Logan burst through the huge double doors of the X-Mansion in a flurry of wind and raindrops the size of bullets. As they swung shut behind him, he was briefly silhouetted against another blaze of lightening. He hadn't even been this wet the last time he had gone swimming (which, admittedly, was a very long time ago).
He was just peeling off his second layer, a soaked red flannel, when a pair of raised voices echoed down the front stairs. As they came closer, he could make out one of the voices as Scott's, but the other - it was his little Marie who rushed down the stairs and across the large hall toward him. Only something was wrong: now he could hear Scott's voice breaking as he called after her, and Marie wasn't running to him, she had pushed past him and he saw, for just a second, the look of pure pain on her tear-streaked face.
Then she was out the doors and gone, and all he could think was that she had only been wearing a thin little sweatshirt over her old bluejeans.
"Logan, thank God!" Scott had come up behind him, and now Logan's instincts clicked in, he turned to run after her but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
"Dammit, Summers, what's wrong with her?" He was frantic now, his little Marie, sobbing outside in the cold March rainstorm. Scott's explanation, when it came, was stilted and laced with sadness.
"Well, y'know, we got a call from some of her folks in Mississippi. And with 'Ro visiting Hank in DC and all ... I couldn't very well ask one of the kids to tell her-" here he broke off, looking to Logan for a sign, but all he received was a look of irritated incomprehension.
"Tell her WHAT, Summers?!"
"That, well, that her father was in an accident," that was all Logan needed. He shrugged his old leather jacket back on over the still-sopping wife-beater he wore, and turned again to the door. "Logan, where are you going?" Swear-to-God, sometimes Scott could be really quite as dense as he had always thought he was.
"Where do you think? I'm going to get her back."
He was outside the gate when he finally stopped long enough to think where she might have gone. The rain would wash away both her scent and her footsteps, so there was no chance of tracking her. He would just have to keep searching until he found her.
For hours, Logan scoured the grounds and forests around the mansion. The storm continued, and in between shouts which were constantly growing more frantic, he thought about the girl he was searching for. She had only been a kid when they first met, and he a hardened wanderer. Since then, she had matured into a young woman of eighteen, and he, well if he had to admit it he had softened over the years. As one of her closest friends, he knew she had left her family for good, but couldn't help missing them. It must have killed her, knowing she had never truly said goodbye to her father. Logan kept walking, his fists clenched into tight balls at his sides. He could never stand to see her cry, and it was physically painful to imagine her alone when he wanted so badly to comfort her.
It was four in the morning when Logan found Marie a few miles from the mansion, soaked and shivering, huddled under the base of an enormous oak tree. As he got closer, he could tell she was sleeping, but even in sleep tears continued to leak from behind her eyelids. He slid down beside her against the tree, and ever so gently lifted her to rest her back against his chest, her knees leaned against one of his own, his arms holding her tightly to him. Stealing a glance at her pale face, he noticed a tear trickle across her cheek to finally perch on her barely trembling bottom lip. It reminded him of that old song, and he began to hum softly. "Raindrops on roses…"
Marie only stirred slightly, and though she didn't open her eyes, she knew who it was whose arms encircled her warmly, who whispered comfort in her ear and rocked her gently all night long.