In the End Only Love Matters

by Darlin

Wolverine and Storm have shared a lifetime together, now it's time to let go. If interested there's a very short epilogue to this in my story collections, Snippets, Preludes, Epilogues, Bits and Pieces.

Comics » X-Men » In the End Only Love Matters

Author: Darlin

Rated: T - English - Romance/Tragedy - Reviews: 21 - Published: 05-24-07 - Updated: 05-24-07

id:3555012

In the End Only Love Matters – by Darlin

Disclaimer – I don't own any of the characters, they're all Marvels.

A/N - I wrote a couple one shots while on vacation though I should have been working on AS&CW – sorry for the delay there. Yesterday I watched the Fountain staring Hugh Jackman and got inspired. I stole the title for this from another story I started years ago and may never finish; it just seemed to fit, after all it's not wealth or fame but truly love that is all that matters in the end.

-xox-

Laughter. It rings out like bells, chiming full of joy and welcome. Laughter. It's rare in this house. The blinds are always drawn; the room's dark, seldom does sunlight enter. A stray beam perhaps with dust motes drifting in its shaft, but no more than that small hint. It is nothing like it was of old where sunshine was like water, plentiful and life giving. Now it's nothing but darkness bringing gloom . . . and death.

The laughter fills him and frees him for an instant and in that instant he's happy, as he used to be. But an instance is fleeting and in the end is it of any consequence? And yet he's known a thousands wonderful instances – with her.

Long ago and for many years they sat in sunshine, basking in the warmth of rays that seemed as if they'd last forever. Their feet dipped in the cool lake with minnows darting just within sight but always out of reach and water spiders gliding over the surface, dragonflies soaring above and croaking frogs hidden by lily pads and grass. If the sun could smile this is what it would be like. And her laughter was like a warm embrace. She still thinks his jokes are funny. He knows they're not. She glows in the sunlight. He always wants to touch her soft bronze skin.

It's still lustrous though it has lost it's resiliency over the years and her cheeks sag as does her jowl. She hates all this but he doesn't care. If she dyed her hair no one would guess she was near the end of her days but the white hair, so shocking in her youth, is as white as ever and now quite appropriate. It's just as beautiful though considerably thinner now. She's taken to wearing scarves to hide the parts of her scalp that show. She hates the lack of eyebrows and lashes that have grown white. She wears mascara now whereas before she wore no make up, needed no enhancement. She doesn't mind the hair loss in other places, secret places only he has privy to.

The blinds are still drawn. They're always closed now. He wants to raise them, let the sunshine rush in like a tidal wave to clear the room of the encroaching doom. He feels the darkness has taken hold of them – of her. He wants to fight it, destroy it and pull her from the brink. He can't stand thinking of her falling into the endless abyss, leaving him forever.

Her laughter draws him. He's missed that beautiful sound. It's not really musical but hearty and full, even bawdy at times. Her happiness matches her appetite for everything she does, it's ferocious though few know or ever will.

From the dark living room he wanders down the even darker hallway until he comes to their bedroom. He lingers at the door however. It isn't that he's not used to seeing her aged and yet ageless face or the frail body she resides in now, it's fear that holds him back.

Her laughter caught him, held him – saved him. It was that deep bold laugh that had made him look past the reserved Amazon that he'd first met. It was her laughter that humanized her. Not at all dainty or timid as he'd expected. She was a mass of contrasts that intrigued him. Once that controlled demeanor was set aside, even for an instant, he'd seen the true woman within, wildness let loose. She reminded him of himself.

"What?" she'd asked the first time he'd heard her laughing.

"Huh?" Mouth open wide he'd just kept starring.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

What could he say? That she was real, not the prim and proper dictating woman he'd thought she was? That maybe she was even likeable?

"What?" she asks now as he slowly enters their room.

"Huh?" he replies, confused, lost in memories.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks but after so many years her question is laced with bitterness for all she does to hide it. Self conscious of her old age when he is still young but how could she not be?

"I missed you."

"Missed me?"

"Your laughter. I miss that."

