He had known where to find her but had followed the scent nonetheless, taking his time and giving her space. It was a spot he usually picked for himself when he had a particularly heavy thought on his damaged brain. Coming from the mansion he had been downwind of her so he cleared his throat to let her know he was approaching.
"Go away!"
He had been right. There were tears and heartache in the inky shadow of the giant oak tree. Logan moved out of the moonlight to join her in the darkness.
"Go away, Logan! I don't want to talk about it!"
He lowered himself to the grass and sat beside her. She pushed hard against him and hit him with her small fists but had no effect on the heavy, metal-laced frame. Finally she curled up in his lap and sobbed. Not knowing what else to do Logan simply sat and held Megan until she was ready to talk.
"Is it true? Is he dead?" came a muffled sniffle hidden in his flannel shirt.
Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Who?"
"Santa Claus, is he dead?" Megan moved so she could see him. Even in the shadows there was nothing the eleven-year-old couldn't spot in the dark with her cat-like yellow eyes. "Lance said…"
"Oh, Lance said, huh? Since when do you believe everything Lance says?"
"It didn't smell like a lie when he said it."
Logan sighed. "Sometimes people tell you lies but, because they believe them, they smell like the truth."
"So Santa Claus isn't dead?"
"I didn't say that." Damn those eyes were boring into him. "If you want to ask me something come right out with it."
Megan nodded softly. Logan would tell her the truth. "Is Santa Claus dead?"
"It's a long story."
"I don't want a story." Hurt loomed in her gaze. "I want…"
"I know, the truth, but it's a long story. You want to hear it or not?"
Sniffle.
Taking that as a yes, Logan began.
"I told you I didn't remember anything about my past, right? Not my birthday, or my age, or anything, it's all a blank. The only name I remember is Logan but I'm not really sure if it's my last name or my first name. That's why I don't like to be called Mr. Logan.
"So I woke up in the woods one night, in the snow, not wearing anything and not knowing who I was or where I was." There was a gasp and Logan paused for his audience to fully appreciate the situation. "I didn't know for a while what I was. After some time I spotted some humans and realized I was one of them but when I walked toward them they ran. I learned my lesson and just watched them after that. Listened to what they said and figured out I knew what they were saying. I found some clothes and started to get closer and even started mingling with them, learning how they behaved."
"Was it scary?"
"It was more confusing than scary. They said and did a lot of strange things and it took me a long time to learn how to fit in."
Megan wiped her nose on her sleeve. "What's this got to do with Santa?"
"I'm getting to that," Logan replied. "One of the things I had a hard time with was Santa. I heard a lot about him but never saw anyone or smelled any strange scents around houses where children received presents, and I know what a reindeer smells like - they're hard to miss." He watched the small girl's face fall. "So I went to a library and looked him up."
"What did you find out?" She was hanging on his every word now.
"You know how Santa Claus is sometimes called St. Nicholas?" There was a breathless nod. "Turns out there really was a St. Nicholas, only he wasn't called a saint while he lived. He went around doing good things for people, especially children. Now he didn't want `em to know he was doing these things so he did things in a tricky way. One night he hid gold in the socks belonging to a poor girl as they dried on the mantle piece when he found out she didn't have any money. There were other stories, but it boiled down to this: people started learning by his example. They hid treats in their children's shoes and provided unexpected little presents when the kids were sad or extra good."
"But…"
"Let me finish. A lot of times parents would do these things near Christmas and they'd blame it on St. Nicholas. Even after he died, they continued to do the good deeds in his name to let his spirit live on. The names Santa Claus and Kris Kringle are just different countries' take on what he was called."
"So he's dead?"
"Yes and no."
"But…What does this have to do with you?"
"I'm coming to that. I thought he was dead, too, when I found that out. I thought it was another myth, just like God."
"God's not a myth!" Megan's features contorted with surprise and horror.
