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Part II – The Scarred Earth


Without the wind whistling over the sparse landscape everything seemed deathly silent. Now even more so, since Ororo found herself staring into the face that she had paused in her mind for the last five years. Suddenly she remembered the oleander blossom in her hair and she quickly removed it, tossing it down on the pebble walk.
"I know this may look a little strange," Logan began, straightening up and shoving his hands in his pockets like a small, guilty child.
"Really," Ororo nearly growled, forcing her heart to remain calm in her chest as she walked up onto the porch, willing her body to keep from shaking. "You seem to be the definition of unpredictable, Logan."
"‘Ro," he tried, watching her as she turned her back on him, finding the right key to the front door.
"Don't, Logan," Ororo said, jerking the dead bolt aside and wrenching the door open, pausing to look down at the bag he had at his feet. She arched a regal eyebrow at it and scowled up at him, sending a silent question his way.
He picked up the duffel bag and shrugged. "Had another lead," he uttered as his best explanation.
"So I see," Ororo sighed, turning and leading him into the house, dropping her keys on the small table by the door. "I assume you want a place to stay for the night."
"Yeah," he said, stepping into the house, his heavy boots clunking on the hard wood floor. "Something like that."
"Something like that?" Ororo asked from the kitchen as she threw down her bag on the table, raking her fingers through her hair in silent anger. She took a deep breath and pulled her hair back into that low ponytail again, composing herself before she turned to face him.
"What else did you have in mind?" She asked, refusing to come too close. He put the bag on the floor and sighed deliberately.
"I wanted to talk to you," he said, his dark eyes hidden with his back turned to the window, the scorching sunlight filtering into the room, making him glow.
Ororo snorted, letting out a cold laugh. "After five years? Logan, what makes you think I would even want to listen to you? You're lucky that I let you into the house as it is."
"‘Ro, I think we can both be adults about this," he growled, taking a few steps forward as Ororo stood her ground, glaring at him.
"Good. It's about time you realized that," she hissed back, ice blue eyes cutting.
Ororo watched him walk up to her, stubbornly refusing to step back. She suddenly picked up that familiar smell of him, and she remembered, letting all the quiet memories flood forward.


"It can only be a matter of months," Jean said under her breath. "Maybe less, maybe more. It's hard to tell at this point."
Ororo sat silently at the kitchen table, a cup of tea set before her, spreading her hands on the cool wood and watching the steam rise from the hot liquid.
"But how is he doing, Jean?" Scott asked, leaning forward with both elbows on the table, his open palms supporting his forehead.
"Not well," Jean sighed, rubbing her blood shot eyes wearily. "I'm doing everything I can, but it doesn't seem to be enough."
"This is Chuck we're talking about here," Logan replied gruffly, sitting sprawled out in his chair. "If anyone can get through this it's going to be him."
"I don't think you realize the severity of the situation," Jean sighed, playing with her wedding band. Rotating the golden ring around her finger had become a nervous habit, and Ororo had caught her friend doing it much more as of late.
"Well, can't you take him to a real hospital or something?" Logan asked, frowning over at Jean.
"He won't let us," Scott said, shaking his head.
"And even if we do," Jean sighed. "He's too far gone. I don't want to risk moving him at this point."
"So you're saying there's nothing we can do," Logan said, voice rising in anger. "We're all just sitting here waiting for him to die. Is that what you're saying, Jean?"
"Logan, that's not it at all," Jean shook her head vigorously. "It's just that the cancer has begun to spread and I can't stop it."
"That is Xavier we're talking about," Logan growled, hitting the table hard enough to make Ororo's tea cup jump, nearly spilling its contents. She looked up, her vivid blue eyes taking in the seething anger uncoiling in Logan's face. "We've been sitting around here since this as hit talking about death and making all sorts of unneeded arrangements. He's going to pull through this."
"Logan," Jean tried, reaching out to grab his arm, only to be shaken off.
"I'm not going to sit around here like I'm in a coma," he said, shoving his chair back and standing up.
"Logan," Ororo said suddenly, standing up as well, catching his gaze with hers. He stopped and stared at her, the intensity rolling off his body shocking her. She paused for a moment, watching him cautiously. "He's slipping," she managed to say quietly, keeping her eyes locked on his. "He was slipping before you returned."
"Fuck this, ‘Ro," Logan snarled, pushing away from the table. "I'm going for a ride."
With that he turned and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving them gathered in silence.

