Title: "Ever Lasting Love"
Author: Pirate Turner
Dedicated To: This is the sixth story in my annual 13 days of Halloween series dededicated with endless love to my wonderful, beloved Jack and our darling children.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: True love is always ever lasting.
Warnings: Het, Mild Slash, Established Pairings
Word Count: 7,464
Date Written: 1-3 October, 2011
Disclaimer: Logan/Wolverine, Emma "White Queen" Frost, Sean "Banshee" Cassidy, Scott "Cyclops" Summers, Jean Grey-Summers, Everett "Synch" Thomas, Catspaw, Angelo "Skin" Espinosa, Jubilation "Jubilee" Lee, Joseph, Rogue, Kurt "Nightcrawler" Wagner, Generation X, the X-Men, Hellions, and all other recognizable characters mentioned within are ﾩ & TM Disney and Marvel comics, also not the author. Everything else is ﾩ & TM the author. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter One

He had been following his keen sense of smell, tracking her blood ever since she'd left the mansion hours earlier. Had he not been so distracted by the resident trick or treaters begging for treats, he would have responded faster to her need for help that was stronger this night than ever before but yet still remained unspoken, but he hadn't been there when she'd needed him. He'd heard the punch from clean across the mansion's grounds, but by the time he'd reached where the attack had happened, both parties had been gone. He still itched to wrap his hands around the neck of his supposed leader and squeeze the very life out of him for what he'd done and thought he would get away with, but he'd known that time was of the essence and that if he didn't reach her soon, it would be too late.

Logan cussed himself for everything he was worth and Scott a thousand times more as he rode through the city's lit streets. He had to swerve many times to keep from hitting a ghoul, goblin, or a costumed child as he rode Hellbent on a single mission this most important night. He shouldn't be having to pick up Scott and Sean's pieces. He should be at his favorite hangout, drinking and dancing the night away, but instead he was out here, racing through the city against a clock whose final chimes might have already struck in search of a woman who hated him and who, he thought with remorse, had every right to do so.

He was a killer himself, and he wasn't the only one amongst the X-Men who was in possession of a past that was every bit as brutal, heartless, and murderous as the woman whom he sought. Yet they'd all been given second chances. They'd all been forgiven for their sins, and yet they'd been unable to find it within themselves to even truly consider giving her a second chance. He snorted in self disgust. Hell, Rogue had taken everything one of his oldest friends held dear, making Carol suffer worse than just out right killing her ever could have, but he'd forgiven her. He'd fought against Emma, but she'd never hurt any one close to him like Rogue had hurt Carol, and still he'd been unable to find it within himself to truly give her a chance to prove that she wanted to be good until tonight.

And all along, deep inside, Logan had known that the woman was good. She only wanted to forge a better tomorrow for the young mutants of the world, which was what the X-Men were supposed to be all about. A part of her had died when her beloved students had been killed, and the rest of her had fallen apart when her new students had walked away from her. Logan'd heard that story many times from Jubilee, who still doubted she'd done the right thing and whom, every time she'd come to him, he'd told her she'd done right to follow her gut instincts. And yet she and the others had turned from Emma for doing the only thing she'd been able to do at the time to really protect them. A thing Logan himself would have done and never thought twice about.

It was their refusal to give the poor woman a second chance that had driven her straight into Scott's arms, and it was there that she'd found a new Hell. He'd known about it long before any of the other X-Men had. He'd known Scott pushed her, berated her, and used her. He'd recently started smelling blood on her without any fights having been at hand on some of those days. He'd known what was happening, and he'd ignored it until their anguished voices had caught his attention this afternoon. Even then, he'd tried to shut them out and ignore Scott screaming that Emma would never be half the woman that Jean was.

He was right, of course. Emma would never be Jean, but that didn't make his actions right. Indeed, that made his taking her into his bed as a source to relieve his frustrations all the worse. He dishonored Jean and hurt Emma every time he kissed her, and Logan knew what went on behind their closed doors. He had known for some time and ignored it all the while. He knew they didn't love each other, that Scott used Emma to try to convince himself he was over Jean and Emma did whatever Scott asked of her to keep her place amongst a team whose members hated her when the only man she'd ever loved had been Sean.

That realization had hit Logan this afternoon like a ton of bricks. He'd expected her to retaliate against Scott, but he'd never expected to hear her shout at him that it was fine that she was no Jean for he certainly had never been anywhere close to being Sean. Scott had reminded her that Sean had never loved her and his heart had always belonged to Moira instead, and Logan had growled then as he growled now, his claws extending at the sound of that lie.

