Cyrus Jones 1810-1913

Made his great-grandchildren believe

You could live to a hundred and three

A hundred and three is forever

When you're just a little kid

So, Cyrus Jones lived forever.

If there was ever a time when Logan didn't feel like his sails were all ablaze, it wasn't one he remembered. The memories he kept were tense and tangled, knotted threads pulled taut. Logan hoped his stolen memories were sweeter, if only because he liked to think that he'd seen better times, once upon a time.

Logan moved with purpose. No more a rover, he didn't wander, didn't stray. Wasn't the rebel on the Harley, hitting town in a cloud of dust and fists, and taking off again before it settled. The man he had become was not the man he'd been before, and maybe wasn't the man he'd been before that, but he was a man with whom he could live. Deliberate and reliable, Logan bounced from team to team with measured aim. He went on Avengers missions and was back in Salem Center for dinner. He took care of his school duties and was napping on the Avengers' couch by mid-afternoon. Every once in a while he'd catch a night off and there'd be beer and a book and, in the winter, hockey on ESPN.

It was alright by him.

Still, every once in a while, something caught Logan in a way he wasn't expecting; and he didn't have time to tense his muscles before it hit him right in the solar plexus, leaving him feeling gutted and old.

Like when he'd thought, off-hand, that the roses weren't looking so rosy. He'd known then, really known, that Ororo wasn't coming back to take care of them. They were on their own.

And then again when he'd mentioned, out of nowhere, that he hadn't seen Jubilee around lately and everyone went quiet. It was Gambit who finally said that she was in Burundi, working for Worthington's Mutantes sans Frontieres. Gambit had given him that implacable, knowing look and Logan felt like a world class fuck-up. He wasn't sure what was worse, that she hadn't bothered telling him she was going or that he hadn't noticed she was gone.

And then there'd be Summers, in a private moment, smiling at Emma. Maybe it wasn't exactly the same way he'd smiled at Jean, but the feeling behind it was same enough. Logan knew Jean was gone. That wasn't something he ever forgot. But when Scott smiled at the Emma, Logan felt the loss just a little bit harder, even though he'd let go of Jean long ago. He'd pushed her out of the nest she'd made of his feelings for her, pushed her out and hoped she'd fly. She had, in a way, for just a moment; and then she was gone again. So gone that he couldn't imagine how she'd get back to them this time. Gone for good.

Maybe that was for the best, all things considered.

But that was the worst of all, that traitorous thought. Logan was beginning to think he was getting too old to care. That he was getting too tired. That he was starting to forget. It wasn't like when Captain America grinned and suggested that they let the kids have a go. They watched Peter Parker defeat Absorbing Man with a package of Gummi Bears and jawed about how life in the Capes sure was a funny thing. Logan hadn't minded that. It was one thing to feel wise and smug, while some hotshot kid went out there like he had something to prove. It wasn't like that, anymore. Most of the time Logan just felt all used up. Like everyone moved on around him while he stood still. Always in the same place. Never changing, except for the memories that were leeched away, one by one, until he couldn't remember enough to miss the people he should have been missing. And when the people and the memories were long past gone, he'd still be there, just the same as always.

He'd crack a joke. Crack some skulls. Crack a beer. Over and over. Day after day. Year after year. Same old, same old, and same old man. As it was, so it shall be.

From now until the end of the world.