Author's Note - Please Read

I've changed a lot since I last wrote for this site; I'm an adult now for one thing. I know I've abandoned and deleted a lot of fanfics, including Genetic Legacy which will probably never be finished - but I'm not that person any more. I can promise you, this fic WILL be finished, however long it takes.

Anyone new to X-Men or who wants a refresher course should refer to my profile, where I've linked an X-Men Quick Start Guide.

The events of the first three X-Men films should be taken as canon for this, up to Jean and Scott's funeral. The appendices of X3, the two Wolverine films, and First Class/DOFP should be ignored entirely.

Introduction

"... starting out the day with some clouds, but by about eleven we should all be enjoying the sunshine once again..."

Logan scoffed at the weather forecast as he walked past one of the mansion's lounges, talking to itself long after the last person had stopped watching television. Sunshine. Right. That assumed you didn't have a grieving weather witch around. He looked out of the window at the perpetual gloomy drizzle, and shook his head before continuing towards the kitchen to get a beer.

As soon as he opened the door, he had to duck to avoid being hit by a flying whisk, the gale inside threatening to blow him over. "Storm!" he shouted, knowing full well what was causing the indoor tornado. "Cut it out!"

The winds died down almost immediately, revealing Ororo Munroe sitting huddled in a chair, in the middle of the devastated room. "Sorry," she whispered, not taking her eyes off the cape in her lap, part of the uniform she had worn two days ago. It had been such a short time since Jean's death... Scott... the Professor...

Logan hesitated, torn between just getting a beer and comforting the woman he had slowly come to care about. He sighed, knowing that just a short time ago he would have chosen the beer without regret, and deliberately turned his back on the fridge. He had chosen to stay with this team, and apparently that meant having to comfort each other. A moment's searching found him a chair that looked relatively intact, and he sat next to her.

"I can't stop thinking about them, Logan. I'm supposed to be the leader now, and..."

Logan interrupted her before she could finish blaming herself. "Don't. You gotta take some time first. Get over it." He wished someone else could come in and take over from him, someone better at the emotional stuff.

Ororo gave him a look. "So I should just take off? Like you do whenever there's a problem?"

Ignoring the personal jab, he shrugged. "Didn't you say flying calms you down? Before all... this got started?"

"Yes... I suppose I did," she replied quietly, remembering their conversation that day, before Jean's first death. "I might make the weather worse if I try to use my powers..."

Taking the cape from her lap and pushing it into her hands, Logan shrugged uncaringly. "Go on, 'Roro. You need it."

An hour later, Logan glanced out of a window. He could still see Ororo, flying high circles above the three graves, and it was still cloudy, but at least the rainstorm that had been slamming into the mansion for the last hour was finally starting to lighten. He could only guess that meant her mood had improved a little bit, a guess that was confirmed when she began drifting downwards. The cloak he had convinced her to wear billowed behind her, then blew flat against her body as the wind changed under her command.

As Logan watched, Ororo suddenly stiffened. Thunder crashed overhead in response to the sudden agony shooting down her body, and helpless spasms gripped first her left leg, then spread over the rest of her body. Almost blinded by the pain, she reached behind her, to the source of the pain, tugging at her cloak. It came free, and the syringe Ororo saw tangled up in it was enough to stop even the pain momentarily, as icy fear gripped her. All she could do as she fell, her powers failing even as fresh spasms gripped her, was scream.

Logan felt something crack in his left ankle as he landed, and pain lanced up his leg. Most people would consider jumping out of a second-storey window a bad idea, but pain was nothing new to him and the damage would heal. He blocked out the agony and sprinted towards Ororo as she fell, too far away from him. He was only halfway there when she hit the ground - and then she didn't move at all.


The little girl huddled in the corner of the dungeon. There was a door, yes, but it didn't open. She had tried, once, stretching upwards as high as her three-year-old body could reach until she could just about turn the handle. Never again. Sobs wracked her tiny shoulders as she remembered her. As she remembered what lay outside the door if it ever opened again. The pain, the punishment... being forced back in here, the door slamming with a cold laugh...

"I can help you."

The little girl jumped at the sudden voice echoing around her dungeon room. "Who are you?" she called out fearlessly. This was her stinky, cold cell. Nobody ever hurt her in here.

"You won't understand, yet. Just trust me, I can help you."

She stuck her tongue out at the old man's voice - or at least, at one mouldy patch on the wall where it sounded like the voice was coming from. "I said who are you?"

The voice laughed, but it was something the girl had never heard before. Laughter was cold, it was cruel, it was full of promises of pain, but this voice was promising gentleness - if the girl knew what a warm hug was, she would have heard it in this laugh. "You always were stubborn. I can't answer that question while you're in there."

The girl's eyes widened in fear as the old man's words sunk in. "I can't go out," she whispered, her voice shaking. "She won't let me..."

The voice was silent for a few moments before replying. "She can't hurt you unless you let her. Open the door and look outside, trust me."

"I can't..." She walked over to the door, but the handle slid further up with every step she took. By the time she got there, it was twenty feet in the air, right up where even grown-ups couldn't reach it. "The handle's too high, mister. I can't reach."

"All right. Why don't you just let me in, then?" The old man sounded disappointed. "You don't have to come outside."

The girl nodded, and turned the handle - now at a perfectly normal height once again. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, not daring to look outside for fear of seeing her again. She felt the old man walk in beside her, and slammed the door shut.

[A/N: Chapter 1 is also somewhat short, but after that they start to expand in length. I've got the first seven chapters completely written at the time of publishing this, review and I shall upload the next instalment. I really appreciate reviews, suggestions for what to do better and comments on what I did well. Flames will be laughed at.]