Sean had loved Emma, but he'd not known what to do about it as he'd already been engaged to Moira, who was dying from the Legacy Virus, at the time when he'd fallen in love with Emma. Logan knew that to be the truth for Sean himself had gone to him for advice about it once while Logan had been up in Massachusetts visiting Jubilee. He'd told the Irish man wrong then, and he'd kicked himself ever since his death for doing so. He'd told him that, had he been in his boots, he would have made Moira happy while she still lived and then confessed the truth to the true woman he loved after her death. But he'd never guessed how guilty living that lie would make Sean feel or how heavily he'd turned to whiskey. He shook his head, a savage growl blowing out from between his curled lips and glistening fangs. He'd also never known how damn stupid the Irish man could be until he'd heard that he'd gone headfirst into the jet.

He continued to cuss and reflect upon all the wrongs he, Scott, and Sean had made to Emma until at last he found her. She was standing at a railing on a long bridge, gazing out over the dark water and the way the city lights and what little of the stars and moon could be seen reflected into its black, shimmering depths. She was bleeding harder, and the scent slapped him straight into the nose as he pulled in beside her. He killed his engine and walked up to stand beside her.

Neither of them spoke at first as he joined her at the railing. He linked his muscular arms over the top rail and followed her gaze. "Makes ya think 'bout how little room we take up in this world, huh?" he remarked softly. "Makes ya wonder if ya ever made a difference? I've talked to some o' yer kids over th' years, ya know, Frost. Sometimes I wonder how much difference I've made, but I know ya have. Jubes' told me how many times ya saved 'em."

She did not look at him but only continued to gaze out at the water as she spoke to him in a crisp voice whose urgency he was not supposed to be able to note though he did. "Save it, Logan. I neither need nor want your pity."

He snorted. "Hell, darlin', I ain't pityin' ya." He popped a claw and examined the way moonlight sparkled on his adamantanium. "Ya do that more'n enough yaself."

Her eyes flashed, and she turned to face him at last. He pretended not to notice the blood pouring from the cuts on her face. One of them had happened when Scott had hit her, but that one had since been joined by a couple of others. "How dare you!" Emma seethed, her blue eyes blazing.

"Oh, I dare all right," Logan answered carelessly with a shrug. "I dare 'cause I hate seein' th' woman my friend, Sean, cared so deeply for gettin' ta be so weak in her old age."

"Silence your tongue before I silence it for you!"

He shrugged again, turned his claw over, and looked at the other side of it. "Ya could try, darlin', but then ya'd never see Irish again, would ya?"

She paused, cocked her head slightly to one side, and gave him a long, steady, and thoroughly scrutinizing look. "Sean is dead. He has been for years."

"Don't mean ya can't see him."

"I am in no mood for games, Logan," Emma snapped. They both heard her heart pounding within her chest. "Spit out whatever your playing at. I am not Jubilee, one of your children, or one of your sweet, little, X-Men friends, and I have no patience for games. Tell me what you're getting at before I rip it from your mind myself!"

"Fine." He turned to look at her and carefully hid his grin. He knew he had her full attention, and though almost every other man he knew would be terrified to see the great Emma Frost seething at him as she currently was doing to him, Logan was secretly very pleased to see her depression turning back to fury. He could deal with anger a heck of a lot better and easier than he could a crying, suicidal woman who'd never admit to being either, let alone both.

He nodded. "Yeah, Irish is dead, but this is Halloween, th' one night th' dead come back to life. This is yer night to see him again, Frost, an' I can take ya to him if ya like. I gotta date there myself, though, an' th' clock's tickin', so ya'd better make yer decision fast."

"You lie. It's not possible to come back from the grave!" Emma exclaimed, shivering inside. It couldn't be possible! Sean was gone. She'd never see him again, and yet . . . Yet she could have sworn she'd felt his arms around her before several times, especially when she lay in her lonely bed and cried her blue eyes out, and there had been a couple of times when she could have sworn she'd heard him call her name so clearly that she'd berated herself for going crazy.

Logan shook his head. "Ya ain't crazy, Emma. Ghosts're all around us, but most people can't see or feel 'em. 'Course most people haven't dealt with as much death an' dyin' as we have. Fact is: Tonight ya can see him. I can take ya to him. Ya can talk to him, if ya don't do anythin' else." His eyes met hers. "An' ya bein' a telepath, ya know I'm not lyin'."

She gulped, feeling more nervous and afraid than she had since the fateful day Sean and her students, the lot of whom she'd come secretly to think of as the second family she'd never had, had walked away from her in hatred. Her next question came in a rushed, hushed breath that she had not intended to speak though it surged, screaming, through her heart and mind and out her lips. "Do you think he would even want to see me?" She quickly added, "I mean, that is, if it's even possible."

He wouldn't tell her Sean loved her. That was his call to make, his truth to reveal. "Only one way to find out." He sheathed his claws and held his upturned, gloved palm out to her. "Yer ride to him's here, Frost. Th' only question is: Are ya comin'?" Her heart pounded louder than any he'd heard in a very long time, and he knew she loved Sean every bit as much as Irish had loved her, as much, he reflected with remorse, as any one had ever loved another person. She put her hand in his, and he wasted no time in carrying her to her destiny and himself to his.

To Be Continued . . .