An iron heavy silence filled the cabin as the sound of the main engine faded away. Ororo looked at Jean, who looked at Logan. Scott kept his eyes forward, his hands still locked on the controls. You could hear the slow steady breathing of each person, in a kind of anticipation for someone to say something, but no words followed.
No one said a word about the one who didn't make it back.
No one dared too.
Logan grunted as he ripped his seatbelt from his shoulders. He stood there for a second, looking at each one of them, daring them to say anything to him. He was only met with the quiet that had been the whole ride home and he turned to jerk open the hatch door, nearly ripping it from its hinges. The action caused startled gasps from the two women, and Scott remained statue-like staring at his hands still gripping the controls. Jean look at him, she couldn't see his eyes underneath that visor, she never could. She didn't have to, to see the guilt etched across his face. He sat there a few moments longer, his jaw firmly set, breaths coming in and out evenly. The leather of his gloves groaned as he squeezed the controls tighter before jumping out of his seat and running after Logan.
Jean and Ororo glanced at each other before quickly following.
Logan was half-way across the hangar when Scott called after him, the two X-women in tow.
"Logan," he called after his retreating teammate.
The pointy-haired warrior stopped in his tracks, his back straightening stiffly, the voice cutting into him. He whirled to face them, brow knitted together in anger and frustration, lips pressed in a firm grim line.
"Not one word Summers," he growled. "Not one damn word."
They stood there for awhile. It was like something out of an old-western showdown. One man waiting for the other to act so he could react. Logan turned his back on them again when Scott dared to open his mouth again.
"I did what I had to do," Scott defended. "For the good of the team."
Logan spun around again, marching toward them in long menacing strides.
"For the good of the team," he repeated never breaking stride. "Doesn't include leaving someone behind!"
"There were too many Logan," Scott said in an attempted calm tone. "Too many and too fast..."
"Aww, Scotty-boy afraid of the big bad Sentinels?"
Scott hung his head for minute. He knew he hadn't acted out of fear, he was thinking logically and though it killed him to do it, they were forced to escape without her.
"She was already down when I ordered the evac," he said quietly.
"You shouldn't have just left her there," Logan grumbled, a wild fire of emotion burning in his eyes. "She didn't deserve that."
"We could have died..."
"I would have died!"
Logan stepped toe to toe with Scott, standing so that they were eye to lens. He popped his claws, bringing them up to Cyclops's chin.
"The only reason these aren't buried in your heart...You don't have one. You like playing hero don't you Summers? Getting all dressed up in your fancy black pajamas, saving the day, basking in the glory."
Logan's eyes flickered to Jean and Ororo for a second meeting their eyes briefly before staring back into the ruby-quartz glare of Scott's.
"You don't know the first damned thing about being a hero," he seethed through gritted teeth. "It takes bravery, courage, self-sacrifice. Three things you don't know shit about four-eyes. We should have stayed, we should have fought. We could have brought her home."
"I did what I had..."
"You keep saying that if it'll help you sleep at night boy, go ahead and convince yourself all you want."
Scott's shoulders were squared as a million words in defense of his actions ran through his brain. Not one of them sounded any good. His mouth remained shut.
Logan pushed him away roughly into the arms of Jean and Ororo, his eyes burning into each of them.
"Cowards," he spat. "All of you."
The three of them only watched as he stormed away, the click of his boots echoing through the gigantic room. The breath they were all holding whooshed out and the slam of a door signaled he was gone.
"Tell me I did the right thing," Scott said to Jean.
"You did what you believed was right," Ororo said. "Perhaps in time he'll see that."
"No," Jean said quietly still staring at the door where Logan had just exited. "He won't."
Her bed was soft.
It was something he had always liked about being in her room. He would just sit on the end of the bed for hours when they talked, that little accent of hers secretly driving him wild with every syllable. Sometimes she would lean up against him when she talked about her mother. About how much she missed her but couldn't bring herself to call and say she was all right. He would throw his arm around her then, tell her that she would when she felt the time was right. That in time all wounds heal. She would smile up him, those sweet precious lips curled into a little grin he knew she only gave him, and say "You would know something about that wouldn't you?"
Then she would snuggle up closer, so close that her hair was be just under the reach of his lips, and he would stare at it for what felt like hours. The one part of her that he could touch without the risk of getting the life sucked out of him. His hands would find themselves running through it, and his lips would brush across its silky surface. She would squeeze him a little tighter after that, and they would talk. Talk until the sun came up.
