It was always scent that reminded him, scents that wafted through the mansion or through the streets, of people passing by him as he walked around.
Once it was a mixture of cinnamon and spruce, of a face so pretty, china skin and rose flushed cheeks, eyes so green that it made moss look washed out. Her name escaped him but his heart wrenched enough to make him stop and touch the metal lined cage it was hammering in. He tried so hard to keep the flow of images going but they always faded with the scent, as it passed so did the face and the memory.
Like Marie.
Her scent had been washed cotton, mingled with the sweet scent of her skin, he avoided laundries because of the memories it made him relive. Of her on the torch, her body limp, already cooling in the near freezing wind of the bay. She'd died and the guilt still ate at him, still made him wonder if he could have done better. But the past was a different country now, he couldn't live there, only visit the images that were allowed to bubble up by his peculiar mutation.
Ororo had always been the desert wind, the harsh hit of dust on the back of the throat combined with the scent of water far off in the distance. The southern states were the place he remembered her the most, her grave wasn't even in this country. Some African state he didn't know the name of but they'd worn red paint on their plaited hair, stood tall like she had before age had floored her.
Time never stood still, it passed him by, touched the temples of his hair but missed his skin. Two white streaks lined his skull now, making him into his namesake, reminding him of another face who'd had her own malen hair.
Marie, always back to Marie, always back to the woman who'd made him admit he was human, vulnerable, worth loving in the first place.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and went for a walk again, passing the people around him who no longer remembered the X-Men as living heroes. Only as a statue in the middle of the city, their poses one of readiness to fight. His own form remade in bronze, hands clawed ready to tear into anything that came near, to his side was Marie, her entire body covered but for her hands. She was flying and her ankle was the only part of her that was attached to the rest of the group. Her sculpted features half smiling while her eyes told of the fight she had in her small form.
Behind and above was Scott and Jean, Jean was stood with her hands raised and her hair in a corona around her head. She was Phoenix there, not Jean.
As he walked the streets he remembered the arguements he'd had with her, the joking banter that had progressed into something more once. His hands on her body, her skin plastered to his, about to take what she'd been offering for years when he'd caught a scent of washed cotton. He'd run out of there as fast as his legs could carry him, maybe he shouldn't have picked the laundry closet to drag her into but inside maybe he'd done it on purpose to himself.
Scott had loved Jean, loved her like no other man he'd ever seen love a woman. He cared, touched her, made her complete even when she began falling apart. Phoenix wasn't human, neither was she a mutant, she'd been something else, something older, something unknowable. But Scott had tried, followed her lead, did what was asked of him, loved her till the last moment of his life. He'd been sixty-two when Phoenix had finally had enough of life on earth and it's limitations, she'd asked him to go with her, to travel the stars as she did, as energy. He remembered Scotts face as he'd answered her, the love he'd shown in his face as he realised what she was asking to do to him, what it would entail. He'd just kissed her and Phoenix had taken his soul with the touch of her lips, leaving nothing behind but a couple of burned corpses on the carpet.
Ororo had left soon after, Marie had just rested against Remy her eyes locked onto his own for what had seemed like an eternity before she'd led her half-blind husband away. Leaving him with the mess to deal with, love did that to you, left you with nothing but ashes in your mouth and his mind went to the day he'd given her away. When Marie had chosen Remy over him.
It had been just after a rescue mission, Scott, Bobby, Remy and him were helping to get people on board when Marie had swooped in. Carrying a couple of imjured girls, not much older than her, the scars on their skin showed what had been done to them. Their ident tattoos were just under their vacant eyes and Remy had just frozen, just seeing all three of them stood there brought it home to both of them how close Marie had been to death too many times before. So on the way back Remy had popped the question, she hadn't answered him straight away but he could feel her gaze on his skin for a long time before she answered him. She'd expected him to speak, to say something about it but he'd been too much of a coward to even admit he'd loved her back then. He didn't want the pain of not being what she'd expected him to be, so he denied hearing it what had come next though....he could never forget.
The entire mansion smelled of it, sage and lavender, Marie had dressed the hallway with garlands of it. Winter wasn't a time for flowers, it was a time of herbs and she'd used what had been available to her for her wedding. Seeing her stood there in her simple white dress, gloved up, hair resting on her head, showing her neck. The soft skin of her throat colouring as she saw his eyes drag over her, her whisper sounding louder than her heart in the quiet of the antechamber. "Awl ya had to do was tell me how ya felt Logan, that's all it woulda took."
He knew those few words had taken all the courage she'd had, that she'd loved him, needed him and he'd ignored her, left the love that was in front of his face on the shelf where it had shone just for him. Now it was his job to give it away to someone who knew how valuable it was. He'd taken her arm then and walked her into the chapel, where her dark eyed suitor was waiting. His gaze filled with love for her, knowing how much of a prize he was getting. Remy saw the jealousy in Logan's own gaze but he didn't comment on it, never pulled him up on it. Well not until a few years later, when Legacy hit them all.
The death toll worldwide was massive, they worked tirelessly for months, Logan giving Marie hits of his power when she became exhausted, knowing that she'd never ask him but he'd give it anyway because it was her. She worked herself so hard, giving everything to stop the disease from killing everything it touched.
Pity she couldn't have saved her own family, Micheal was first to go. The small coffin he carried personally to the grave side, after all he'd been his godfather. Harriet was next, seven months old before her immune system finally gave up the fight. Remy held out longest, two years, from the first moment he scented the sickness on him to the final rattling breaths of his destroyed lungs.
Throughout it all, through all the disease pain and death Marie stayed well, just like he had. Hank told them it was because of Logan that she survived, that she'd acquired part of his healing factor. Hank....he still couldn't go into a sweetstore without smelling Hank. Mint and sugar were his trigger's, the large man always having something sugary in his pockets and mint to mask the scent of death around him.
His path took him to the park....she'd be waiting for him by now. Lifting his gaze he could see the kids all around, their miriad colours and skin tones blending in with the rest of the playground. Looking for her hair he found her near the swings, she loved to watch the kids rise and fall. Walking to his seat next to her he let the wood take the age from his bones for a while. Just watching the youth around them sing out their mixed songs and scents to the world.
When her hand wove over his own he looked at her, grey and silver were mixed in with the original white on her temples now. Her skin was still youthful, eyes that had seen nearly seventy years sparkled with fire that wouldn't be extinguished for years yet. Her scent was still fresh washed cotton to him but now it mingled with his own. The scent of their bed and their home, love took it's own time to grow again but nothing worth having is ever rushed. Watching their own grandchildren was enough, knowing that they'd fought their battles with love and hate. It was their time now, a time of cotton and musk, of sheets and love too deep to speak of.
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Story Notes:
This one just popped in there, hope you enjoy it.
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading and I hope you have the time to comment too, Jo.