"You have to look at it from my point of view, remember? I didn't know anything and I didn't know better. Not long after that I got into a fight. I ended up killing a man and found out I wasn't human after all. I was a mutant. I thought I was…I ended up trying to kill myself."
Her eyes filled with tears. "You killed someone?"
He nodded solemnly. "I did. Out in the snow, with the animals, I learned that life was kill or be eaten. I thought the same rules applied to the human world, but I was wrong. It felt wrong. I knew what I'd done was really bad. I ended up killing someone else on accident and I tried again to end my life, many, many times. I wouldn't die. Each time I'd wake up just as I had been before." He watched as her hand unconsciously clenched his arm. "I wanted to die, Megan. I became desperate, willing to believe in anything. I prayed to God to let me die. It didn't work. I had to live and live with what I'd done. So I became angry. I hated the idea of God and nice things like Santa Claus. I thought they were stupid, human things that didn't apply to bad animals like me."
"What happened then?" asked a very small voice.
"God answered my prayer." His gaze turned inward for a moment. " I finally met death and realized I didn't want to die."
"How did you meet death?"
"When I met the answer to my other prayer, although I didn't know I'd really been praying for it. I met Rogue. I met someone who really cared about me and wanted to know me. She touched me and that's how I finally met death. You know how dangerous her mutation is?"
"Yes," Megan breathed.
"Well, I accidentally hurt her and I knew she was going to die. I thought I had killed another innocent person and I cried out for help. She reached over and touched me, used my mutation. She could have killed me, but she didn't and I felt what it was like to be near death. I didn't like it and I realized I wanted to live. So, you see, God answered my prayer."
"How long was it? Between when you prayed and when He answered you, I mean."
"Quite a few years. I think He answered me when He knew I was ready for the answer."
"So you believe."
"I'm…beginning to."
Megan studied Logan's face for a while.
"My mom's sick. I've been praying to God a lot to make her like she was before but He doesn't seem to be answering. So I wrote to Santa Claus. I thought…well. And then Lance said he was dead."
Logan blinked but said nothing as her actions the past few weeks became crystal clear. She had been so happy and frantic to get the play up and going, coming up with the idea to have a show for the cancer patients at the hospital during the week of Christmas. Then, as the production neared completion she had become exceedingly nervous, barely muttering through her lines, helping Marie with the costumes and makeup and Jubilee with the set, exhausting all her energies in the endeavor. She hadn't eaten much and wasn't sleeping well either. Her father had come to pick her up every evening and then returned her in time to practice for the play. Now everything made sense.
"What can I do?" Logan asked simply.
Megan shook her head. "Nothing. Thanks for talking to me, Logan. I'm not sure I understood what you were trying to say, but thanks. I won't tell anybody what you told me. I promise." She gave him a hug and sighed. "You know what the worst part is? I have to sing that song before the play opens."
"So?"
"I can't sing it. I just can't. I thought it would be a good idea to have a carol before we started the play but now I'm not sure that was such a good idea. I can't look at my mom and sing anymore. I just…can't."
With that she wiped her nose on her sleeve again and crawled out of Logan's lap. Straightening her shoulders and her cap, she walked back to the mansion. It took a minute for Logan to follow her.
"Megan!" Jubilee was frantic as she handed the child her prop. "Kiddo, this is the middle of dress rehearsal! You don't just walk out…" She paused as she noticed that the child's makeup looked a little streaked. Were those tear stains? "Well, you're on in five minutes. Can you get in your place? Remember what to say?"
There was a mute nod before Megan took the crutch and walked to her spot, ready to become the smallest and lamest of Bob Cratchett's poor children.
Jubilee wasn't the only one who noticed that Tiny Tim was missing the exuberance needed to carry Scrooge's heart into the future. Several times the rest of the cast looked her way in askance, wondering what was wrong with little Megan.
When the rehearsal was over and the costumes were packed for tomorrow's performance at the hospital, Scott and Logan struck the simple set, loading it carefully in the truck rented for the occasion.
"You found her, what's up? Why is Megan so sad? What made her burst into tears like that backstage and run off?"
