It was almost a primitive existence, the life he chose to lead. It was as if the world had slowed to a halt and decided to start spinning backward, allowing him to dwell silently before the fire that twisted sparks up to the heavens but died in the smoke before they could reach the tree tops.
On the shores of Alkali it was nearly always the same. Cool, damp days followed by deep, silent nights. The only thing that moved was the light blazing down from the stars to reflect on the softly lapping tide. Near Alkali he could always see the Milky Way extending one misty arm out into space, the galaxy spinning so fast it seemed stationary as it continued its crash course into Andromeda and the oblivion beyond.
He had been there long enough to memorize that path, to know the courses of the stars in their seasons and feel as though he were witness to history ending itself somewhere on a distant horizon. He sat idly by, sometimes wondering what day it was. Time had been thrown to the way side, unimportant next to the growing need of finding the past. Sometimes the future looked inconsequential as compared to the things he would never know. After all, how can someone have a future if they never had a past?
The fire was dying down, glowing in embers that warmed the small camp and cast shadows into the forest. He didn't know what time it was, but he did know that sleep would not wait. He stared at the dying embers, passing away into darkness that he only knew. Dreams were not fitful on the Alkali.
Around the lake there was always a film of fog that formed on top of the trees, dusting everything with soft beads of moisture. In a way, it always reminded him of her. This he considered strange, since he didn't know enough about her to be reminded of her - to have something spark a connection. In the morning it was always there, surrounding him in a pocket that dissolved the outside world, burning off with the sun only to return again in an ever constant cycle.
Perhaps it was the tenacity of it, but even then he wouldn't know.
It always came as a surprise, then, that she would be the first in his dreams. She had been for some time, although she never remembered it no matter how many times he told her so. He didn't remember the first time he realized she had taken the center stage. He didn't even know why. It gave him a lack of understanding why it was always her he saw walking through the mist on the shores of the Alkali.
No sooner did he close his eyes when he heard her.
"It is a beautiful night," she said, and he didn't open his eyes.
"They're always the same around here," he returned. She laughed lightly.
"The beauty would be lost on you, Logan," she said.
"Beauty fades," he answered.
"That is a lie," she responded, and he finally opened his eyes and looked up. There she was, sitting across from him, a fully built fire in between, looking at him with bemusement. She was right. It was a lie.
"I can't wait until you're an old crone, 'Ro," he said, playing now. She smiled.
"Oh, and you believe you will see that day," she retorted.
"Won't I?" he asked.
"Not at your rate," she answered.
He was quiet and she sobered, looking up at the sky. Andromeda was inching closer.
"How's Marie?" he asked, searching solid ground. It was always hard to find with her.
"Growing up," Ororo answered.
"All the guys are lining up to see her, huh?" he asked.
"More or less," Ororo nodded. "She misses you still."
"That apply with anyone else?" he asked.
"Are you fishing for something?" she returned.
"No," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "That is also a lie."
"So you caught me," he shrugged.
"You have been gone quite a while," she said, serene as she always was. "Many things have changed that you surely must have predicted."
"What's changed?" he asked. He always asked that question, and she always smiled, as she did now.
"That would ruin the surprises for you when you return," she answered, like she always did.
He sighed. "Who says I'm comin' back?"
"Why am I always here?"
He stopped, glancing at her oddly. Throughout the nights she never remembered that she was a constant factor. These conversations differed little from dream to dream. Only now did she admit she remembered them all.
"You remembered," he stated. She just looked at him.
"I always remember, Logan," she said simply. "Why would I not?"
"This time will be different," he assumed.
"Yes, it will be," she nodded, and smiled.
~
"You don't dream about them anymore, right?"
Explanations, while comforting, were hardly a presence.
"No," he answered.
"Must be a relief then."
"Yeah."
Marie looked out the window, reaching up one bare hand to press her fingertip against the glass. The cool pane was clear and clean, reflecting the water than ran down the other side of it in streams as the storm raged overhead. She moved it away and smiled at the print she made.
She looked back at him, not exactly smiling, her dark green eyes holding all the emotion she could show him.
"Then what are you doing around here?" she asked. "You've probably got better places to be."
"Not exactly," he shrugged, walking up next to her to look out the window. She watched him instead, brushing back a stray strand of white hair that had been working itself free of her ponytail.
"I miss you," she looked away from him. "You know that? We all do, really."
"That's the biggest lie I've heard in a while," he kidded her and she rolled her eyes.
"Come on, Logan," she said. "What's so important up there? Why can't you just stay?"
"I'm not like that," he said. "You know me, darlin'. I'm not cut out for it."
She snorted, tugging on her gloves and arching a brown eyebrow.
"You know? You're wrong," she laughed. She pulled on the rain coat she had at her feet and walked over to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Outside," she answered him curtly. She swung open the door and walked out into the rain.
"Rogue!" he yelled at her.
"What?"
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm gonna go find you, if you're so concerned."
He watched her small body troop out into the rain. He groaned.
"I'm right here, Rogue."
"No, you ain't!" she yelled, and began to run.
~
Questions were pointless, but he never learned that. The storm was only getting louder, knocking on the windows and beating the trees against the roof. He laid on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling in the circle of light from the lone lamp at his table. It was harsh yellow, and he was glad when the power was cut and the room was plunged into darkness.
