The Distant Calls of Fall
Chapter #03 “More than Words”, Part 1
(Undisclosed location) Madripoor
3:19 a.m. EST
Rubbing his eyes from weariness, Ben “Deuce” Campbell tried to keep his eyes on the one-way, shatterproof window before him. He’d been up almost 36 hours straight with the Colonel while the latter grilled their suspect mercilessly. Some of the techniques Logan chose to employ weren’t necessarily those sanctioned by the U.S. military, but therein lay the problem: technically, Section X wasn’t part of any military branch”as a matter of fact, it wouldn’t be recognized as a government agency at all if ever brought up publicly.
“He’s still going at him?” Domino appeared behind Ben, startling the young man with her silent approach.
As she angled her head to see past Ben, he nodded, turning back toward the dimmed room where Kyle Gibney Howlett was restrained and still drugged. “Yeah. It’d be remarkable if it wasn’t so sad and pathetic; like watching a guy punch himself in the face.”
Making the connection to his allusion, Neena shook her head in some disbelief. “I wouldn’t have believed it unless the Colonel told me himself. This guy is his nephew?”
Ben nodded tersely, still watching as Logan cracked his knuckles and came to stand behind the bolted-down chair Kyle was restrained to, yanking on the young man’s loose hair so he’d raise his head. It was almost difficult to watch Wolverine “taking over” the interrogation. Ben remembered all too well the cold, unapologetic and distant look he’d spared them right before killing half the training team back at the base a couple months ago. Though his natural healing abilities saved him in the end, Ben still suffered from occasional phantom pains where his superior officer”a man he called friend”quite literally succeeded in eviscerating him.
“I’m still trying to figure out how the Colonel knew Kyle would be here in Madripoor,” Neena was going on, “when all the Intel we had pointed back to The States.”
Ben couldn’t readily answer that question for her; he was glad however, that Logan had decided to scrap the reports they had placing Victor Creed’s closest contacts inside U.S. borders. They’d still be chasing their tales if they’d relied on the ‘brains’ at Sect X HQ. “Neena, there’s some things I’ve come to learn about Logan that just don’t make sense; the good part is, some of ‘em don’t have to. As long as he’s right, that’s all that matters.”
Inside the interrogation room, Wolverine sneered down at his nephew as the younger man turned his head almost casually and spit blood from his mouth. With the drug they kept pumped in his blood stream, he was definitely feeling the beating those heavy fists were inflicting. It was the first time in a very long time that Kyle actually felt sustained pain for more than several seconds and he wasn’t liking it at all. Unfortunately, that meant the younger Howlett had a tough decision to make; who was he more afraid of: his father or the version of his uncle looming over him right then?
“I don’ know what you fuckers expect me to tell ya; I don’t know where Victor is.” Kyle’s words slurred slightly as his eyes struggled to follow the pacing body before his blurred vision.
Obviously growing quite impatient, Wolverine came to within a few inches of Kyle’s face; almost daring him to repeat his earlier mockery in the alley. Like grinding stone, he spat out, “And I say yer a flamin’ liar, kid. We got the cell records from that burner you bought near O’Hare airport”“
“Bull shit.” Kyle challenged.
“Oh? You think I work for people who give a rat’s ass about fuckin’ privacy laws when it comes to tracking down mass murderers? I know fer a fact you tried callin’ yer old man before you hopped a plane out here to the World’s Armpit. Seven calls to a voicemail service in 42 minutes. Two of ‘em connected. Three minutes and seven seconds each. I don’t have to wonder if Vic ever told you we got call tracing down under three and a half minutes.” Logan leaned away from Kyle with a satisfied smirk at the young man’s momentary look of surprise.
“Double bull shit.” It didn’t have quite the force as the first time.
“Heh. Yeah, well keep saying that. Don’t think fer a minute I won’t stoop to yer level to get what I want. You know I’ve done it before.”
Kyle was silent for several moments, as he watched Wolverine’s back. “If you kill me, you won’t ever get what you’re lookin’ for.”
Turning his head just enough to meet Kyle’s eyes, Wolverine sneered, “And if you think that’s enough to save yer hide, you’re even dumber than I thought, boy.”
Snikt!
The Xavier Institute, New York
Thursday, October 7th, 2004
11:17 pm EST
The school had long turned down for the evening and most were asleep except for a majority of the kitchen staff, cleaning up after the daunting task of feeding 120 students and administrators. As was her habit however, Ororo found herself wandering the halls this late before finally retiring to get what little sleep was going to come to her before the now-expected ‘wake up call’ of morning sickness around 5 a.m. Visually seeing everything tidied up and put to rest was comforting and reassuring to her, but tonight all she could think about was raiding one of the fridges for sardines and mayonnaise.
At the bottom of the stairs in the main foyer, she hesitated just a few moments, then shook her head, telling herself it wasn’t worth it, and proceeded upstairs. Four stairs up, she did a 180 and was headed back toward the kitchen.
Outside the School, close to the nearby woods, a lone figure was hidden among the tree line. Just as Ororo had her routine, so did “David North”. His secret attempts had thus far been met with everything from surprise to outright contempt, but he was determined to get what he sought; his plan hinged on it, after all.
