Logan maneuvered his bike slowly down Greymalkin Lane, very conscious of the fact the he was approaching the imposing gate of number 1407. It had been over three years since he had left, and he wasn't sure what to expect. He wasn't even sure why he was returning, except that he had promised he would. He sighed, pulling up to the security box in front of the wrought iron mass.
He had spent the last three years chasing ghosts, trying to find clues to his past. His journey had taken him to the other side of the world and back, and frustratingly enough he had very little to show for it. He had sent her postcards from every place he visited, letting her see quaint little pictures of the outside world that, because of her mutation, she had very limited interaction with. Finally, he had run out of leads, run out of destinations.
Except Westchester, New York.
He punched a code into the box and the gates swung open silently. Logan shook his head, a smile fluttering across his lips. He'd have to have a chat with Chuck about changing security codes more frequently.
He pulled his bike up to the side of the enormous main building, near the garages, where he had stolen it from Scott so long ago. He noticed approvingly that One-Eye had at some point replaced it, which meant that maybe this one was really his. Or maybe he could trade it in for the new model. That would really piss the uptight little man off. Another half-smile.
Logan climbed off of his bike and shouldered his bag, shuddering. He convinced himself that he was shaking the dust of the road off, but if he had been honest with himself he would have admitted he was scared. He ran his free hand through his hair and walked with great determination to the door.
Standing on the doorstep, he paused. Knock? Walk right in like you left yesterday? He had never been the best with social interaction. Well, not this kind at least. Coming to a compromise, he knocked twice and then turned the doorknob, swinging the door open slowly. He walked into the kitchen and found... no one. It was empty.
What had he been expecting? He growled at himself, shaking his head. Had he really thought they'd just all be lined up, waiting for him to return? Had he really thought that she would be standing there, look up in surprise, and then run to him, wrapping her arms around him?
Well, he had hoped so at least.
He set his bag down on the kitchen table and started towards the hall.
*Logan, I'm glad to see that you've returned,* a deep, calm voice sounded in his head.
Ah, the telepathic welcome wagon was on duty after all. Logan's face split into yet another small smile. "Hey, Wheels," he said out loud, not quite comfortable with holding an internal dialogue with a man he couldn't see.
*I don't know if I've ever been called the welcome wagon before,* he heard the man laugh, probably mostly in regards to being called 'Wheels' again he would guess. He had to give Chuck credit: for as serious as he was, he still had a sense of humor.
*Your room is as you left it. I would like to speak with you when you have a moment, but I expect that you have more immediate pressing concerns. I believe the person you are looking for is in Ororo's garden.*
The telepathic voice winked out, and Logan turned back to the door he had just come through. If he remembered correctly - which in and of itself was a feat - the garden was behind the garage. He walked quickly now, his impatience building. He pushed aside a stray thought about how the professor had known who he was looking for and walked around the corner of the building.
And there... He stopped short. "Dammit, Chuck, not funny," he growled, his eyes narrowing at what he swore was laughter in his head. There was Scott.
The guy was obviously in on the prank, as he was doubled over laughing.
"Hey, One-Eye. How's it going?" Logan managed, attempting to regain ground.
"Fine," Scott gasped between laughs. "The professor told me you brought my bike back?"
Logan looked down at his feet, scuffing them in the dirt. He was glad everyone else thought this was funny. "Yeah, sure did. But don't get used to it. I'm leaving again soon." He'd show them. He wasn't a joke.
Scott Summers straightened, obviously not expecting this response. He stifled his laughter, meeting Logan's eyes. "You just got here," he said, curiously concerned.
"Yeah, well, I've got some place I have to be," Logan answered shortly, turning away.
"She'll be upset."
Logan stopped. 'She' never needed to be defined to him.
"Where is she?" he asked quietly, not turning around.
"In the conservatory teaching a class."
Logan walked back around the garage towards the door. He stopped in front of his bike, toying with the idea of just running. She'd never know. One-Eye and Chuck would know better than to tell her. It would hurt, not seeing her, but he didn't know why, and he was quite sure that it was better than being the butt of jokes around this freak show of a place.
But his bag was inside. So he'd have to go back in. At least as far as the kitchen. Then he was gone.
He walked inside again, but this time he wasn't alone.
"Logan!" Jean smiled. "It's good to see you," she acknowledged, giving him a loose and - he was careful to notice - safe hug.
"Good to see you too, Red," he responded, smiling despite himself. It was good. He couldn't argue with that. "You look good," he continued. He couldn't argue with that either. Never could.
"Yeah, married life agrees with me," she answered, stepping away from the brief embrace a little self-consciously.
"You mean One-Eye made you an honest woman?" he jested, trying to lighten the air between them.
"You know he doesn't like it when you call him that," Jean countered, resting her hands on her hips somewhat defensively.
"Calm down there, Fire. No need to break out the hose," he laughed. "Congratulations, Jeannie. I hope you're happy," he finished more seriously, surprising himself even by meaning it.
"I am. Thank you, Logan."
He left the kitchen, feeling better. Still leaving, he cautioned himself, but better. Just a peek, that's all he was going to take. Then he'd be gone again.
He reached the conservatory, which still doubled as a classroom, and peered through the window. His breath caught in his throat. She was there. He only realized that he had forgotten to breathe when a single bell rang and students began filing out of the nearby door. She was bent over her desk, arranging a pile of papers. She was like an angel. A very deadly angel, granted, but an angel nonetheless.
