his absolution. Who knows...? She had sang to him, sang to him that he was her angel on the lake and many times since...he wanted so desperately for it to be the other way around he’d blinded himself to what he was doing, what he was risking.


“I want to leave.” he heard her say faintly, she pulled her head back to look up at him, managing somehow to smile, but it soon crumpled, “I don’t want to know Logan...whatever happened here, I don’t want it. It’s not you, it’s not the Logan I love,” her hands crept to the straight collar of his leather, gripping to the thick weather proof material. “I just want you...not what you used to be...”


Her words brought a painful realisation, he bit at the inside of his cheek; molars grinding, “But...don’t ya see,” he couldn’t look at her, staring past her again to the black mountains, “It is me---no matter...no matter how hard I run, how hard I try ta fucking escape, it’s always there, it’ll always be there,” he banged his hand, fingers first, into his left temple, more-or-less hitting it, “Always fucking in here!” It was the first time he’d raised his voice; his frustration, the stored anger apparent.


“You think you’re the only one...” she said, almost to herself, her head titling down; a bitter laugh slipped out with her breath.


“This was a mistake.” he reiterated quietly, not hearing her or at any rate not acknowledging her words. He took hold of her at the upper arms as if bracing her, “I’m sorry ‘Ro...I dunno...I’m just---I’m just sorry, okay?”


Ororo backed away from him, hitching her arms to urge him to let go of her, which he did summarily. “I’m going back to the motel,” she spoke sullenly to the ground, “You stay here if you wish. But I’m---I’m going.” She walked past him, folding her arms protectively about herself as she started back down the hill, back in the direction that they had come.


“‘Ro...” He didn’t go after her, simply watched her determine retreat; the minor limp in her step from the damage on the sole of her foot. “I’ll be there in a while.” He called to her and this time she stopped, seeming to hesitate before turning, looking at him over her shoulder, not caring about her hair whipping wildly about her face, masking her view for most of the time.


“Fine.” she replied plainly, “Do...whatever it is that you need to do. I will see you there.”


Hazel eyes tracked after her, that predators scowl that came so naturally to him, until she were no more than a speck on the horizon, vanishing around the curve in the crude dirt road that brought them up here; the sky a laden mask of lead, blank. It would snow again soon, he thought to himself as he looked up at it; bleak...just like everything else. And now he was alone.


As it should be. The eaves whistled and rattled, their unheard whisper there for him to hear, and none but him. The past had an awful trick, a heinous way, to trap a person. And that trap was isolation. It was always the hardest part to bear. But to shelter her, Ororo, his love...Logan would bear anything. He began his ascent up the porch steps, the low empty thud of his boot on the wood, the creak and grumble of the old house plaintive.


-TBC-


A/N; Sorry it took so long! Hope you enjoyed anyway. Just a note about the town of Bistcho. I know that there is a Lake Bistcho and that’s the place I named the town after but I’m not sure whether or not such a town really exists. So if it does, I just wanted to say that my descriptions are purely artistic interpretation.





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