I do not own X-Men
This fanfic is set after the third movie X-Men: The Last Stand. Constructive criticism would be good, as this is my first Storm/Logan fanfic and I want to make sure I get it right.
Four years after the deaths of Scott, Jean, and Xavier, the school is still up and running.
Storm, as the headmistress, sees it as her duty to personally take care of all problems concerning the school, which has left her extremely busy. But even with all the distractions laid before her, she still seems to find time to ponder over the deaths. Could she have done anything to prevent them? If she had just stayed with Xavier when he went to visit Jean that fateful day, would she have been able to stop his death? These are constant haunts that refuse to leave her mind.
After Jean's death, Logan did everything he could to forget her. He could not stand to hear her name spoken out loud, or even a happy memory recounted. The fact that he had killed her, that he had ended her life, nearly drove him mad. Dwelling on it almost drove him over the edge, so he shut the thoughts out. But now, four years later, as the anniversary of her death arrives again, the guilt sprouts anew, forming worries for him once more.
Ororo glanced out the window, watching as kids ran about outside, laughing and chattering away happily.
The sun beat down, spreading rays of light and warmth to all. Nearly everyone was in a good mood.
Except for her.
Though the kids may not realize it, may not be old enough to remember the events that occurred four years before on this day, Ororo did.
She could still picture clearly the service that was held, the speech she was forced to give, though she had nearly fallen apart in tears.
All the tears, the barely suppressed sobs, it had almost been too much for her to handle.
It was true, that everyone handled the sadness in their own way.
Most had confided in each other, taking about past regrets and memories with their friends, in attempts to deal with the pain.
But not her.
No, she had instead retreated to the shelters of her own mind, not wanting to burden anyone with her grief, instead, locking it all up inside her very being and attempting to put it out of her mind, for the sake of the children.
But now, four years later, on the anniversary of that service, she could practically feel the grief rising inside her, trying to claw it's way out into the open.
Ororo tried again to focus on the smiles of the students, playing outside in the sunshine.
She willed herself to share their energy, their love of life.
But it was no use.
A shadow suddenly covered everything, and she saw the children look up in confusion.
A lone gray rain cloud had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, threatening to drive the children back into the school building for shelter.
Ororo frowned. She couldn't let her emotions take control like that.
She willed the cloud to go away, and slowly, it obeyed her commands, drifting off to the side, before slowly fading away into faint smoky wisps of gray.
Heaving a sigh, she frowned. I have to get a hold on this. she thought sternly. I don't want to cause anymore problems than necessary.
A stack of yellow folders and papers covered in pen scribbles piled on her desk caught her eye. I may as well get some work done.
She reached out and grabbed the stack, sorting them into piles, then taking hold of a red pen and beginning to correct.
Right.
Wrong.
Right, right, right, wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong...that doesn't even make sense!
Her thoughts became blurred as she concentrated on this task.
The day slowly started to fade away, the sky growing darker.
But Ororo remained, correcting paper furiously, as if it was the last thing keeping her sane in this world.
A shining silver wrench rested on the edge of the work table, inching farther and farther over the edge with each shake.
Logan messed with the engine on the bike, brow furrowed in frustration.
"Why did I have to choose this bike?" he muttered, twisting a screw a bit tighter than normal. "So many choices and I pick this piece of junk. Figures."
He thought as he worked, an annoying habit, seeing as he had come here in the first place hoping to get away from his thoughts.
But things just weren't that simple anymore.
No, he had to keep thinking, keep remembering all the details. Keep stressing over the 'what if's'.
Like that could ever change anything.
An image flashed into his mind. A red haired beauty, her eyes twinkling, a smile spread across her lips. The wind blowing through her hair as she turned to look at him...
Suddenly, the screw gave a loud pop, ricocheting out of the engine and through the garage, hitting cars and walls, pieces and parts.
"Aw shit!" Logan roared, throwing the screwdriver to the ground angrily.
The tremor from the screwdriver's impact with the ground was just enough to cause the wrench to completely lose it's balance, toppling over the edge of the work table and plummeting towards the ground.
Logan plucked it out of thin air, moving it towards the engine.
He aimed at a bolt, starting to loosen it, fingers working furiously.
At the same time, his mind worked, trying to shut out any further thoughts.
Especially thoughts about her.
He shuddered, giving the bolt a hard turn.
It had been four years and still the guilt was there, hanging over his head like an anvil, filling his every thought.
He had killed her. He had ended her life.
It wasn't so much the fact that he loved her, though that was still there too.
He still felt the loss, but it had begun to fade with time, lessening to a more bearable amount.
But it was the guilt and the the guilt alone that ate at his very being, like a predator to prey.
He had killed her.