Sliding open the prepaid cell phone, he dialed a long-distance number and waited for the line to connect. When it didn’t the first time, he cursed beneath his breath and tried again. On the second series of rings, someone finally picked up.
“Odesa’s. What d’ya want?” Came the impatient voice on the other end.
“Nice to hear you too, O.” David replied sarcastically, but lowly in the dark outside.
“Who the fu--? Nord? Is that you, boy?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Well, tickle my shithole; them Yanks ain’t caught you yet?” The sound of ceramic ware in the background made Maverick grimace.
“You know it’ll take more than some rookies to catch up with me, O. Remember, I helped train a lot of them. Besides, plain sight is the best place to hide, right?”
“Horse shit.” The older man challenged, “You usin’ some of that crap from yer job”er, former job, ain’t ya? Anyhow, what can I do ya for?”
Maverick smiled to himself, remembering how much he liked the old buzzard for his straightforward approach to things. “You can tell me where I can find Victor Creed.”
Back inside the School, Ororo declined the help of her kitchen staff, who of course offered to make her whatever midnight snack she delighted. Not wanting to get in their way of cleaning, she stuck to one of the counters in the rear of the huge kitchen, sitting alone with her open jar of mayo and a small can of sardines. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking of eating this crap, but the cravings she was developing were anywhere from the mundane like chocolate, to the outright disgusting (like what was before her).
With a glass of warm milk to wash it down, she just wanted to get this craving over and done with and go to bed. Mindful not to eat too quickly lest she be up the rest of the night with indigestion, she soon found herself buried deep in her own thoughts…
She’d seen Dr. Matthews again after the blood test came back positive, and pointedly asked her what she thought the baby’s chances would be of living a normal, healthy life, considering its paternal genetic history. For that answer, the good doctor had little news for the worried expectant mother, but was eased at least that her patient seemed ready to explore her options. The two women sat down for a good few hours, discussing said options, and Ororo promised to give Erica a call before October grew too old. It was the best she could do for an answer herself.
What Ororo really wanted to do, was call up another doctor and ask the burning questions only someone who’d been through what she was potentially going to put herself through would know the answers to. That might be a little easier, if it weren’t for the fact that person was also apparently seeing her co-headmaster at the school.
For a month and a half now, Ororo had managed to keep most of the others’ thoughts off of her increasingly curious behavior. Her morning sickness”and consequential tardiness to some of her classes”was a so-called busted alarm clock she hadn’t replaced yet; her aversion to cooked vegetables and being in the kitchen while any meals were being prepared was excused easily as not wanting to be in the staff’s way; her sudden self-seclusion and reluctance to join Scott and David (and Jean, lately) on outings was the fault of all of her headmaster duties. She had an excuse for everything, but knew at some point nothing could cover the obvious changes as time went by…
‘You should just call her.’ Ro scolded herself, dragging a limp sardine through the saucer of mayo beside the jar. ‘What’s the worst that could happen??’
“She could tell Scott…” Ororo muttered beneath her breath, sighing afterwards. She really just didn’t want to face her family’s inevitable questions. It was difficult enough trying to keep Marie and Beth off of her trail the three days a week they were here helping out. Her brother Brian was a ‘typical guy’ so most things went right over his head that didn’t have to do with his two days of instructing or the litany of sports he was interested in at any given season, so she wasn’t as worried of him. However, until she knew for sure how she was going to handle this, Ro was determined to keep silent and all suspicion at bay.
And then there was the issue of Logan.
Staring down into her mess of sardines and Hellmann’s, Ororo suddenly felt a weight on her chest just thinking about him. No matter what her decision ultimately was, she felt obligated to tell Logan”he would be the child’s father, after all. Normally, she would want to believe he’d take it as good news, but in light of Amahra’s tragedy, she honestly couldn’t guess how he’d react. Maybe it was that thought that scared her the most.
Her appetite gone again, Ororo took her used dishes to one of the sets of double sinks, washing them herself and taking the time to reflect more. She didn’t have any way of contacting Logan that she knew of; there was the slight chance someone at Ft. Hamilton”the location of his ‘public front’ stationing from the Marines”might be able to get word to him, but what “word” would she leave, without letting all of their business out into the open? The whole point of their separation was to protect. her from his chosen profession, and here she was considering drawing attention to herself.
Distracted, Ororo gently shook the rinsed saucer before reaching for a towel to dry it, and the ceramic slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor. Wincing, she looked around, realizing for the first time she was alone in the kitchen, as the staff had completed their duties a while ago, leaving her to her sardines and her thoughts.
Looking around for a broom and dustpan, she found a set quickly and returned to the broken plate to clean up her mess. Several steps before she got there, a sudden dizzy spell hit her, and Ororo nearly fell in the broken glass.
“Oh! Careful there.”
She looked up, obviously startled at the quick response”and appearance”of David North. His smile held just the right hint of concern as he braced her fall, holding her arms and steadying her wobbling body. “Uh, um, thank you…”
He wasn’t quick to allow her to regain her own footing however, pressing her close to the edge of the sink behind them and maintaining his hold on her arms. As her sight wavered, she caught herself looking at his arms, particularly the left, where a somewhat recent-looking scar was healing just below his forearm. “Ororo are you okay? You look a little weak.”
