Laughing with your pretty mouth.

Laughing with your broken eyes.

Laughing with your lover's tongue.

In a lullaby.

The dining room of the Xavier mansion was always noisy and crowded at this time of morning, which was why Logan normally avoided it, preferring to eat his breakfast later in the day, when all of the students and most of his fellow instructors were in their classes. This morning; however, was different. He couldn't explain it, but he felt the intense need to see Ororo, if only fleetingly, just to make sure that she was all right, and he knew that she always took her breakfast in the dining room before her nine o'clock Advanced American History class began.

Upon entering the dining room, Logan was instantly overwhelmed by the mingling racket of conversation, argument, laughter, and, beneath all of it, someone with a boom box playing a song that he recognized as being "Hey There Delilah" by the Plain White T's. He shook his head and scanned the dining room quickly. It took him no time at all to find the table at which Ororo sat, with several of the other teachers and Ambassador Henry "Hank" McCoy, whom Logan remembered was taking a brief vacation from his duties as the US Ambassador, and had chosen to spend his free time amongst his fellow mutants. Hank, a large man with blue skin and blue fur covering most of his body, stood out not because of his outlandish appearance, but because of his booming voice, which rivaled even the giggling of a group of teenaged female students who sat at the table closest to Logan.

Hank sat in a chair at the head of a long table of teachers, the place that Logan knew was normally reserved for the headmaster…the seat which Charles Xavier had occupied when he was head of the school. Ororo had conceded her rightful position at the table to the guest of honor, and now sat on the left side of him, picking at the plate of Belgian waffles and bacon in front of her while listening to him as he spoke. Her face wore its usual solemn expression for the most part, but every now and then Hank would say something that would provoke the tiniest of smiles from her, and once, he even managed to get a small giggle from the weather witch.

As he entered the room and made his way towards the faculty table, he caught the attention of Hank, who waved at him and must have said something to the others about Logan's approach, because a few of the teachers turned their heads to look at him, and the weak smile upon Ororo's face left just as quickly as it had appeared. The teachers who had turned to greet Logan either waved or smiled, gestures which he was quick to return, and Hank stood up and strode towards him, but Ororo simply sat rigid in her chair, repeatedly stabbing her defenseless stack of waffles with her fork.

"Well, here's the mysterious Wolverine!" Hank greeted him, extending his hand for Logan to shake, "I've been here for two days and haven't seen hide or hair of you until now." As the two men shook hands, Hank chuckled at the unintentional pun that he had made, and when the handshake ended, the blue mutant led the other man towards a seat located on his right side, just across from the gloomy-faced Ororo, who did not look up or greet Logan as he took his place at the table.

"Well, my friend, Ororo tells me that you've been one of her greatest allies in keeping order at this school. I must say, I'm proud of the transformation that you seem to have undergone since the last time that I saw you," Hank said, passing a plate heaped with waffles to the newcomer.

"A lot of us have gone through transformations," Logan said, looking over to Ororo, who was staring at her plate of untouched food in obvious discomfort, "most of us for the better, but some of us aren't getting along too well." At this, her breathing became heavy and strained. Hank's attention shifted from Logan to his other friend, and concern for her was clearly visible in his cerulean eyes.

"I don't know," Logan continued, "I've been trying to change along with everyone else. I guess I've just learned not to be so selfish. I try to help Ororo as much as I can. As much as she'll let me, that is." When he finished this statement, he looked over at the woman in question, who, to his surprise, was staring back at him. For just a moment, he thought that he saw gratitude in her blue eyes, along with a small measure of desperation, but, just as quickly as those had come, they faded and were replaced with a hard sort of stubbornness, and she looked away from him.

Suddenly, a bell rang loudly through the entire room, announcing that the time was now eight-fifty, and that everyone had merely ten minutes to make it to their first class of the day. Moans and groans erupted from both students and teachers alike, and everyone in the hall reached below their tables to collect their bags and books, which had been discarded at their feet as soon as they sat down. The faculty table sprang to life, with almost everyone standing up, bending over to retrieve lesson plans, graded tests, and other instructors' materials before bidding farewell to their colleagues and following the students who shuffled slowly through the doors and halls towards their classes.

Logan, whose first class didn't begin until ten-thirty, went right along pouring syrup onto his waffles, and Hank, who had no classes to teach, took up another slice of bacon from his plate. In contrast to the two men, Ororo instantly came to life, throwing down her napkin and grabbing a white tote bag overflowing with papers. She stood up, muttered a brief "goodbye" to her fellow diners, and practicallybolted to the exit before anyone could call her back. Once the room had cleared, Hank turned expectantly towards Logan, who, upon sensing the other man's gaze fall on him, looked up to face him.