She looks at him with wide eyes full of wonder. The bitterness fades. No matter how her breasts have drooped or her hands twisted with arthritis he has continued to love her. She suspects he may always love her even when she's gone but she wouldn't hold him to it. She wants him to be happy, wishes he would let her go and find a younger woman, someone who could give him children, someone with firm perky breasts and a hearty laugh full of life because the rest of their life is ahead of them.

He comes to sit beside her on their bed there in the darkened room. The reason for her laughter, his gift to her – a tiny kitten, scampers over his lap and back again then over her thighs, playing with anything that moves. She's enjoying its antics, wiggling her toes teasing the creature who takes the bait and leaps at the movement beneath the quilt that covers her. He feels a strong, persistent and familiar pressure just behind the bridge of his nose and though his eyes are watering he refuses to give in to the tears he's been fighting all month. And it isn't because he's ashamed or embarrassed he simply can't stand for her to know or even guess.

Death. He can smell it. It's coming. Death, like a storm gathering, that mystery feared by all. Death. Come to take her from him.

What would be left when she was gone? Emptiness he'd lived with before, loneliness, bereavement he had suffered before and would again. This would be different. He had nothing to compare this with for he had never loved so completely before. It had been inescapable. Memories, precious memories, memories of her and of them would haunt him always like a dream relived each night. Or a nightmare. Never tangible but always there on the edges of his soul, clinging – the only way he can hold onto her when she's gone.

There's her laughter again. He wishes he could hold it, capture it somehow, save it in a jar to be opened later when he won't be able to stand the pain any longer for he knows that time will come and often. How to stave it off? This was the price of love. He'd accepted it long ago because he couldn't live without her but now . . .

But now, no, this isn't the time to think of what will come and so he clears his mind as best he can. He watches his wife and the kitten. They're a sight. He grins despite himself. She's genuinely happy there in the dark, unseen in the shadows. She's still so beautiful. Her smile – teeth as white as ever, lips as sweet to kiss – lights her face up like golden sunshine. The kitten mews gently when she lifts it to her chest whilst smiling at the small creature. He's never seen her look more glorious.

"You're beautiful," he tells her.

"Hah! I'm not."

"You are, to me. Always."

The kitten takes advantage of her hesitancy and wiggles free. Her eyes follow its movements and she smiles that smile that never fails to touch his heart.

"You know that, don't you?" he pleads, feeling the unwanted tears fighting through.

"What I know is that you're crazy."

"For you. You have to know that, 'Ro."

" Logan . . ."

"You don't have to hide in here, in the dark. You're the woman I married, the woman I chose to stay with till . . . till forever."

He'd almost slipped, had almost said – till death. He'd not once used that word in her presence. He abhorred that word. He hated the thought, the inevitability, the looming misery to come.

"You're the sweetest man."

He had to laugh. Sweet? She was the only one who'd ever thought so.

"Open the blinds if you must," she says giving into him as she usually does if he sweet talks her enough.

"I don't have to . . ."

"You do, you want to, you know you do," she teases him.

"I just want to see you – see you in the sunshine and laughing like . . ."

It's as if they're one as they hold each others gaze. Though he doesn't finish his statement she understands him. No one's ever understood him as she has. He already knows no one else ever will.

"Then open them," she sighs.

Her voice has grown weary even weak but he doesn't notice. Heart racing, he's up and at the window in a few steps. With a loud whoosh the blinds rush upwards till they can go no further. He jerks the cord snugly to the side to keep them in place. They both blink, caught in the sudden glare that Ororo can actually control if she chooses but she makes no effort to send clouds to hide the brightness. Bold warm sun fills the room. The kitten looks fascinated at this new development and begins to chase leaf shadows in a sunbeam, his tiny paws batting playfully.

"I'm old," she murmurs, afraid of the light and what it reveals of her.

He sits beside her, draws her to him, kisses the top of her head where her hair meets the white silk scarf she wears.

"You're as beautiful as the day I first saw you, darlin'," he says, needing her to know this.

" Logan!"

