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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 7: Hunter

Three years later…

The bike was tattered and torn, like its rider. It pulled quickly into the driveway, sputtering gravel behind it. The duffel bag latched to the back of the bike held on by the few threads it had left.

Logan lifted the sleek, muddy helmet from his head and looked at the gargantuan mahogany doors. This was the third time he found himself on Xavier’s doorstep. The third time he had returned to this supposed fight for the dream.

“Third times a charm, right?” he thought as he put down the kickstand and dismounted. Taking slow, careful steps to the doorway he knocked loudly three times.

“I got it! I got it!” Jubilee’s voice rang out through the hall. Pulling open the door, Logan immediately noticed the vast changes. Three years ago she was a fifteen-year-old girl. Tiny and naive. Now she was eighteen years old. Her petite figure was fully formed and her dark hair fell to her shoulders. A pair of overly large DKNY sunglasses had replaced her cheap pink ones and she wore low-slung denim and a halter-top. She had grown up.

“Hey kid,” he muttered with a small smirk.

“Logan!” she screamed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Nice to see you, too,” he smiled and gasped as she cut off his windpipe.

Hank and Jean headed down the hallway chatting. They turned to face the doorway when they head Jubilee shout. Hank had started to grey heavily at the temples and lightly throughout his hair. He was more of a shiny, silvery blue now. Jean looked the same. Still beautiful. Her red hair as tied into a neat knot behind her head and she wore a green sheath dress and tall high heels.

“You came back. I never thought you’d…”

“Jean, I””

“Logan!” Scott’s shout cut through the moment like a bitter knife. “Downstairs. The Professor wants to see you. Now.”

Normally Logan would have fought the order. The blood boiling in his veins told him to do just that. But then he saw Jean’s eyes. They were pleading with him to simply listen this time. It wasn’t worth it to fight this time. He was in the wrong. He felt it on his shoulders since he had decided to return. Guilt is a heavy burden.

“Are you both blind to the fact that this is going to kill her? Her sanity depends on never seeing him again!”

Moments later Logan found himself outside the War Room pacing, waiting for a verdict. Scott was avidly fighting for his rejection. That much he could hear clearly. The Professor and Jean though, they seemed to be on his side.

“You give Storm much less credit than she deserves, Cyclops,” the Professor scolded. “She is strong enough to be your right arm and a solid foundation for every part of this institution…she is strong enough. I will not turn him away.”

“Professor! Charles! He…”

“Scott, please,” Jean turned and addressed her raving husband. “If you trust us, and I think you do, have faith. Faith in my belief in Logan. Faith in the Professor. Faith in Ororo,” Jean’s voice was morose and heavy as she spoke. Her tears were palpable in her words.

“You lost faith in him a long time ago, Jean. Don’t pretend you still believe in him!”

The words stopped Logan’s pacing. He froze and waited.

“I hate what he did to her. I hate what he did to James. However, I refuse to turn my back on someone who knows nothing else. Scott, I thought you understood all of this. Cruelty breeds cruelty.”

“And we were never kind to him?” this time Scott’s voice thundered and spit flew from his mouth.

“Stop this now. I won’t have this intolerance, Scott.”

“He did it to be cruel to her. He wanted to hurt her, Professor.”

“And what proof do you have of this, Scott?”

“I don’t.”

“And where did he say he had gone, Jean?” the Professor asked pointedly.

“He told me he’s been riding state to state, still trying to find Weapon X. As with each time he gets a little further, but the true answers are still out of reach. And now he’s standing outside, listening to this hoping for an answer. And I’m going to give it to him,” Jean turned and marched towards the door, her heels clicking mercilessly on the cold floor.

“Jean…”

“Scott, trust us. He needs us. You turn your back on him, you turn your back on those that need our cause the most.”

“As my successor, Scott, I would hope you’d show more sympathy, dare I say, humanity, in the future,” the Professor exited the room and gave a nod to Wolverine on his way out.

“Welcome home, Logan,” Jean spoke softly and flickered her eyes to the floor to avoid his gaze, before continuing behind the Professor.

Logan looked into the War Room at Scott, who stood gritting his teeth and fuming. In a few violent steps he was inches away from Logan’s face, enraged and staring down at him.

“Take you old room back,” he tossed him the key. “Other than that, I could give a crap what you do.” Scott’s voice was dead, and he turned down the hall and marched away not even allowing a second glance.

Logan was slowly making his way back to his old room when Jubilee came running up from behind him.

“I was sent to say that Hank already told Storm you were back. In other words, get the hello in before it seems too late. New room number though. It’s 356. Bye! We should see a movie!” she just kept moving on her way.

Throwing his duffel bag into his room, and watching one of the last remaining seams split, he closed the door again and turned to make his way down the hall. He’d been dreading this. Last time, when she came back he had the power. This time, she had it all. The shift was immense and uncomfortable.

Dragging his feet to her door, he placed three heavy knocks against the shining wood and hung his head in wait.

The hinges creaked almost soundlessly as to door crept open and Ororo’s milky voice poured out.

