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Part I – Reflections of White

Ororo Munroe stood perfectly still, watching the aquamarine waves roll through the restless sea, plummeting onto the serene shore and pulling back, bubbling into the great mass of liquid she had come to recognize and know so well. It had taken her forever to learn how to sleep through that constant noise, the endless sound of waves crashing over each other and hissing onto the beach. Now it seemed like something she had grown up with, as though she had been here since the beginning.
Ororo raised a hand and pushed a stray strand of shockingly white hair from her forehead, pushing it back into her low pony tail, remembering that her class would start in only a few minutes. A few children, young teenagers really, wandered into her classroom early, smiling tentatively and sitting down in unassigned seats.
The classroom was not anything like those she was accustomed. She was used to high ceilings, hardwood floors, and the wide windows that the mansion had offered her at Xavier's academy in New York. In fact, that was all she had known.
It wasn't so long ago, Ororo kept telling herself. Five years. Not so long in the grand scheme of things. Not long at all. But here it was again – the first day of class. Another year gone by.
The bell rang and suddenly students were swarming in her classroom, sliding behind desks and dropping assorted bags onto the floor, unzipping them hastily and pulling out new three ring binders, setting them on their table tops.
Ororo smiled, pulling away from her thoughts and calling out to them in Greek, laughing as she made her way to the front of the room. She wrote her name on the small black board in bright blue chalk.
Ms. Ororo Munroe.
"I am Ms. Munroe," Ororo said, turning around and facing her students. She knew them all from last year. After all, she was the only English teacher on the island and the group of children was never a large one. She had been refining these girls and boys for years, teaching them the proper grammar of a language she herself had learned at their age.
"However," Ororo smiled at all the bright faces. "I think most of you already know that."
She went through the lesson plan for the day. Reviews, mostly, with a reading assignment on the side. Ororo never let her students slack, even though many tried, and had tried at the academy in Westchester.
The day moved quickly as Ororo taught her classes, mainly English and a new History class she had managed to push through the school board the year before. She was halfway through a sentence in her last class as the bell sounded loudly in the hall and all fifteen students jumped up and made a beeline for the door.
"Hold it!" Ororo called in Greek, something she only did when she had to. She had learned most of the language quickly, but she had never been entirely comfortable with it.
"Your homework is to read chapter one of the text by tomorrow. There may be a quiz."
The students groaned and collected their things, chattering amongst each other as they left the desks and sped out into the hall, leaving Ororo alone in the suddenly empty classroom.
She stood for a moment, watching the students walk down the small hallway, by her open door, smiling at the familiar sound of lockers opening and shutting, loud voices calling out in both Greek and English.
Turning, she picked up the eraser and wiped away all the blue chalk, watching the fine powder drift down the black board, collecting in the tray underneath.
By the time Ororo left the school it was already late into the afternoon and the winds were dying down on the island, the waves out on the sea becoming less prominent and less white, slowly transforming back into the crystal clear blue and green.
Ororo walked through the town, passing by the startling white buildings and the colorful doorways and walkways, almost all painted a vibrant blue. Some deviated from the norm, painted a pastel green or a shocking red, maybe even a yellow here and there. She walked through the small alleyways, stepping around the old women and their donkeys, making her way up the freshly outlined walk to Taxi Square, where she had no intention of picking up a taxi.
Her means of transportation usually meant walking. She would have flown if she didn't think the locals would be completely frightened into an uproar. It had been so long since she had even used her powers for something other than a little rain to help her plants. It was so painfully dry on the island that they could go months without ever seeing rain. Ororo's exotic plants could not go without water, so she allowed herself small showers, and only at night.
She walked down the busy main road along the shoreline, walking along the sidewalk, her bag lightly banging against her hip as the motorists drove quickly by. If there was one thing that was entirely different from home it would be the motorists. The numerous accidents she had seen in the past five years astonished her, but it was another aspect that she had also become accustomed to. The sea, the constant wind, and the roads of cars. She had been terrified at first, but things fell into place slowly.
Of course, people did treat her with a certain air of hesitance. No one quite knew what to think of her long white hair and blue eyes. Many of the men had followed her about, enchanted by the mysterious differences, which was a sudden and severe surprise for Ororo. Never had she been looked at like that while at Westchester, save once. But, flattered or not, Ororo turned them all down until the last available men knew not to ask. It was just another mystifying quality of Ororo Munroe.
Ororo turned onto a more rural street, heading up the suddenly sharp rise on the rugged island, and Jean flashed into her mind. She had kept a constant touch with her friend over the years, listening to the new developments at the academy. At first they had all wondered if Jean could handle taking over. Even Ororo had her reserves then, but Jean had pulled through fine. Scott was there with her and the academy was pushing on, even without Charles Xavier. There was talk of even putting together a new team of X-Men, since word of mutant registration was again rising its ugly head in Congress.
Up ahead, Ororo could spot the abrupt pink of the large oleanders lining her drive, their vibrant magenta flowers hanging in heavy clusters all over the thick bushes. She unconsciously began to walk faster, reaching the bushes and stopping, rising up on her tip toes to inspect the nearest, perfect blossom. She had planted them herself five years ago, and already they had grown magnificently, flourishing under the hot Greek sun.
She plucked a small cluster off the closest bush and turned to survey the island, squinting her eyes as the bright light bounced off the shimmering sea and over the white town, reflecting off the buildings. The large ocean liners were sitting at port, docked as their passengers splashed in the extra salty water further up the shore.
Pulling the tie out of her hair, Ororo shook her blinding white tresses out and pushed the two oleander blossoms behind one ear. Then she walked up the drive, watching her long shadow skip across the pebbles and over the tall oleanders.
She couldn't wait to kick off her shoes and relax, to settle into her overstuffed chair with a book and occasionally glance out at the sea to check on the goings of the boats, and on the small ferry to Delos.
Her gaze must have been too caught on her shadow to notice, her attention too busy with digging in her bag for her keys to see the tall figure waiting for her on the porch.
She pulled the ring of keys from the bag and glanced up, the sight before her sending her stumbling to a halt. There, between her body and the front door, stood a man she hadn't seen in over five years. He was leaning against the post of the porch, perched on the last step casually, looking down at her with a neutral face, the same one that had left Westchester so many years ago. To her horror, she could feel that same warmth spreading through her, the warmth that had been absent for so long.
With effort, she swallowed, pushing the warmth away, feeling herself slowly being filled with undeniable anger.
"Ororo," he said hoarsely, as though he didn't know of what else to say.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to contain herself.
"Logan."





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