Secrets Still – by Darlin

Chapter Two - Stealing Unseen

The sun's so bright today. Too bright. It's never once been too bright for me before but today I don't know why but it is. How odd. It's so intense and yet it feels softly warm, embracing me and I feel at peace in its glow. It's almost like when you close your eyes while sunbathing and you're lost in the darkness then suddenly open them and the soothing dark reds and blacks that had danced beneath your eyelids are replaced with brilliant light. So bright yet always peaceful, always soothing, beckoning – calling. But even with my eyes closed it's so bright – why is there not the tiniest hint of darkness?

A droning, buzzing thing darts past me then back again – a bee? It almost sounds like the irritating ringing you sometimes get in your ears, intense, constant, slightly annoying and always baffling and somehow amazing. Swatting seems to be futile. I can no longer lift my arms.

While I lay in the grass at the edge of the lake my team mates are playing in the field, a game of baseball. No powers. Hank is checking on me, concerned that I have a concussion but Jean is telling him she did a mind scan and I'm in perfect health, just tired, and to let me rest, that everything is fine. Bobby's pitch went wild. Something was off with it but I cannot understand what. Logan keeps watching me . . . and Jean too, even as she walks back with Hank. I should feel pain where I was struck in the head but I feel light as a feather, no worries even content. I am sorry for their misery.

Peter waves to me off and on, calling me, encouraging me to come back and play. I see him clearly, the tall youthful looking man, his handsome smile, polite air and respectful concern. Even now he scowls at Warren when it's suggested I'm not playing because I have proven that I am no good at this American sport they love so much. How fast we became like brother and sister, Peter and I. No, little brother I haven't the strength to finish the game, not today. My body isn't cooperating. I am so very tired.

Loose disjointed clouds drift above; the sounds of jubilant fun seem far away now. I cannot take my eyes off of this wide beautiful sky, deep, clear blue, playing hostess to the fleeting clouds. Sporadic birds pass like brief shadows fading in the distance. The sun is still too bright – not right at all. I want to close my eyes but cannot. And yet they are not open and I see everything.

There is Kitty siding with Peter telling Logan he never likes it when girls are on his team. He tells her he's always fine when I'm on his team. Kitty is chewing gum and smacking her glove with her fist, acting out the role of the ultimate pitcher. She enjoys teasing Logan. Her antics make Peter smile. She's grown so much. They both have. They're happy together and that gives me happiness.

It's her team against Kurt's. She laughs at something Peter whispers in her ear. He's come to the mound, catcher's mask lifted. I hear their whispered words of love, baseball the last thing on their minds it seems. When Peter finally walks back to take his position behind the batter which is Kurt, her small dragon Lockheed, smitten with her so deeply, distracts her momentarily. He floats above her providing much needed shade. Lockheed has eyes for no other. When he lands upon her shoulder she scratches him soundly behind the ears before shooing him off so the game can continue. She bounces up and down on the pads of her feet much like a tennis player trying to stay limber then she winds up to throw the first pitch.

I see them all as if they were spread out before me like chess pieces on a board. I feel as if I could reach out and caress each one of them. I want to wave and laugh, join in their fun but I cannot. It's as if I've lost all control of myself. And yet I feel fine, even wonderful. Only the brightness bothers me – so bright. Have I somehow disturbed nature's balance?

They're quieter now. Kitty thinks I'm sleeping, instructs them not to disturb me. She is whispering yet I can still hear her every word plainly as the wind swells and blows them to me even as it sends errant insects on uncharted courses all around me. I can hear the smallest bugs bustling, seeking, busy all around me. But instead of being annoyed with the assault I find it curiously peaceful. It's as if their innate sense of peace with their fates, content to continue their essential tasks of survival despite the odds against them, has calmed my soul. Would that man could learn to be so content.

The birds have suddenly stop singing and soon I both smell and see the reason. Does Kurt's teleportation always disturb them so? I have never noticed this before but it must and why not? He's an unknown, a threat, something strange and abrupt that has entered their realm. He is none of that to me. I welcome him. He smells earthy, of sulfuric brimstone. It is a familiar odor I've long become used to and no longer mind. I return his smile. I try at least but find I simply cannot. He looks so . . . sweet as he watches me. His three fingers reach out to me and despite all their peculiarity I want to grasp them and hold them one last time. But I cannot. I do not. Like my smile, my hands are immobile.