He shifted his weight, and the movement caught her eye. She looked up, searching out the motion, eyes widening with recognition. Those eyes. He suddenly felt like an ass. Here he was, three years later. An ass. A smile touched her angelic face and she walked towards the door. Walked? Floated. An angel. He felt like an ass. Marie...
He had spent the last three years chasing ghosts, trying to find clues to his past. His journey had taken him to the other side of the world and back, and frustratingly enough he had very little to show for it. He had sent her postcards from every place he visited, letting her see quaint little pictures of the outside world that, because of her mutation, she had very limited interaction with. Finally, he had run out of leads, run out of destinations.
Except Westchester, New York.
He punched a code into the box and the gates swung open silently. Logan shook his head, a smile fluttering across his lips. He'd have to have a chat with Chuck about changing security codes more frequently.
He pulled his bike up to the side of the enormous main building, near the garages, where he had stolen it from Scott so long ago. He noticed approvingly that One-Eye had at some point replaced it, which meant that maybe this one was really his. Or maybe he could trade it in for the new model. That would really piss the uptight little man off. Another half-smile.
Logan climbed off of his bike and shouldered his bag, shuddering. He convinced himself that he was shaking the dust of the road off, but if he had been honest with himself he would have admitted he was scared. He ran his free hand through his hair and walked with great determination to the door.
Standing on the doorstep, he paused. Knock? Walk right in like you left yesterday? He had never been the best with social interaction. Well, not this kind at least. Coming to a compromise, he knocked twice and then turned the doorknob, swinging the door open slowly. He walked into the kitchen and found... no one. It was empty.
What had he been expecting? He growled at himself, shaking his head. Had he really thought they'd just all be lined up, waiting for him to return? Had he really thought that she would be standing there, look up in surprise, and then run to him, wrapping her arms around him?
Well, he had hoped so at least.
He set his bag down on the kitchen table and started towards the hall.
*Logan, I'm glad to see that you've returned,* a deep, calm voice sounded in his head.
Ah, the telepathic welcome wagon was on duty after all. Logan's face split into yet another small smile. "Hey, Wheels," he said out loud, not quite comfortable with holding an internal dialogue with a man he couldn't see.
*I don't know if I've ever been called the welcome wagon before,* he heard the man laugh, probably mostly in regards to being called 'Wheels' again he would guess. He had to give Chuck credit: for as serious as he was, he still had a sense of humor.
*Your room is as you left it. I would like to speak with you when you have a moment, but I expect that you have more immediate pressing concerns. I believe the person you are looking for is in Ororo's garden.*
The telepathic voice winked out, and Logan turned back to the door he had just come through. If he remembered correctly - which in and of itself was a feat - the garden was behind the garage. He walked quickly now, his impatience building. He pushed aside a stray thought about how the professor had known who he was looking for and walked around the corner of the building.
And there... He stopped short. "Dammit, Chuck, not funny," he growled, his eyes narrowing at what he swore was laughter in his head. There was Scott.
The guy was obviously in on the prank, as he was doubled over laughing.
"Hey, One-Eye. How's it going?" Logan managed, attempting to regain ground.
"Fine," Scott gasped between laughs. "The professor told me you brought my bike back?"
Logan looked down at his feet, scuffing them in the dirt. He was glad everyone else thought this was funny. "Yeah, sure did. But don't get used to it. I'm leaving again soon." He'd show them. He wasn't a joke.
Scott Summers straightened, obviously not expecting this response. He stifled his laughter, meeting Logan's eyes. "You just got here," he said, curiously concerned.
"Yeah, well, I've got some place I have to be," Logan answered shortly, turning away.
"She'll be upset."
Logan stopped. 'She' never needed to be defined to him.
"Where is she?" he asked quietly, not turning around.
"In the conservatory teaching a class."
Logan walked back around the garage towards the door. He stopped in front of his bike, toying with the idea of just running. She'd never know. One-Eye and Chuck would know better than to tell her. It would hurt, not seeing her, but he didn't know why, and he was quite sure that it was better than being the butt of jokes around this freak show of a place.
But his bag was inside. So he'd have to go back in. At least as far as the kitchen. Then he was gone.
He walked inside again, but this time he wasn't alone.
"Logan!" Jean smiled. "It's good to see you," she acknowledged, giving him a loose and - he was careful to notice - safe hug.
"Good to see you too, Red," he responded, smiling despite himself. It was good. He couldn't argue with that. "You look good," he continued. He couldn't argue with that either. Never could.
"Yeah, married life agrees with me," she answered, stepping away from the brief embrace a little self-consciously.
"You mean One-Eye made you an honest woman?" he jested, trying to lighten the air between them.
"You know he doesn't like it when you call him that," Jean countered, resting her hands on her hips somewhat defensively.
"Calm down there, Fire. No need to break out the hose," he laughed. "Congratulations, Jeannie. I hope you're happy," he finished more seriously, surprising himself even by meaning it.
"I am. Thank you, Logan."
He left the kitchen, feeling better. Still leaving, he cautioned himself, but better. Just a peek, that's all he was going to take. Then he'd be gone again.
He reached the conservatory, which still doubled as a classroom, and peered through the window. His breath caught in his throat. She was there. He only realized that he had forgotten to breathe when a single bell rang and students began filing out of the nearby door. She was bent over her desk, arranging a pile of papers. She was like an angel. A very deadly angel, granted, but an angel nonetheless.
He shifted his weight, and the movement caught her eye. She looked up, searching out the motion, eyes widening with recognition. Those eyes. He suddenly felt like an ass. Here he was, three years later. An ass. A smile touched her angelic face and she walked towards the door. Walked? Floated. An angel. He felt like an ass. Marie...