Ever since he had stopped dreaming of them he was no longer afraid of these sudden changes. There were no stainless steel tables and faceless men. No hydraulic needles, bags of blood, and well armed doors. There was nothing now but this room, silent in the dark, occasionally lit by lightning bolts.
He wasn't even concerned when he could sense another body in the room, but the presence made him smile, a smirk that flickered over his features as a test run for the real thing.
"I saw you had come back," he heard her. Soft sounds of bare feet padding over carpet accompanied the voice.
"For the time being anyway," he answered. "Don't know how long it will last."
There was a small pout on her plum cherry lips.
"Don't you think I want you to stay," she asked. "Just a little bit longer, even?"
"Didn't get that across to me last time," he said, not moving as she crawled up on the bed near his legs. He could see her pale skin in the lightning strikes, red hair brushing her freckled shoulders. She smiled, tucking her bottom lip against her teeth.
"Perhaps not then," she shrugged, wandering up his body while he laid motionless and not stopping until she was face to face with him, nearly brushing noses.
"You're not taking into account what I'm doing now," she told him, brushing her lips against his. She smiled at the look on his face, running her mouth over his bottom lip. In place of the smirk was a dipping frown of confusion. Jean pulled back slightly and pushed back her hair, glinting with rubies as the lightning flashed through the exposed windows, exposing her shoulders as she tugged some piece of clothing he couldn't identify with a name off her torso.
"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts now, Logan," she chided him, letting the filmy garment fall to the wayside and pool forgotten on the floor.
"Jean," he started, beginning to sit up only to meet a forceful hand placed firmly on his chest, pushing him back down. He let her, staring up at her as she settled herself on top of him, looking down at him through a veil of red hair.
"Logan," she played, running her fingers from his chest to weave ruthlessly against his scalp. "Haven't you dreamed of this?" she asked, which he finally smiled at, finding the irony.
"I'll admit to that," he answered her. She gave him a satisfied smile.
"I've had these dreams since I met you," she whispered against his mouth, kissing him. "I never let on, but now things are so strange. It feels safe now, and like how things always should be."
"You're speaking riddles, darlin'," he told her, and she laughed.
"No, I'm not," she rested her forehead against his. "Is this not what you want?" she asked after a minute, taking his larger hands and placing them on her waist, feeling him out. "Tell me."
"Jean," he started, but she shook her head.
"It's a simple question. Simple answers only."
When he said nothing but watch her face in the stark lightning that struck the black room, she rocked, running her hands up his arms.
"What do you want, Logan?" he heard. "I want to give it to you."
"I don't know," he answered truthfully.
She only shook her head and he felt the softness of her hair trace along his jaw with the movement. "That is a lie, Logan. What do you want?"
He stared at her and closed his eyes, turning his head away to evade the question. He could feel her breath on his neck, near his ear.
"Logan," he could hear, a quiet voice that seemed filled with laughter at the mere possibility of such a scene. "Tell me."
He turned back, opening his eyes. He wasn't surprised to find himself looking up at sapphire eyes. For once, he didn't ask questions. This question was pointless, and she knew it as well as he did. Finally.
Fluidity was a virtue sometimes and he simply reached up, burying a hand in her hair. He grasped the thick clump of white in his fist, tangling the strands between his fingers. He didn't pull or push her but raised himself and met her smiling lips. She pressed her fingers against his shoulders, leaving pale marks under the pressure as he turned them over, nearly tumbling off the bed. As soon as her back met the sheets she rolled again, dangerously close to the side of the bed. She pulled back slightly, her breath coming in soft puffs that dissipated over his lips. Her hair was a mess, tangled around his hand that held on firmly while rolling down his arm and into her face.
The storm had stopped. Only the soft pattering of rain against the window panes could be heard, the jagged paths of running water reflecting on the walls with each distant lighting strike.
"Is the storm over?" he asked.
"For now," she answered, letting her hands drift. There was a quiet moment. Both said nothing while the thunder rolled miles away toward the sea. Only the lightning strayed away, sparking in her eyes. There were no questions to answer, he thought. As if she heard him, she nodded.
He tugged her back down to him and left the edge of the bed, rolling into the shadows. The lightning ceased, leaving in its wake the silver sides of clouds and a dream.
~
When he woke he half expected the rays of the sun beaming through the windows, warm and yellow like the summer. He half expected to even feel cool, clean sheets warmed by body heat. He almost even expected her.
Instead there were the tenacious constants again, the sound of lapping water before he opened his eyes to a barely blue sky clouded by the fingers of dawn weaving through a blanket of mist. The pine trees were rocketing above him, pointing forever at the starless sky and the barely visible crescent moon.
"Shit," was his first reaction, sitting up and digging the heel of his boot into the soft ground.
Everything was cool and damp, the mist rolling swiftly through the trees. He laid back down, staring at the sky, pushing away the itching feeling of what waking up next to her must have been like.
"Shit," he grumbled again, rubbing at the new growth of stubble that added on to the weeks of previous growth, and laced his fingers behind his head.
He turned his eyes and stared out at the lake, the dark waters still under the mountains of mist-hidden trees. This was going to get old eventually. By the time he was back on his bike and roaring down the mountain roads he knew. Nothing ever changed on the Alkali. Nothing would ever be yielded by the lake or the land. Everything was drowned in the mist and the water and the trees.
He gunned the bike, looking to the south where the sun spent its days, considering the thought of home, of Rogue, of her. The mist was burning, clearing in his path.
Nothing ever changed on the Alkali.
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