I see Rachel studying us. She has been so sad of late, so much has happened to her. She is the daughter of the erstwhile sister of my heart no matter if she hails from an alternate time line. I cannot hold Kurt for I have nothing to give him and perhaps he senses this as well. His eyes are on Rachel now. He grins wide, full and open and just as tenderly as the smile he gave me only mere seconds ago. I am truly hopeful for them.

A puff of smoke and a pungent odor is all I have left of my dear friend after he teleports away, that and my cherished memories of him. In my minds eye I see us dancing in the sky on gossamer breezes, I see the sweet little Bamf doll, as adorable as he is, passed from one young girl to another with love and care. I'll never tire of seeing his handsome face, dark and angelic, full of goodness whether as priest or pirate, hero or man.

He bows before Rachel and doffs a make believe cap. I can almost see the large feathers, so appropriate for such a hat, dipping to the ground with his graceful movement. I imagine him attired in matching garb as he battles scurvy ridden pirates on a teetering wooden deck of an old ship as I've seen him do so often in the Danger Room. Rescuer of damsels in distress. He'd come to mine but I let him go. He deserves more than I could ever give him.

Rachel is happier when he is near; her smile is timid but genuine. She has lost so much in her young complicated life. I know she misses Jean even as I do. Our Jean is not the same. She's not really Rachel's mother, never acted as if she were and seldom even spoke to the poor child. Jean is no longer my friend. It feels . . . odd. I wonder what Rachel's knowledge of what things might become in the future would make of this. What does she know I wonder? But the birds are warbling again and the sun, ever present, is beckoning again – so brightly. Its rays soak into my skin and I am filled with a peace I have never felt before, one that I never imagined possible.

Remy. Beloved partner in crime, protector, confidant, brother, and dearest friend. I see him waiting for his turn at bat. He has no interest in Kurt's coaching attempts, wouldn't know if his teammates were bunting, hoping to walk or stealing a base – I am not as uneducated in baseball as Logan would have you think. Remy's not aware of it because his eyes keep straying in Rogue's direction. And when Kurt makes it safely to first base and it's Remy's turn, instead of focusing on Kitty's pitches the smitten Lothario is still eying his lady love. Kitty strikes him out easily.

Rogue's aware of all this. I know for she is assuming the most alluring stances in center field, turning and twisting here and there, showing off her admirable figure to its best advantage as she lazily battles some flying pest. Now she's wiping sweat from her brow and pretending she doesn't know what she's done to poor Remy but I see her smile knowingly to herself, pleased with her results. And why shouldn't she be? He loves her. She loves him. They always will no matter their disagreements and misunderstandings. If only they could see this and admit this.

"So, what happened to no powers chère?" Remy shouts with a twinkle in his devilish eyes. He laughs good-humouredly and in reply she beams so wide it's obvious to even a stranger that she loves him. And in this moment it feels as if only these two exist – through thick and thin, good and bad, in sickness and in health, powers or no powers.

I remember Rogue when she first came to us, young and inexperienced and eager to win our approval. Unable to touch, unable to have what most wish for, true intimacy of a loved one, but so full of fire and spirit and genuine decency. She'd never been fully corrupted by Mystique. She's still feisty even when faced with the return of her powers. She had – no, she has purpose. Remy loves her and for her, despite their arguments or whether they do unite as one, that has to be enough. I let him go. I let them both go – I let them all go.

And I feel as if I'm flying feather light on a wind not of my own making, taking me close, ever closer, to the heart of the sun that calls me, encompassing me and claiming me. There is nothing else for me here. There is no more time.

I see my friends as if I'm watching from above though my body still cannot move. They're laughing and teasing, lighthearted and joyful, at play, at peace. Glimpses of things that were I see like visions on a puff of air. My parents, Achmed el-Gibar, Charles, Yukio, the Acanti, M'rin, Forge . . . so many who touched my life, even Jean but as the dark Phoenix, angry and fierce. And finally Logan, all the times he held me, few though they were. I don't want to let those memories go but they are wrenched from me. I wonder what will become of Logan and Jean? My heart catches in my throat. I will miss Logan the most. Even now I cannot bear to look upon him though I know he is watching me intently.

And suddenly there is Gateway! I wonder why it is that I should see him; it has been such a long time when last we met. But there he is sitting cross-legged as always, unseeing, all knowing, alone in the Outback. His eyes meet mine and I'm shocked to see recognition and something of compassion in them. What is it that he sees? I wonder what Hank would make of all this. I am so tired and the brightness haunts me. I must get up. Certainly I cannot be well!