He ran a hand across the little indentation on the pillow where her head rested. He squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't a crying man. Tears were never something that made sense to him. If you were miserable, you were miserable. What the hell did little drops of water have to do with it?
His eyes wandered to a picture she had on her nightstand. It was from the school trip to Boston last year. The one she'd blackmailed him into chaperoning. They were on a bench in some park somewhere, his arm around her and her head buried into his side. She was wearing that smile. He'd never seen it before. He wondered who took it. He popped the back off the frame and took out the picture and put it in his pocket.
Now he could always have that smile with him.
Even if it was a poor substitute for the real thing.
He crushed the glass of the frame, the tiny shards cutting into his skin, dripping crimson for a millisecond before the wound closed on itself.
"Can't cry for her," he mumbled. "Can't even bleed for her."
He threw the remaining pieces across the room, the wood splintering on the wall.
He'd broken his promise.
Her first damn mission and he'd broken his promise.
There was no chance to make it up now.
There was no chance he'd ever forgive himself for it.
He opened one of her drawers, wanting to feel something that was hers one last time. His hand shuffled around blindly for a few minutes, his fingers guiding themselves over the smooth materials she liked to cover herself with. His hand stopped when he felt the gentle yet rough surface of the nylon. Her bodysuit. The one she had to wear before they'd found more fashionable methods of protecting her with. The one that allowed him to feel more than her hand.
He pulled it from the drawer, his eyes locked onto the sheer material.
He could see her in it, standing right in front of him. Like the first day she'd worn it.
"How do I look?" she'd said. "Ah feel kinda silly."
"You look fine kid."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
Then she smiled. God he already missed that.
He brought the suit to his face, breathing in the scent of it, of her. Inhaling deeply and filing it away so he could call upon it whenever he needed too. He stood, looking at the bed one last time. She wouldn't sleep there anymore. He wouldn't look at it ever again. Shoving the black bodysuit into his bag he took one last look around the room. He knew they would assign it to someone else. Another piece of her left behind.
The garage had grown even bigger since he first came here. It had too since most of the kids had grown old enough to learn to drive. He planned on taking Scott's motorcycle, but found himself staring and one-eye's latest little joy. A 1966 Cheverolet Malibu, fully restored, cherry red.
Red.
How fucking appropriate.
The more he stared at it, the more the rage inside grew.
He popped his claws without even realizing it, and stepped closer to the car.
The sound of steel screeching underneath his hand filled the room and bounced off the walls. He growled as his hands were a flurry of hacking and cutting, slicing through the steel like butter, turning the classic car into a scrap heap. Despite the noise echoing off the walls he could still hear the door open, he could smell her come in.
"Hey Jean," he said without turning around. "Tell Cyclops I made him a convertible."
"Where are you going?" she asked when she saw the bag on the floor.
"You know I can't stay here," he replied, still breathing heavily from the effort.
"You could," she offered. "You helped make a world of difference Logan. You can't give up now, she wouldn't have wanted you to."
"Don't tell me what she would have wanted!" He shouted slamming a fist into the fender. "She wouldn't have wanted to be left like that! She wouldn't have wanted to see me like this! "She wouldn't have wanted to die damn it!"
"Logan..."
"Shut yer trap red, ain't nothin' you can say."
"Scott said..."
"I don't give a shit what boy scout said, or says, or thinks."
"We have to stick together now more than..."
"Why don't you save your speeches for the Senate Jean."
"Logan, I know you and her shared something."
"What do you know about it," he snarled.
She took a step closer, lightly tapping her forehead.
"I may not be as powerful as the Professor, but I can pick up things on my own."
He retracted his claws as her turned to face her, her grin not doing a thing for his mood.
"Besides," she continued. "I'm not blind."
"Trying to lighten the mood red?"
"Is it working?"
"No."
"You can't leave."
"You can't stop me."
"No, I can't. But think about it Logan. You wanted to stay before. You came back didn't you? You helped then..."
"Not blind eh Jean?" he asked tapping his own forehead. "You must have been if couldn't see why I stuck around."
He picked up his old beat up bag and slung it over her shoulder, walking towards Scott's motorcycle. Jean only watched him silently and he tied the bag down to the back seat. She only stared as he turned the key and kick started it. He revved the engine throwing her once last glance before popping the clutch and squealing out the door. She ran futilely after him, her hair bobbing behind her, trying to think of a single solitary reason for him stop. She watched the bike tear down the driveway knowing that once he cleared the gates he'd never be coming back.
With Rogue gone he didn't have any reason to stay.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
First X-Men Fic, be kind.