There was a long silence and Scott figured this was going to be yet another time when Logan decided not to answer questions. So he was surprised when Logan asked a question of his own.
"Do you know where I can find a hymnal?"
The fake Santa handed out the gifts to the patients in the cancer ward. The cafeteria of the hospital had been rearranged so that pillows, chairs, wheelchairs, and even beds could see the stage set up in the corner. As the pillowed man in the garish red suit waved and brought smiles to the faces of the pale children and adults that attended the evening's festivities, Megan watched from behind the makeshift curtain. Families had come to be with their loved ones tonight and, sure enough, there was her dad sitting beside her mom's wheelchair. Their faces were glowing, too, even though Santa passed them by.
Megan swallowed the lump in her throat. She hadn't told anybody but Logan she couldn't sing tonight. She didn't even know if she could be a happy Tiny Tim. Her ordeal last night had shaken her faith to the core and right now she needed a miracle if she wanted to keep that smile on her mom's face.
"Oh, God, send me an angel," she whispered as the Santa left and the lights dimmed.
More than once Jubilee had asked her if another child should take her part. Megan shook her head. She couldn't let her mom, down. She just couldn't. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Summers pull the cords on the pulleys that opened the curtain. She was now out in the open, up on stage, alone. There was a long pause while she tried to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling over onto her cheeks. Her mom had the most beautiful _expression on her face. She was even wearing the scarf Megan had given her to cover up what was happening to her once perfect hair.
The silence was becoming awkward now and Megan felt her cheeks burn and she tried to open her mouth and sing. She honestly tried but nothing came out. A warm hand clasped hers and she looked up into Logan's dark eyes. What was he doing? He couldn't sing. No one had ever heard him sing.
A strong, solemn tenor rose in the darkened room:
God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.
Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's pow'r when we were gone astray.
Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
Oh tidings of comfort and joy.
Her voice came to her at last and she joined him in singing two other verses of the carol. A low, steady voice complimented by a soft, sweet angelic one filled the cafeteria and set the mood of the play.
From then on Megan was in rare form on stage. She was in good company. The audience loathed Samuel as the evil Scrooge and gasped when the ghost of Christmas Past literally flitted through what was surely a solid wall. The big giant of Christmas Present gained huge laughs with a broad Russian accent before teaching Scrooge about what Cratchett's life was really like. And Christmas Future, with a couple of terrifying small explosions for effect, gave more than one person the willies with black and red eyes glowing underneath his black hood.
But it was Tiny Tim who became the hit of the play as Megan did her best for her mom. When the play had ended with Scrooge finding redemption, the lights came back up and the characters mingled with the audience, talking with the sick children, whose eyes still sparkled with excitement.
"That was a one in a million performance," said Scott as he and Logan began taking the set down and loading it on the cart.
"Yeah, they did good," Logan grunted as he turned to take down the curtain.
"I was talking about you."
Logan stiffened but said nothing as they finished the job.
---
"It's called remission," Megan said as Logan sat beside her on the garden bench a few weeks later. "It doesn't mean she's well, but she could stay happy for a long time before it comes back."
"So God answered your prayer," said Logan.
"No, He never did. See, I was praying for Him to make her just like she had been. Then I finally got what you were saying. He wasn't giving me what I asked for because it wasn't the time for it. So I changed my prayer." She smiled up at her hero and teacher. "I asked Him if He could make her happy and He did."
"What about Santa?"
"I think I got what you meant about him, too. He keeps living as long as we let him, right?"
"Right." Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Any more deep thoughts."
Megan giggled. "Not really. Not unless you count the one about angels."
"Angels, huh? You need a guardian angel now or something?"
She patted his arm. "Nope. I already have one."
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Story Notes:
Yet another Megan fic. Warning: this is a Christmas story with all the angst, tears, and smiles included. I'm not responsible if you feel like you need a box of tissues afterward. Dedicated to Sandra, whose smile will always be missed.