Lucas and Logan are the nearest to me with Lucas manning first base and Logan having made it easily to first. I want to scream for them to help me. I do not only because I cannot. I can only watch. Both are such hard cases but I can see in their movements how eager they are to win. Lucas watches Logan whom I'm sure means to steal second as surely as Kurt will try for third. Lucas never misses anything. He's so serious. Too serious. Dear Lucas. He has been a good friend to me yet I know now he cannot help me or I him.

Nor can Logan help either of us. One of his disgusting cigars is thrust in the corner of his mouth and he chews at it out of habit. It is not lit. He says he's giving up the habit, that it sets a bad example for the children. He is a sight. Beautiful and wild, contradictions upon contradictions and I remember all the quiet times we've shared. Hiking with friends, sunsets, a rare flower given, grief and dreams shared, playful times, tiny moments of passion shared – hoping for love making that would tide me over for months at a time. What we had was fleeting but true and yet had nowhere to go. I-I . . . wish we had tried!

The sun finally fades, clouds nearly obliterating it. Gray cast skies. I can see sharply all around me; hear all – the birds and insects, the frogs croaking by the pond as well as each and everyone of my friends. Kurt has been caught stealing third by the ever watchful Lucas. Hank's so strong that despite lack of powers or perhaps because he refuses to use his full strength he hits what looks to be a home run to center field that soon looses steam and turns into an easy out for Rogue and now they're switching sides. Laughing, just a little worried about the chance of rain.

Yet it remains so bright. How? Soothingly bright. So peaceful. The sounds of life all around me are steady and sure.

Did I drift off? I hear voices nearing.

"I told you there ain't no way she's sleepin' in all this flamin' noise! 'Ro's a light sleeper . . . somethin' don't feel right."

"Sssh! You'll wake her, sugah!"

"Vas? She is sleeping!"

"Just how're we going to play if it rains? Come on, Hank ol' buddy wake her up so she can stop it from raining, she won't mind!"

"Shame on you, Robert! I suggest we let the lovely lady slumber in peace."

"If she's got a concussion she shouldn't be sleepin'!"

"No concussion, Logan, she's in perfect health, Jean said so!"

"You heard de brianiac so leave Stormy be, boy."

"We'll be eating soon, she'll want us to wake her. There's roasted corn the way she likes."

"Now dun forget my special sauce, she loves dat!"

"We're not even finished with the game yet you guys!"

"Ja, Rachel is right."

"I tell you somethin' ain't right!"

"Sssh! You guys are going to wake her! Lockheed leave her alone – come back here!"

Playful banter. I want to send them all away. I am so tired – just want to sleep. Sleep forever.

The sun is no longer brightness personified and I no longer feel its warmth and yet the brightness lingers. I see such glorious light! And now I know the brightness was not the sun but something else, something more, calling me, claiming me – something wonderful and I am no longer tired. In this one last fleeting moment, it is as if I am one with the earth and sky, the very wind, and I have no fear. I am at peace.

I hear more whispers, voices almost incoherent – so very far away now. I want to laugh and reprimand them for disturbing my deep peace and I try but fail. It is Logan who knows before the others, even before I myself. Despite the others and Hank's insistence Logan is beside me, my hand, cold and limp, in his – his hand warm and . . . and full of life.

"Pum'kin," he says, his voice deep and broken, full of warning, thinking of Kitty – how to tell her?

It is Jean who gives voice: "Storm – oh no. Logan, she's not asleep!" she says with more emotion than I would have ever expected from her since her threat to kill me. Unnatural emotion after how she has felt about me. Did she forgive me then? I couldn't help whom I loved.

I am surrounded by loving friends. My family. Vehement denials are shouted, anger flares and Jean is taken aback by the unguarded emotions. And I see, know that somehow she is not surprised by my plight. Logan says nothing. He can see, smell, feel I, Ororo, am no longer with them, am no longer the Ororo they know. Kitty drops to her knees and buries her face in my hair. She has always thought it soft and fragrant, the color of snow and clouds. A sob catches in her throat.

"No, Ororo! Not you too!" she cries.

I wish I could comfort her but I am slipping away. I cannot help her or myself even if I wanted to do so. She doesn't know. I will be alright.