"Sssh, you fuss too much," he says, his lips warm on her earlobe.

"I'm ugly."

"You're being silly now. Look in the mirror; you hardly look your age."

She never ever sought out a mirror now. She was old though by no means ugly, and truly she knew this but it didn't change the fact that he never aged, never changed. She was thankful she wasn't wrinkled; her brow at least free of all but a few fine lines easily hidden with a fringe of hair. But the creases on either side of her mouth are deep and she hated that as she hated the sagging of her face that no amount of exercise could hold back.

"I thought I destroyed all the mirrors in the house," she says, finding her sense of humor again when he kisses her lips lightly and persists in teasing her with tiny kisses all over her face.

With her eyes closed he is blocked out as is the light she now views as her enemy and she feels as if she's never aged, feels as if she's the same as when they first fell in love and he'd surprise her with these same little intimate treasures, kissing her repeatedly. She loves this man fiercely even after all their years together and through fights that would have toppled any ordinary couple and now, now even when it was time to finally let go.

She opens her eyes again when he settles besides her lying as still as she. Only the kitten moves on their bed. This, this is what life was all about; being in the arms of your mate whom you'd spent a lifetime with feeling total peace and contentment. Only one thing was missing. Her memories had waned but she too remembered their days by the lake with the sun shining down upon them as if giving them its blessing. She'd forgotten how dearly she loved the sun and being outdoors.

"Open the window for me, will you, darling?" she urges.

He is up lightning quick raising the window easily despite that it sticks from being so little used this year.

Wind rushes in tousling his hair. The sudden gust surprises him and she laughs. When he turns back to her, eager to hear her laughter again, he's further surprised to find she's at the edge of the bed on her hands and knees, her lacy gown caught beneath her awkwardly. The kitten attacks her fingers until she catches hold of one of the thick oak bed posts. She tugs at the white silk gown adjusting it so she can move more freely.

White is Logan 's favorite color on her. He loves the contrast of white against her brown skin. It reminds him of when he makes love to her and afterwards when they lie together, legs entwined, hands clasped, the sharp contrast of skin color that is so perfect to him. She looks a little shyly at him once she's righted herself. He stands there looking at her, grinning, just happy for this time together and she relaxes in his smile returning one of her own. It's a rapturous smile that lights her face and as the sun shines over her for that instant she looks as young as when he first met her.

"If you could see yourself now," he murmurs but she waves him off laughing at his insistence.

He pulls his mobile phone from the holder on the side of his jeans and quickly steals a picture – something to keep for all time.

"Oh don't," she moans, half pleased and half embarrassed.

"Beautiful," he breathes. He has to turn back to the window; his face is twisted in pain as he strives hard to check his emotions.

"Are you doing this?" he whispers as he lets the wind dry the tell tale signs along his cheeks.

She nods, smiling though he can't see her. Oh, how good it feels to have the wind do her bidding once again. Something so simple for her, the wind at her command but it tires her now. The breeze weaves like slender fingers through the long hair beneath her scarf. It feels delicious, the wind, this moment and she wants to share it with him.

"What? 'Ro?"

Her arms around his waist startle him. Too busy trying to cover up his imagined weakness he's caught off guard. His phone falls to the floor but he turns to hold her without looking up at her. She's not so tall now having lost inches as she's aged but she still stands ramrod straight and is taller than him.

"You shouldn't be up," he reprimands but he's glad to hold her like this.

"Let's dance," she replies, her face lit with happiness.

"Now you really are being bad, darlin'."

"If I were young you'd dance with me. You used to," she says with a soft smile.

"Blackmail, eh?" he whispers; his breath tickling her slightly as he nuzzles her neck.

" Logan, don't," she says, pulling back afraid of what he will find – an old wrinkled neck with loose folds of skin. She pulls the front of her gown higher to cover the neck that he sees in a totally different light.

"You worry too much," he says, taking her hand in his and pulling her back to him, moving slowly in a simple slow dance.

"I've good reason. I'm old and wrinkled," she says as she moves along with him, thoroughly delighted despite her words.

