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Title: Hunter

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of MARVEL comics. I don’t make money on this, so I beg you not to sue me!

Chapter 6: Departure

“You have been absolutely blissful for what seems like a month and a half now, Ororo? What is so amazingly glorious?”

“Everything, Hank,” Ororo beamed from her perch at the kitchen table.

“I’m glad for you my dear. I remember how distressed you were not too long ago.”

Hank was stirring his hot coffee in a black mug. He had his lab coat on and was taking a short break before getting back to business. Ororo had a few minutes between teaching her history class and her geography class and managed to get into the kitchen and grab a croissant before they were all gone.

Her long white hair cascaded around her thin form, which was wrapped in a cream colored, crocheted shawl. Jean called it her Grandma Wrap. She wore a pair of tan corduroys and a cream colored camisole as well.

It had been a month and a half since Logan and Ororo rendezvoused in the twilight hours. Since then she had started sleeping at his place regularly, and it was as if the unspoken pain between them had faded. It seemed to be similar to a small cavity in a strange place. It was there. And it hurt like hell. But only sometimes, and if something hit it specifically. Other than that, it was ecstasy.

Ororo hungrily picked apart her second croissant and laughed with Hank.

“As the resident physician I feel compelled to mention that those are not particularly good for you…”

“I don’t care,” she responded, still beaming and with a giggle.

“Alright, then.”

“What do you mean you don’t care? Those are your Kate Moss jeans. I was there when you bought them,” Jean came down the steps, and opened the cabinet searching for a tea bag. While she looked the hot water pot lifted itself from its hot plate and began to pour steaming water into a shining green mug. Putting the pot back and waiting for her mug to float to her, Jean turned back to Ororo.

“Those are your skinny jeans.”

“They’re not really even jeans.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t really understand what is so revealing about skinny jeans. If you need me I’ll be playing with bacterial plasma before I teach biology,” with that, Hank turned and wandered out of the kitchen.

“What’s up with you, ‘Ro? You’ve been acting funny.”

“I’m happy, Jean.”
“No. That’s strange and all, but that’s not it.”

“Ha ha,” Ororo let the words leave her lips in a dry, sarcastic breath.

“It’s something I can’t put my finger on, and I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. Do you know how hard I’ve worked so I don’t overhear anything I shouldn’t?”

“No one asked you to go out of your way.”

“You’re my friend, Ororo. What’s up?”

Jean sat down next to her but Ororo’s blue eyes followed the croissant that lifted itself from the plate and began to butter itself.

“Nothing. It will all be figured out in time.”

“Are you sure? I mean I know you’re happy, I just want you to know I’m here. Good and bad.”

“I know, Jean.”

“I have to run. I have a meeting with the Professor,” Jean hopped up from her seat and dashed towards the door, grabbing the buttered, jellied croissant, floating above the table, as she left.

Ororo went through her classes and the rest of the day in a daze. Logan was returning with Scott, Bobby and Kitty that night. She hadn’t seen him for a few days, and was desperate to talk to him.

When she arrived at his door that night the familiar smell of cigar smoke wafting underneath the doorway let her know that he had returned. She knocked gingerly on the hard wood and waited for a response.

He threw the door open and kissed her firmly on the lips.

“I need to talk to you,” she stammered.

He just smirked in response and kissed her again.

“I missed you,” she murmured.

For a moment, Logan allowed his palms to linger on her cheeks, holding her beautiful face in his hands. His eyes darted between hers, attempting to see further into the icy waters of her eyes. Fire and ice together. The cold color combined with the prevailing passion.

Slowly running the back of his hand over her cheek and lips, she nestled her face against the warmth of his hand and expelled a sole burst of warm breath.

Other than those three simple words, they didn’t speak.

Carefully, Ororo tugged his t-shirt over his head and smiled. She removed his pants with the same tenderness as he slowly started to take off her clothes piece by piece.

Once again, in the gleaming firelight of Logan’s room, their bare skin glistened and glowed. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her over to the bed.

Placing her in front of him he slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Inhaling deeply, her surrounded himself with the smell of her hair.

They didn’t make love that night. They just lie in that position, spooning. The fire eventually faded to black and the deep rhythm of their synchronized breaths resonated through the room. The deep slumber of a single being.

Ororo lay deep asleep in the early morning hours. Her heartbeat was regular and her breathing steady.

Logan slowly moved about the room like a cat. An open duffel bag sat on the floor, and soundlessly, he placed some jeans and t-shirts and cigars. His meager belongings. He zipped it and threw it over his shoulder in a single motion.

He stood in his beat up leather jacket, jeans and a white t-shirt staring at the bed. Taking a long puff of his cigar, her let a thick circle of smoke flutter away from his lips. He watched her sleep for a moment, and something flickered in his eyes. It could have been fear, and sadness. Maybe even love.

His shoulders heavy, Logan turned and walked out of the room. Silently, he closed the door and headed out to the garage.

He crushed his cigar under his heel and stepped onto his bike. The lonely duffel bag sat strapped to the bike behind him. Placing a sleek, black helmet on his head he jettisoned out of the driveway and into the ghostly remnants of the moonlight. Around him the beginnings of a new dawn glowed a pale turquoise.

When he reached the street he looked back at the mansion yet again. This time there was only fear and sadness in his eyes.

Ororo woke up alone in the bed that morning to the pale first glow of the sunlight and the incessant chirping of the birds. Before she even opened her eyes she knew something was wrong.

Sitting up in the bed she saw the open empty drawers. His smell was gone. Logan was gone.

Suddenly very aware of her nudity she bunched the sheets around her and frantically searched the room for some sort of sign. A small envelope rested on the end table next to her.

Opening it with shaky hands she pulled out the one, square note card. There were only three words:
What goes around…

He was gone.

Suddenly she felt as if her internal organs were on fire. As if all of her rage and her sorrow and her terror balled themselves together and burned in her small intestine. Clutching her abdomen with both arms she rolled into the fetal position and began to cry. The sun outside turned to darkness and it began to hail. Rolling onto her back and splaying her limbs she let loose a scream from her belly. It never met her throat.

She arched her back and tightened her muscles as she silently screamed. No one could hear her.

He was gone for good.





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