Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men and this fic is all for my amusement.
Author’s Note: This idea came to me, I’m not quite sure why, but I decided to write it anyway. If you’ve read any of my other fics you’ll be aware that I do love a bit of angst and this fic is quite sad (I hope! Some might say corny!!). It’s only a short one but I hope you enjoy none-the-less, and if you want to, drop me a review to tell me what you thought. Thanx, M’ikosan-7,xx
Movieverse
Rated: U
‘On the Breeze’
The day was blustery and somehow that seemed befitting for the occasion that was taking place. Logan didn’t move, he didn’t even blink when a sudden gust blew the skeletons of scattered dead leaves into his face. The accompanying grit didn’t do too much to add to the thin film of moisture that already clung to his weary hazel eyes. His hands hung at first limply at his sides but as time progressed they scrunched up into tight, angry balls at his sides, the stem of the red rose in his right hand almost being crushed by the action. He was only dimly aware of Kurt Wagner’s soft, German lilt, somewhere that seemed to him to be far off. Because all he could hear at this moment was HER voice. It filled his ears, it filled his heart, it consumed his soul...but he’d never hear it again. Storm was gone...
Logan’s family surrounded him now, in the Xavier mansion grounds; his good friends Scott and Jean, the now not-so-green X-Man Bobby Drake standing with his surrogate daughter Rogue, Peter Rasputin, whom over the years had become a close and trusted friend and of course, Charles Xavier. But it was his closest friend, Nightcrawler that was charged with the saddest duty today. The newly appointed priest had the task, the most unfortunate task of delivering the eulogy for his best friend’s wife. This felt like the X-Men’s first real loss. When they’d thought they’d lost Jean, years ago now, it had been devastating, completely heartbreaking. But, somehow, she’d come back to them and then the ‘death’ didn’t seem so...real. They could almost believe, now that they had fought foe, after foe, after foe that they were invincible. Last Saturday had proved their confidence misguided, at best. For today, underneath the rustling branches of the large, majestic oak tree, where they had married, Logan was burying his beloved...his ONE.
Obviously, the whole school was here to morn the loss of one of the X-Men’s founders, one of the courageous few that had dared to stand up to discrimination and wouldn’t lie down under the weight of the hatred that was being directed towards her kind. She was the heart of the team, its bastion of integrity, its conscience. Anyone who knew her couldn’t help but be inspired by her, by the ceaseless hope she emanated. Logan was absolutely convinced that she had saved him from his downward spiral. But now, he had lost her.
Every member of the X-Men had gone over that fateful mission a thousand times since it happened and no doubt would a thousand, no, a million times more. Rogue would wonder, if she’d gotten to the F.o.H member sooner could she have drained him; Jean would wonder, if only she’d used her telepathy maybe she could have warned Ororo; Kurt would wonder, if only he’d teleported to her he could have gotten her to safety and Logan...Logan hadn’t had it out of his mind for even a second; if only he’d thrown himself in front of that laser gun that half a second sooner...she wouldn’t be in a wooden box, being lowered into the earth that she loved so much.
Kurt was incanting a prayer in Latin now, crossing himself and going about an ancient ritual that meant absolutely nothing to Logan and brought him no comfort what-so-ever. Though the rest of the ‘congregation’ appeared to take a little solace, but to a heartbroken Wolverine, he could not bring himself to pretend that it was helping. It would never bring her back and right now, that was all he wanted.
“Logan?”
He looked up from the deep pit to see a black clad, red-eyed Jean Grey-Summers at his side. Confused for a moment, he looked down when she nodded in the direction of his hands, and there was the traditional red rose he’d been holding for close to an hour now, ready to be thrown onto the coffin. The ceremony had come to an end and the final act was to be played out. For a moment Logan stood, staring helplessly at the blood red petals, feeling the eyes of everyone focused ceaselessly on him. But he couldn’t bring himself to move, he just gazed at the flower in his leather gloved hand because he knew that once he’d tossed it down into the depths, everybody else would follow with theirs and then it would be over. It would be the point to move on and he couldn’t bare that, he couldn’t bare the thought that his Ororo would be forgotten, that time would swallow her up in its unending forwards march. He heard Jean call to him once again, beckoning him to offer his last gift to his wife.
Professor Xavier manoeuvred past Bobby, who held a silently weeping Rogue in his arms, stopping just before Logan. He said nothing for a moment, and then, telepathically, he called, # Logan, please---we understand, we share your loss, but you have to let go. #
Logan didn’t reply, he was still gazing at the cut flower, destined to be buried in its own premature death, with his wife. He didn’t give the Professor any kind of verbal communication, for at this moment, he was incapable. But Charles did perceive the rage, the hurt and the torment that were tearing apart an already fractured, violent and angry mind.
# Remember Logan, you are not the only one who has lost someone dear to them. # He looked up intensely at Logan until the feral X-Man met his piercing blue eyes. When he did, with eyes that couldn’t contain the pain he was feeling, Xavier said, # you have to be strong---he needs you now more than ever. #
As if on cue, Logan felt a small hand force its way into his left one that had been involuntarily bunched. “Are you O.K Daddy?”
James clutched at his father’s hand, his round cinnamon face, caressed by mousey coloured curls, twisted into an expression of confusion and loss that it was hurtful to see in one so young. In truth, at five years old, the boy had little idea of what was going on. All he did know was that his mother had not been there to bathe him, to play with him in the afternoons after her classes nor to read him the stories she nightly told him or to tell him the tales from her far off homeland. All he had left now was his father.
As Logan turned to his son he felt the warmness of the tear that had escaped, trickle down his wind chilled face. And there before him was the reason that he hadn’t fallen to pieces completely, because like he was all the family James had, mutually he was all the real family Logan had too. He had to be strong now, no matter how weak he felt inside. “I’m fine son.” He tried his best but his voice did crack slightly as he replied, though he covered it with a hard fought smile for his boy.
Comforted by that, James looked down onto the coffin that held his mother and then, somehow knowing what he should do with the rose he held in his small hand, tossed it onto the light coloured wooden lid with an inscribed gold plaque on its breast. In the silence of those gathered the thud it made as it came down onto it could be heard clearly and it was like a watershed, the final toll of the bell. Buoyed by his young son’s bravery, Logan let go of the flower he had so desperately clutched to, letting it fall into the hole. And then he moved on, allowing the procession behind him to do likewise with their flowers, one by one...
After everything he’d gone through with Weapon X and his subsequent struggle to find himself, Logan had found his life here, in a quiet, leafy area of New York State, with the one person he never, in a million years expected to meet. And though she was gone, she had given him something to live for; she’d given him the greatest gift in the world. His son was what he would live for now. The fear of life and his past were gone now and although he knew in his heart that he would never love another as he loved his ‘Ro, James gave him hope.
At least he had that...it was something that he could hold onto, which was more than most people were lucky enough to have.
~The End~
You must login () to review.