"You smell as good as you always have and you look as good, taste as good – better even. Can I help it if I can't keep my hands off you?"

"I want you to marry again," she says abruptly and their dance comes to an end.

His mouth closes tight and his eyes grow wide as he breathes hard through his nose. Tears cloud his eyes – angry tears but also tears of grief.

"Don't say that," he grunts. He sniffs, angry that he has, and he lets her go, wiping at his eyes roughly. But he soon grabs hold of her again, pressing his face along the side of her neck so he's hidden from her but can still feel her against him.

They say nothing. She lets him cry silently. It touches her deeply. She knew he loved her but he's never shown vulnerability like this before. His tears are reaffirmation of what they have shared and all they will miss. Yes, she knows death is near though she would never let him know she's aware of this. Confined to her bed now for months (how the doctor would chastise her for being up and dancing at that!) she'd sensed she was near her time. She hadn't wanted him to know, didn't want to worry him. She wanted him to be happy, to live life fully even while she was forced to let life go. Now she sees he won't be able to go on as she'd hoped and that troubles her but the revelation also fills her with immeasurable and horridly selfish joy. He loves her and will love her even when she's gone. She bends her head just slightly so her cheek rests against his, not caring that his is damp from tears and rough with stubble.

"I love you," she says once she thinks he's regained control.

"Do you?" he asks, not looking up at her but just enjoying the feel of her too thin body in his arms.

"Very much I'll have you know," she says wanting him to know this with all his being.

"I love you too, 'Roro you don't know how much," he mumbles into the side of her neck as he squeezes her gently.

When she sighs he looks up at her.

"I'm tired," she whispers.

"Here, darlin'," he says and quickly but carefully gathers her up into his arms then places her back in their bed.

The kitten is disturbed from its nap. It looks up inquiringly then lays its tiny head back on its paws and closes its eyes.

"You really love me don't you?" she asks, seeking his hands as he sits beside her.

"You don't even know how much, Ororo."

"You're the sweetest man, the sweetest husband."

"Nah, I'm not."

"Yes, you are my dearest heart."

"Not by a long shot."

"You are to me."

"Well, if I am it's because of you," he laughs.

"Thank you, Logan."

"You going to tell me what you're thanking me for?"

"For really loving me even when I look old enough to be your grandmother."

"Maybe old enough to be my mother but, hell I like older women."

She laughs. He climbs into bed with her, careful not to disturb the kitten as he places the covers over them.

"What made you think I wanted a kitten?" she asks.

"Don't know." He truly didn't. A mother and two little girls had a box full of squirming kittens outside the grocery store that morning. Some instinct had told him it might cheer her up along with the flowers he'd bought for her. He was glad it had.

"I'm tired," she says again. But a slight smile forms when he kisses her cheeks and then her lips. "Too tired to make love," she giggles, no longer so uncomfortable with how he sees her.

"Want me to shut the window?"

"No, no. I wish I could go outside but this will do. It's perfect. This moment, this day, it's just as it should be," she breaths as she snuggles against him. Her eyelids flutter sleepily and she smiles, content in his arms.

Perfect. He'll always remember. All the gloom to come and all that had lingered as she refused to let him see her in anything but shadows during her long illness feels as if it's fled. If he has to live another lifetime without her he will always remember this one moment, an instant for all eternity. He will always be thankful for this day, the best of days after so many bad days, this new memory they've made.

It is all they have left for it comes as he knew it would. Death. Too soon! Boldly, not surreptitiously like a bandit treads. It was greedy, steady and demanding, embracing his wife and stealing his heart as it stole her life. He knew it the instant it struck but she, sleeping soundly, went effortlessly. The sun still shone bright, the kitten purred peacefully as it napped and Logan cried freely for the first time in his long life.

~Not quite finished ~

If you're interested in reading a short epilogue I wrote one several years ago which you can find in another story of mine that I posted in 2014. It's called "Snippets, Preludes, Epilogues, Bits and Pieces" which will be a collection of essentially bits and pieces to other stories that I've written.