“I’m alright.”
“I can wake Cecilia”“
“I said I’m alright.” Her exasperated tone raised an octave before she had time to school her emotions. A little guilt-ridden when he clamped his mouth shut, moving away from her, she reached out to touch his arm apologetically. “David, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s okay.” He didn’t seem to mean that and she could tell. “I’ve been getting the impression I step on your toes a lot.”
Ro didn’t expect that admission, and her cheeks colored a little before she glanced down at the broom handle. “Well, I’m sorry if I’ve given you that impression. Really it’s nothing you’ve done. As a matter of fact, I really should be thanking you more often for coming here to teach and bail me out of this mess I’ve put myself in.”
His eyes widened at her words and the loose grin on her face as she said it. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Ororo sighed, a little nervously before continuing, “And I’m just not always the easiest person to get to know. My family would swear differently to you, but that’s just it: they’re my family.”
“Ah,” he nodded, his arms crossed and a hand to his chin as if contemplating her words. “Strangers on the other hand…”
“Exactly.” She looked back up to him to meet his gaze, and didn’t see contempt or disdain there. Curiosity, certainly…and something else that made her want to look away.
Sensing her discomfort, David reached out and took the broom from her, waiting for the dustpan with his other hand. “Here, let me get this. Maybe you should go on to bed. A good night’s sleep is probably all you need.”
Not entirely wanting to argue, Ro decided to let him be helpful and felt better about her previous outburst by doing so. Maybe that was his plan all along. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. G’night Ororo.” He stooped to sweep the broken ceramic pieces up into the dustpan as if he’d been there for years at the school and did this all the time.
“Good night.” She whispered, turning toward the door and disappearing with a (relieved?) smile on her face.
As the school’s headmistress retreated, she missed the calculated appraisal David directed at her back.
Upstairs in her loft, Ororo readied for bed, her thoughts staying on David only briefly. She was so caught up in his kindness in light of her admission about strangers, that it completely slipped her mind to wonder what he’d been doing up-and-about that late…
Pressing a cool cloth to her face, she stood next to the vanity across from the bed, her thoughts once again returning to Logan. She thought of him so much lately, even more so now as the weeks passed than shortly after he’d left. Turning toward her bed, she couldn’t help the immediate memory of the time he’d shown up at the school that summer, and they’d spent a hot, glorious afternoon with nothing but a bucket of ice*. The memory brought a smile to her face and a tingle to her abdomen. Unbidden, that happy thought succumbed to another, as the moonlight from the open skylight overhead played against the shadows across her bed.
Staring at the neatly made bed, Ororo instead saw the tossed sheets from her home in Brooklyn the night he came to her to say goodbye…
Her heart was pounding in her ears and as he leaned in over her Ororo could feel Logan’s heart racing against her chest also. She looked up into his eyes as his gaze left hers to rove over her tussled hair, her slightly parted lips. When she felt his hand brush her cheek, it was like he was already gone and a ghost in her bed.
The tightening of her chest signaled a rush of emotion she wasn’t ready for, and before a single tear fell Ororo turned her face away.
“Shhh…” His voice whispered against her skin, and Logan’s fingers curved about her chin, turning her face back to his. He wouldn’t give her time to mourn their relationship as he bent low to kiss her deeply, reminding her what they had at this very moment was all they needed.
“Oh my baby, don't cry
Oh my babe, just say goodbye
Oh now baby, don't cry
Oh my babe, at least we tried
At least we tried to make it
But in these days I'm so confused
Oh my love, at least we had it
Let me hold on to you…”
Her eyes still stung with unshed tears as Ororo pulled the dark shirt from his body, over his head and tossed it wherever it wanted to land. Sliding close to her, Logan reached out, pulling her into an embrace that had little to do with sexual attraction or expectation. He closed his eyes to the feeling of her soft, warm body cradled against his, committing it to the memory that up until this moment, had always been a bane of his existence. In the moments he held her crushed to his chest, a flood of memories from their short but potent love affair took their place in his long memory.
“Oh my baby, don't cry
Oh my babe, just say goodbye
Oh now baby, don't cry
Oh my babe, at least we tried
At least we tried but we lost it
I will remember
How you stood there and you smiled
And you smile there with me…”
When she could look up at him again, Ororo was silent, touching his chiseled, stubbled face briefly before their mutual attempts at imprinting the other in their mind dissolved, and their bodies met with a desperation and yearning that would promise to survive this last night they shared.
“Oh my baby, don't cry
Oh my babe, just say goodbye
Oh now baby, don't cry
Oh my babe, at least we tried.”
Blinking rapidly, Ororo brushed a stubborn tear from her cheek, turning from the bed to sit at the vanity. After several moments of indecision, she finally pulled out a piece of stationary and a pen and started writing furiously. Her tumultuous thoughts spilled out onto the page and wouldn’t cease until morning was upon her.
TBC…
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