A/N: I want to thank Beautiful Storm Munroe who also helped with the last chapters. Thanks a lot!
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„Scream for me ..."
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„Ororo?"
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Startled, Ororo opened her eyes and shuddered, automatically feeling her breath become more hectic, as always, when someone approached or even touched her. For one, short moment she saw the huge shadow of her memory, her nightmares hunched over her. Cruel claws that flashed in the light; that could inflict so much harm. Not only leaving physical scars behind.
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Just then, a gentle voice brought her back to reality, and she turned her head to look around the dinning hall at the speaker. Scott looked at her worriedly and Ororo noticed that some of the students and the professor were also looking at her. The students stealthily hid behind their cereal boxes, and Charles furrowed his brow.
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Did he suspect anything? Had she not been paying attention enough and he had managed to track down her thoughts? What did he know ... She bit her lip hard, forcing herself not to think these thoughts, to no prevail. What would happen if he learned it? When he learned that she was not the strong fighter that she should be?
He would act on it, that was for sure. Charles was not a man who pushed problems aside, he was used to grabbing them by the hair and fixing them. He would consider whether he wanted to have someone like her in his school. Someone who was too weak to protect herself, let alone the children. He would ask her to pack her things and leave the only place she had ever considered home in order not to endanger the students. In order not to cause his lifework to alter. This thought scared her. How should she survive out there in this world, this city? She couldn't. Not with the knowledge that she had been too weak, and disappointed everyone she loved.
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„Is everything all right, Ororo?" His gentle voice pulled her out of her thoughts – she wisely hid as much of them as possible – and she turned her gaze to the man who had always been something like a father to her. His eyes rested on her neck, piercing the light cloth that covered her skin. As if he knew what was hidden underneath. Both he and the others hadn't seen at least the more serious injuries. It was the morning after the attack. She had immediately went to Hank and had made him swear that he would tell no one about it. Of course he had asked what happened. Especially, since every time he touched her, she had flinched. He had received no real answer, only flimsy excuses.
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Now Ororo tried to smile, even though she knew she failed. She hadn't smiled much during the last two weeks. There was no reason to. „Of course, Charles. I just didn't sleep well and it seems I dozed off." At least this time it wasn't a lie. She hadn't been able to sleep, had been held awake by memories of sharp claws and grim growls.
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„You have not slept well in a long time, Ororo." His voice was soft, but she could clearly hear the request in it. He wanted her to talk to him, to open up to him. He had always been very persistent.
„It's just the stress. And... I miss her." Although it was an excuse, her throat seemed to tighten as she mentioned the woman they still mourned. From the corner of her eye, Ororo saw Scott's face harden, like at the push of a button, and saw how he tried to keep his composure. No one was surprised when he excused himself saying he had a lesson to prepare, and literally fled from the room. From the unspoken words and the haunting memories.
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Ororo knew that Charles was still watching her as she eyed the white tabletop before her with a weary sigh. White like innocence. She almost laughed out loud. The only one innocent in this house were the children who still knew nothing about the hard life as a mutant. She, Scott, the professor and Logan, were least of all innocent. They had let one of their own die. The magnificent X-Men had failed. She had failed. She had watched Jean die. Had simply watched as her best friend drowned to death and had even then hoped that Jean would escape the floods at the last minute.
„Jean made her own decision. No one could have changed it." Ororo lifted her head with a jerk and glared at the man in front of her with so much anger in her eyes that you'd think he would drop dead over the table any moment.
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„How about you would stop scrabbling in my head, professor?" The sharpness in her voice was nothing compared to the effect that the formal form of address ignored for years caused. Charles' face hardened, and she could see clearly how he clenched his teeth, trying desperately not to show his hurt about this emotional coldness.
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„When you stop blaming yourself for all evil in the world." He looked her straight in the eye. His tone was harsh and not as gentle as usual when he spoke to her. He barley managed to maintain his composure and just barley stopped himself from yelling at her and taking his anger over her god damned games out on her.
But what frightened Ororo the most – and chased a shiver down her spine – were his words. As if he suspected something. As if he knew something.
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For one brief moment she held her mentor's gaze, then she to turned her head away. She had known Charles almost her entire life and still wasn't able to bear this look for more than a few seconds. He seemed to look right into her soul and sought to know all of her secrets within a few seconds. He seemed to read her like an open book. It was unbearable. Without sparing him another glance, Ororo rose from her chair and stepped towards the door.
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„We are not finished yet, Ororo."
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The usually amiable, gentle voice now echoed imperiously through the room, and the white haired woman paused with her hand on the handle.
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Slowly, with a surprised, almost incredulous look she turned around. It wasn't often someone demanded something from her and she would have expected it least of all from him. He dared to command her? He, who had failed to save one of their own ordered her? It was downright ridiculous.
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I don't have to answer to you, my child.
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Charles stared at the young woman before him, virtually pinning her down with his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that the few students who had been sitting at the table, were now gone, too. Secretly he was thankful that none of the children had to see how their beloved professor lost his temper and let himself be provoked in such a manner by Ororo.
Her dark eyes glared at him so angrily that Charles was afraid Ororo would jump for his throat with extended claws that very second. But she would never do that. Of course not. She respected him.
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Finally, Ororo lowered her head. He was right. She was angry at those who had let Jean die. But mostly she was angry at herself. „I'm sorry, Charles. I shouldn't have allowed my emotions to get out of control."
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He gave her a warm smile and held his hand out in her direction. „How about a cup of tea, my child?"
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Wilderness. Nothing but white, pristine wilderness. The right environment for a hunter, a seeker. That was the only thing that interested the man who stomped through the deep snow. His boots were white and fine ice crystals hung down from his stetson. It seemed that he had been out in the freezing cold of Canada for a while. In search of his past, the hunt for his life.
On a small hill, he stopped, lifted his head toward the clear sky. The air was icy, and cut the delicate skin on his face, freezing the blood as soon as it left the warmth of his body, but he didn't seemed to care. Perhaps he didn't even noticed it.
For one moment he stood as still as a statue, and you could only tell by the twitching of his right eye that he observed his surroundings closely.
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It made no sense. He tried to escape the pain. But no matter where he was, or what he did, she came back and haunted him, again and again.
She. Jean. The woman who had managed to enchant him from the first moment they had met, and who had aroused desire in him. Desire that would never be satisfied. She was dead, carried away by the waves of destruction.
The tip of his cigar glowed in the dark. A fine column of smoke rose into the clear sky. Why had he done nothing to save her? He told everyone how much she had meant to him and yet he hadn't even tried to save her.
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After a moment, he continued on his way. But he could not concentrate on what he was looking for. Why did he really stumble through this God-forsaken country? What did he hope to gain? His past, maybe? Or, did he just want to escape the grief, the pangs of guilt? And, would he ever return to Westchester? What should keep him there? Certainly not Jean. He hadn't visited her grave once. It would have made everything more real. The pain was too much as it was, and what would it gain him to mourn her and his forgotten life? Only more pain.
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Logan couldn't find peace that night. He was thinking of Jean. Again. But it wasn't just her image alone, that wouldn't let allow him to sleep. There was something else. He just didn't know what. Something from his past? Or something in his future?