“Hello, Logan. Come in.”

This new room was like a small apartment of it’s own. There was a small room that branched off of the main bedroom and a tiny kitchen with a small stove, fridge and table for two. She poured two cups of tea and invited him to sit with her.

“Ororo, can I please just…”

“It cannot be undone, Logan. Know that before you say anything else.”

“I’m sorry, ‘Ro.”

“Apology accepted. You did what you felt was…necessary, I presume.”

Her voice, with its rich warmth was cold to him. The balmy elegance, which kept it afloat, still lingered sensually but she was different towards him. Her words were precise and without passion.

Sitting back in his chair Logan spoke with a raspy whisper, “You hurt me. I just wanted to let you feel it: what I felt. I trusted you.”

“And I you, Logan. Clearly we were both mistaken,” blowing tenderly on her tea she took a long sip before speaking again. “So you’ve returned, now. What do you expect of me? Joy? Fear? Rage?”

“Nothin’,” the word darling sat on the tip of his tongue but he caught himself before releasing it, like a foul curse word.

“Then that is what I’ll give you. Nothing.”

“I have no right…but…I love you. Always will.”

“Then why the hell did you wait three years to come back here and apologize, Logan?” her first hint of emotion escaped.

“The day I left I knew I made a mistake. I’m a stubborn bastard, ‘Ro.”

“I know,” she closed her eyes.

“I wanted to turn around by daylight, but I knew you’d found the card by then. Knew you’d hate me. And then the days passed by, and I still wanted to come back, but I wanted the right time and the right thing to say. Still don’t have either. Never will. So I came back. Believe me when I say I was thinking about you.”

“Did you find the Colonel?”

“Nope.”

“I know how you feel, Logan. I left you once and I have been in your shoes. I know what it’s like to come back and be afraid the one person consuming your thoughts will turn you away again. And on top of it all, you did it to yourself.”

“Ororo, I…”

“One moment. I need to take care of something.”

She slipped into the small side room for a moment. Logan ran his index finger in lazy circles around the rim of his cup.

A few minutes later Ororo emerged from the small side room. Logan felt as if he had swallowed his tongue. In her arms was a toddler wrapped in a sky blue blanket. His skin was the color of coffee with too much cream and he had a wild mass of dark hair. The baby had clearly just woken up, and was sucking his small thumb and rubbing his eyes with a tiny fist. His big, oceanic blue eyes. Not the icy blue color of Ororo’s captivating eyes. A distinct, warm pacific blue. With flecks of navy.

“What’s his name?”

“James Logan Monroe. He’ll be three in a little under a year.”

“My God, ‘Ro. If I had,” he began with barely enough breath to speak.

“I was going to tell you the night that you left.”

At this, Logan just put his head in his hands.

Wriggling out of his mother’s arms, James walked over clumsily on his little legs, and grabbed on to Logan’s knee.

Feeling the small hands on his legs, Logan looked down into the baby’s eyes. Reaching his small arms up and clenching his hands into fists twice, he waited for Logan to pick him up.

Carefully, Logan lifted him onto him lap.

“Hi,” he said barely audible.

The baby just smiled, giggled and waved.

There were a few tears streaming down Logan’s cheeks, and James noticed it. Speaking in clear gibberish, the baby lifted his security blanket and attempted to wipe away the tears.

“He doesn’t want you to be sad,” Ororo spoke with a heartbreaking smile.

Logan smiled weakly and the toddler smiled back.

“He’s developing fine. He can walk, and he understands everything you say. We’re still working on the talking, but that’s normal for his age. It’s mostly gibberish.”

Her eyes softened as she watched her son nestle into Logan’s chest and fall asleep again.

“He knows you.”

Logan lifted his eyes to meet hers.

“I won’t deny him the right to know you, nor you, him. He should know his father. I’m not saying anything for us. I’m not saying anything for the future. What I will say is this: if you sit here now, and chose this life now, chose to be his father, you cannot leave again. So help me Logan, if you EVER hurt or abandon my son, I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and kill you. Healing factor or not. If you plan on leaving again, then leave now. You’ve at least met him.”

Cradling his sleeping son in his arms, Logan felt something overwhelm him. It was bigger than anything he had ever known before. More encompassing that terror or love. More driving than rage. James smelled like sheets and baby shampoo, and like Ororo. Holding his son close to his chest Logan felt his shallow steady breathing, and his little heartbeat and he couldn’t help but smile. This tiny person was a part of him and part of them. So pure. So perfect. He felt himself surrender to his son unconditionally. He forfeited his life and soul to the boy right then and there.

He felt Ororo’s eyes on him and their child.

All the searching through the past had brought him here. It had brought him back to her. It had brought him to their child. She still loved him. Both understood that they could never stop loving each other. Yet, there were still so many unspoken words, and tremendously threaded emotions. Forgiveness sat on a tender wire between their history and their possibilty. She sipped her tea slowly and watched as Logan changed in front of her.

All his anger melted away. All his fury evaporated. The beast was satiated. The hunter had found what he had been searching for.

“Welcome home, Logan.”





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