She was dead because of him.
As he worked, trying again to block out his thoughts and, again, failing miserably, he wondered yet again what he had done in his life.
It would never stop bothering him, the fact that there was so much of his life that he didn't even know about. That he may have loved another, may have had friends.
May have killed others.
That was what bothered him the deepest.
She may not have been the only one he had killed.
A surge of inner turmoil surged through him, and he dropped the wrench.
"Shit!" he cried again, reaching with a shaking hand for the metal tool.
He tried to grab it, but it had slid under a giant toolbox.
He bent down, pushing his arm farther, but the thing was resting in the corner, between the wall and the box.
Logan let out a growl, rushing to his feet. "That's it." he growled, stomping out of the garage and into the yard, heading in the direction of the school building. "I'm done."
He flung the door open, grateful for the late hour.
At least the kids were in bed and didn't have to see him like this.
Not that they didn't see him like this enough to stay away at all costs.
He stepped into the kitchen and immediately high-tailed it to the fridge.
Flinging the door open, he scoured it's contents for his constant refuge.
"Where the hell is that beer?" he muttered.
Then he remembered.
Beer had been confiscated a while ago. School rules.
Logan growled, slamming the fridge door shut.
He hightailed it to a drawer, pulling it open noisily and rummaging through it's contents.
Finally, his fingers met their mark. He plucked a new cigar from the drawer, pushing it closed with a loud bang.
He pulled a lighter out of his back pocket, lighting the cigar, then stuffing it back into the depths of his pocket.
He lifted it to his lips and inhaled deeply. Once, twice.
Once satisfied, he leaned against the counter, cigar in one hand, staring blankly at the wall.
"What time is it anyway?" he muttered.
He glanced down at his hand, then remembered. "No watch." He sighed. "Great."
Taking another inhale of cigar, he headed to the door. "What does it matter what time it is anyway? It's late and I'm tired, I'm going to bed."
He started down the hall, leaving dark rooms in his wake.
He frowned when he noticed a sliver of light up ahead.
The principal's office.
"What's Storm doing up?" he muttered, stepping to the door and peering in.
The room was kind of dim, the only light coming from a small lamp in one corner.
At first glance, no one seemed to be there.
But after taking another look, he noticed the woman sitting with her back facing him, staring out the window at the rain just starting to drop out of the sky.
Even without looking at her face, he could tell she was crying.
Her usually straight composure was slumped, caved in as if she was creating a shell around herself, a shield from the rest of the world.
Her long white hair, usually held up in a neat ponytail, was falling out of the rubber band's hold, random strands draping themselves across her face.
What he noticed most of all was the way her shoulders shook.
The movement was slight, so small that most people wouldn't notice.
But he did.
He stood there, unsure whether he should go in or just keep walking, retreating down the hall to the shelter of his room.
But the door made the decision for him.
It creaked a bit as he shifted his position.
Storm froze at the sound, then slowly, turned to see who her arrival was.
She tried to wipe the tears away before he would notice, but it was too late.
Logan glanced at her sheepishly, and came to a decision.
He stepped into the room warily, eyes on her.
"Logan." Storm said, clearing her throat quickly. She lifted a hand to tighten her ponytail, in attempts to hide her discomfort. She glanced at him hesitantly, like a child watching to see if they had been caught trying to sneak a cookie out of the jar.
"Hey." he said, voice cutting through the uncomfortable silence like a knife.
Storm shifted in her seat. "Is there...is there anything you needed?" she asked quietly.
Logan noticed the way she blinked a few times, trying to clear away new tears before they spilled over.
"Uh..." he struggled to find some excuse for his being there. But when no ideas came to him, all he had left to say was:
"No, not really."
Storm frowned in confusion, then nodded. "Alright then." She glanced down, pretending to study some papers on her desk. "Well...good night, Logan."
"Night." he rumbled, turning and heading out the door.
He started to close it, but allowed himself one last glance inside.
Storm was still staring at the papers, gripping them in her hands as if her life depended on it. After a moment, she let them drop. They hit the desk with a muffled thud.
Storm lowered her head into her hands.
Some may have thought she was resting, but Logan knew better.
Her shoulders shook with barely suppressed sobs, little sounds escaping through her fingers.
Usually, someone seeing another reacting like this would walk inside, do their best to cheer the person up.
But Logan couldn't bring himself to go back in.
He wasn't the...social type.
Sure, he felt the pain too, but he wasn't one to comfort.
Probably because there had never been anyone to comfort him when he felt like that.
So Logan, well, he did what he did best.
Disappeared.
If you could review, that would be great. I have some ideas I'm tossing around for more chapters, but if you have any ideas on what I should do in the future, please feel free to let me know. I'm all ears.