"Ororo is…not herself," Hank observed.

"Hmph…tell me about it," Logan replied.

"She just seems so…withdrawn. I know that she's gone through a lot, but she seems to be taking…everything…much harder than everyone else," said Hank.

"I know," the other man agreed, "I've been trying to get her to talk to me about it, but…she just won't."

"Well, then," Hank stated, "maybe you'll just have to try harder."

xXx

"All right, kids, good job, great improvement. I think that'll about do it for today, so you guys can go ahead and get your stuff together and go," Logan said to the three students whom he had kept after the final dismissal bell for an extra training session in the Danger Room because of their poor performances in class. These kids were training to be the X-Men of the future, and, while he understood that they were only in the ninth grade and that everyone had off days, Logan's philosophy was that it was important for an X-Man to learn sooner rather than later how to put all of their problems behind them and give their all, even when they weren't having "a good day." Besides, occurrences such as this would teach not only these three, but also their peers that his class was one of the most integral to their training, and that it was not to be blown off.

Once he was sure that he'd given the students ample time to wash up and clear out of the locker room that was connected to the training wing of the mansion, Logan headed towards the showers. He stripped thesweaty wife beater from his chest and stepped out of his jeans, getting into the shower and turning on the cool water to soothe his perspiration-soaked skin and pulsing muscles. As he lathered himself up and worked the soap through the dense hair on his chest, he couldn't help but remember the events at the breakfast table, and the look in Ororo's eyes after he'd made it clear that all he wanted was to help her. For just a moment, it'd seemed to him as though she were pleading with him, like a lost little girl who wanted assistance but had no idea how to ask for it.

He couldn't help but wonder where she was at that very minute, and what she was doing. Setting the soap back on its holder, he blocked out all other scents, searching for Ororo's, hers alone. He soon found the fragrance of vanilla and sandalwood that he would always associate only with the weather goddess. She was still in her classroom, grading papers or cleaning up, he assumed. Logan caught another smell from her, one that sent concern to pierce his chest like a dagger. Fresh tears.

He turned the shower off and got out, not even bothering with a towel. He shook himself off like a dog, and reached into his duffel bag to pull out his deodorant, a clean pair of jeans, and a fresh white t-shirt. After dressing, he left the locker room and strode towards the smell of pain and longing.

"Ororo," he whispered, voice soft and full of compassion.

xXx

She wished that she had never allowed herself to cry. Ever since the previous night in the garden, Ororo had been unable to stop. Although she had not been visited by another nightmare after she went back to bed, she'd awakened to find her pillow damp. She had a short cry on her lunch break, and now, as she stared at the stack of quizzes before her, tears blurred her vision. She wept without a sound, only tears that dripped quickly from her eyes, down her cheeks and neck and into her blouse, settling in the valley between her breasts.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that such an action would slow or even stop the tears, but no such thing happened. Ororo cried even through closed eyes. Silently, she willed herself to stop, taking deep breaths and blinking rapidly, until, at last,the tiny droplets of sorrow ceased to fall, and she was able to concentrate on her work once more. Picking up her red pen, she returned to the quizzes, making the appropriate marks on each paper and then scoring it. When a sharp knock echoed on the thick wood of her classroom door, she gasped and dropped the pen onto her desk. Her hand flew to her chest, and she took a deep, calming breath.

"Come in," she said, in as controlled a voice as she could muster. As soon as her visitor stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, she regretted having invited him in.

"Good afternoon, Ororo," Logan greeted her.

"Good afternoon…Logan," she was hesitant to utter his name, "is…is there something that you need?"

"Well, yes…actually, there is," he replied.

"Well," she stood up from her desk and went over to the dry-erase board, on which she had jotted down notes on the Civil War. She turned her back to him and made a show of erasing the red marker, "what is it that I can do for you?"

"I think you know," he said. The eraser fell from her hand, landing with a soft thump upon the wooden floor. She turned to him with a look of confused horror on her face.

"What…are you talking about?" she whispered.

"Ororo…stop pretending. We both know what I saw in the garden. I know that you're hurting, and I know that you're scared, but you can't hold it in forever, darlin'. I won't let you," he told her, in as kind and soothing a voice as he could muster.

"No, Logan," she said darkly, walking to her desk and picking up her tote bag, "I'm not going to let you do this to me. We are not going to have this conversation." She strode past him, towards the door. "You are going to leave me alone…"

"No!" he interrupted, reaching out and grabbing her arm. She jumped at his sudden movement, "No, I'm not. We are going to have this conversation, Ororo, because you need it, and I'm not going to leave you alone until you talk to me."

"No!" she growled, ripping her arm from his grasp and running past him, out the door and down the hallway, to her bedroom.