Weeks later, the mansion was obviously changing, silence growing in the places that were once the loudest corners of the house. Ororo sat staring at her desk in the empty classroom, trying to find a reason to do the work that had been backing up on her over the past few days. There were ungraded quizzes and essays to look at, but she couldn't force herself to pull the first one down from the stack she had before her.
She remembered the last time she spoke to Charles Xavier. He had smiled at her, lifting his hand to close around her's certainly. She knew that he hadn't been afraid. Not for himself, or for them. He had always been like that.
Without notice, the first tear slipped down her cheek. Then a second, and a third. She folded her arms on the desk and lowered her head, trying to control the sobs that wracked her body. But she couldn't find the strength in her, so she remained like that, crying until she drifted to sleep.
A light shaking woke her and she jerked her head up, immediately lifting a hand to push her disheveled white hair out of her red rimmed eyes. She turned in the chair and saw Logan there, looking down at her with concern written all over his face.
"Are you okay, darlin'? He asked, frowning deeply.
Ororo let out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. "What time is it?"
"Nearly midnight," he said, keeping the attentive gaze on her.
Ororo groaned and rubbed her eyes. "It's too late. Have I been here that long?"
"I don't know," Logan said, taking her arm. "You should probably go get some rest. The funeral is tomorrow."
"Today," Ororo corrected quietly, standing up only to find that her legs would not support her. Luckily, Logan reached out automatically and caught her, scooping her up into his arms.
"This is not necessary, Logan," Ororo protested, beginning to struggle, but he only let out a small growl, pressing her to him harder as he left the dark room.
"Don't argue with me right now, ‘Ro," Logan said, climbing the staircase. "You know it's nothing."
"I know," Ororo sighed, letting her head rest against his shoulder, her long frosted hair cascading down his arm as he made his way to the last floor, unceremoniously kicking the door open and entering the cool room. She had left the doors open to her porch, and a cool autumn breeze was lifting the lace drapes, billowing through them and sending them into the air like clouds.
He let her down and she climbed onto the bed, sitting with her legs dangling over the side.
"Seriously, ‘Ro. Are you alright?" He asked, squatting down in front of her, looking up at her with a calm expression.
"Do you know how long I knew him?" Ororo asked, looking over his head, staring at the walls with dilated eyes. Before he could answer, she continued: "He was like a father to me. To Jean and to Scott. It's like losing my family all over again."
After a silent moment, she looked down at Logan, who was there before her legs, balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet. Without a word, he brushed her silky white hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.
"At least you have a family to lose, ‘Ro," he whispered hoarsely, brushing away a newly formed tear before it could trickle down her face.
She shook her head, giving him the faintest hint of a smile. "You have a family, Logan, and I mourn for them as well."
She felt his hand still on her face for a moment before moving back to weave into her hair.
"I'm so sorry, ‘Ro," Logan murmured, bringing his other arm to rest on the bed, looking up at her with startling black eyes.
She didn't say anything. Instead, she let the steady pressure of his hand lower her head until her hair was brushing against his face, almost to the point where their noses were just barely touching, and she closed her eyes, feeling another tear slip down her cheek.
Logan rubbed his fingers through her hair, feeling her scalp underneath the mass of white silk. She breathed heavily, taking in his scent with each breath, coming to memorize it quickly.
He let out a small, strangled noise and pushed back, running his hand down to her chin to push up her face, looking up into her eyes as she slowly opened them. What she saw in him shocked her.
Ororo could suddenly feel her heart pounding in her chest as he fell to his knees in front of her, abrupty closer than before, his eyes glossy, as though he were seeing her for the first time. The rush of warmth through her limbs made her gasp, the feel of his other hand on her waist making her eyes flutter shut again.
"Open your eyes, ‘Ro," Logan growled softly, and she complied, finding him closer than before, their faces hovering so close.
She knew this was not a smart thing to do, and she knew that they would both come to regret it. Yet there was something inside her that seemed to overpower her instincts, telling her to forget about logic for just one night, insisting on forgetting the grief for just a moment.
"I'm here," she whispered into his mouth, just before he kissed her.
"I know," he said, tightening his arm around her waist as he picked her up, laying her back on the cool white sheets.





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