Ororo looked on in silence as Scott knelt before Jean’s grave. He had spent all day there and did not look as if he would be moving anytime soon. It had hardly been twenty-four hours since the X-Men had lost Jean and the School was trying to get back on its feet. A mood of depression had swept the mansion, leaving everyone in its wake lonely and tearful. It seemed everyone had been crying, except for one: the great Wolverine.
Which was exactly Ororo’s mission this dreadful morning. Sighing, she turned from Scott’s pitiful existence and entered the mansion again. She assumed that Logan would be in his room, most likely smoking one of those God-awful cigars. Sure enough when Storm arrived at his door, she could smell the smoke that polluted the air. On most days she would reprimand him for smoking inside the school, but today she had a different purpose. She knew he already had picked up her scent so she did not bother knocking. It wasn’t the right time for courtesies.
“What doya want Storm?” He was sitting out on the balcony with a cigar and a beer. “I ain’t in the mood.”
“I was just coming to make sure you were doing alright,” she said gently. “But I can see my concern is misplaced.”
“You’re right about that,” he huffed. “Women and their damn emotions.”
“Our damn emotions see us through the hard times, Logan.”
“Whatever. If you came in here for a shoulder to cry on, you came to the wrong place.” Logan knew he sounded bitter, but he did not need Storm’s ever so perfect philosophies right now. She looked taken aback for a moment, but she had come in here for a reason and it wasn’t to pick a fight.
“Maybe no one told you there is strength in your tears and so you fight to keep from pouring out.” Ororo stood still in the middle of the room, his back still to her. “But what if you unlock the gate that keeps your secret soul? Do you think that there's enough you might drown?”
“Look, I don’t need this nonsense right now, Storm.” Logan shook his head in frustration and spun around to look at her. “Leave me alone.”
“Fine. But keep this in mind: you are not alone in this.” The door handle was in her hand as she whispered, “If no one will listen, if you decide to speak; if no one's left standing after the bombs explode; if no one wants to look at you for what you really are…I will be here still.”
Ororo left a shocked Logan alone with his beer and cigars, with his thoughts and regrets, and with the pain of not knowing how to handle it. He did not understand how she did it. How any of them did it: the Professor, Ororo, even Scott. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The beer tasted funny on his tongue and smoking didn’t even have the same affect.
It would not be till close to midnight before he finally came to terms with himself. In front of Jean’s grave he knelt by himself and broke down inside. He cried real tears: tears that a Wolverine could never be capable of. But Logan was; the man inside of the Beast was. Only after he sobbed his heart out did he realize what he had to do. He had to move on. Life went on.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Logan continued shoving his clothes into a small bag. Jean was still out there and he would find her. He had to. Of course, his plan to leave without anyone noticing had not gone so well. Leave it to Storm to ruin his perfect plan. Wolverine had lost his temper with her, but she had to understand why he was leaving. He couldn’t stay; he was made to stay anywhere.
Granted he shouldn’t have grabbed her. Or thrown her against the door. But to give the woman credit she had not flinched or even raised her voice. Somehow she managed to make him feel like he was a child again and doing the wrong thing. However, this was his life and his decision. Wolverine didn’t have a home; you can’t tie down the beast.
He threw his pack over his shoulder and walked swiftly to the garage. To his great surprise the white haired weather witch was sitting on his motorcycle. There was a tired look in her blue eyes, but he knew she wasn’t about to pick a fight.
“So you are going.” It wasn’t a question. Logan just nodded and began tying his bag onto the back of the motorcycle. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she gently stroked the leather of the seat, thinking about what she wanted to say.
“Look Storm. I have to leave. You know that- it’s just my nature.” He didn’t want any hard feelings between the two of them. Not that he expected to see her again. If he found Jean, he was never coming back.
“No one can tell you where you alone must go. There's no telling what you find there,” she said as she slipped off the machine. “And, God, I know the fear that eats away at your bones. It's screaming every step just stay here.”
“Ororo…” She held up a hand and he waited.
“If no one will listen, if you decide to speak; if no one's left standing after the bombs explode; if no one wants to look at you for what you really are…” Her eyes bore into his, her words rolling softly off her tongue. “I will be here still.”
He left her standing in the garage and rode away to find Jean. He would not be able to stay with her, however, for Magneto had other plans with her. When the metal man threw him out of the forest, the animal in Wolverine had every intention of going right back in to get her. However, another voice rang through his mind and he got back on his motorcycle and decided to take another plan of action. Logan went home; the first true home he had. They fought their battle together- he and the X-Men. For that is what he was, an X-Men.
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Logan watched with pride as mutant children began running into the Xavier Institute again. Storm had decided to keep it open and these kids now had a save haven. Classes started tomorrow and Logan would be helping teach. A shock to the world along with himself. But this is where he belonged.
A congratulations was in order for the woman of the household, so Logan sauntered up to her office saying hello to all the faces that now flooded the hallways. When he finally found Storm, she was leaning against Charles Xavier’s old desk. Her fingertips grasped the wood as if it would become as inspiring as the man who once sat behind it. It took him a while to notice that her shoulders were shaking slightly, but they were dry sobs, no tears filled her eyes.
“You know I got some good advice from a certain someone about letting it go,” he said casually. Ororo gave a dry laugh.
“Whoever told you that is a very intelligent person. But even intelligent people have their limits,” Ororo sighed. “I don’t know if I can do this, Logan. I’m not him.”
“If you find your fists are raw and red from beating yourself down; if your legs have given out under the weight; if you find you've been settling for a world of gray so you wouldn't have to face down your own hate.” Storm turned to stare at him in disbelief. His words described her perfectly.
“I can’t do this alone,” she whispered. Logan stepped across the room and wrapped his arms around her.
Then he whispered softly into her ear, “If no one will listen, if you decide to speak; if no one's left standing after the bombs explode…If no one wants to look at you, for what you really are, I will be here still.” Logan stared out the window at the now beaming sun. “I will be here still.”
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