Stealing unseen like a bandit in the night, somehow appropriate for a one time thief, death seizes Ororo and takes her gently. There is nothing that can staunch the shock or pain her friends feel. Peter draws Kitty to him; his strong arms crush her tight against his chest, his eyes never once leaving Ororo's body. She was like an older sister to me, he thinks, blinking hard but determined not to fail Kitty who needs him now more than ever with the loss of yet another of their loved ones.

"Good Lord in Heaven, please – Father God, no," Kurt moans.

"Ain't a better way ta go, Elf. 'Ro went peaceful," Logan says, voice firm and certain yet something's off, something's missing, something in the tone of his gruff, deep voice is not quite right.

Hank steps forward ready to aid Ororo if at all possible but he too smells death upon her and knows he is too late. Had he but known, had some indication, the smallest clue, he could have – possibly, perhaps . . . But his logical mind tells him there was no conceivable way he could have known therefore nothing could have been done. It doesn't stop his heart from aching. Consumed by sorrow he never once recalls Jean's assertion that Ororo was in perfect health.

At the look of grief on Logan's face Hank falls back. It takes him by surprise this look, as if, if . . . but there are no more if's for Logan and Ororo now. Hank slowly begins to steer the others away, both students and teachers. All he can do is give those who loved her best a moment alone to mourn over her empty shell.

Truly shaken they move off like lemmings, one following the other, turned one way then another stumbling along, some crying, all in disbelief. Nathan is too stunned to do anything but blindly trail behind the others. Jean grasps the hand he extends to her almost absently and yet instinctively. She knows what he is thinking – not her too – not my father and Ororo!

As Lucas helps Hank guide the few stragglers he will always wonder if his coming back to the past has somehow altered events. His thoughts are greatly troubled. It wasn't supposed to happen like this! This wasn't supposed to be Ororo's fate!

Rogue doesn't mind when Remy motions for her to go on with the others. She loves Ororo, has never resented her, has always trusted her and always understood the deep bond he has with the woman she too is closest with. He stays near Logan and Kitty who is weeping in Peter's arms, and near the best friend he's ever had and probably ever will have. Kurt too remains but Rachel has embraced him and they both bow their heads in silent prayer, their hands intertwined.

Logan shudders though they all feel the wind – soft, warm, somehow brimming full of life, as if comforting them. He feels that with Ororo's passing some part of him too has died. He thinks of all the women he has loved and survived, of all the missed chances and his heart, torn, slowly crumbles. It's too late. He never got a chance to tell her how he felt. He wonders if Jean knew he was going to end their marriage tonight, so he and Ororo . . . And then he remembers his wife. Ororo is gone and Jean was . . . pretending, acting shocked, saddened. He shudders again. Everything has changed.

The sun sets in a sudden brilliant swash of hues as the clouds break and drift. The splendor goes unnoticed. Birds chirp peacefully as they swoop off in wide arches – unmindful of the loss of one who once shared the skies with them. There are darting dragonflies and determined mosquitoes buzzing here and there seeking for what is most necessary to survive their brief life spans – seemingly uncaring of anything else. The world goes on, oblivious, life and death a circle. The weight of sorrow burdens none of nature's creatures as it does Ororo's friends. They cannot know she smiles down upon them one last time before she is lost in the air like mist after a storm, a whisper on the wind.

-xox-

"Funerals should be outlawed. What's the point? When you're dead you're dead, gone, nothin' left. Ro's dead, gone, that's it. Fuck. I know Jean killed her. She's as bad an actor as I am. Just watchin' her wipe her eyes and cry makes me sick ta my stomach. I swear that tissue ain't wet at all.

"Now here's the dilemma, bub, I got no proof but everything in me tells me Jean took Ororo down somehow, telepathy, telekinesis, my baby was lookin' so hot out there swingin' that bat, those short shorts – I know Jean read my mind – an' the next thing I know that ball did some kinda dance and – an' I know it was Jean behind it and so help me God I wanna kill her only . . . only I can't.

"Every time I look at her ever since Ro died I keep thinking of ways to kill her, you know, easy an' fast but maybe as slow and as painful as it gets. I like painful better. She was kind to Ro makin' her fall asleep however she did it but I won't be kind to her when I kill her.

"I know, I know I got no proof. But I know she did what she did and why she did it. She was jealous of Ro 'cause I . . . . All this time I thought I was in love with Jean but I was in love with what I thought she was, not the real woman. And all this time I was still in love with Ororo only I put the fantasy of Jean before everything! An' then when Ro turned me down in Australia – you weren't with us then but you remember when Jean came back from bein' dead an' she was with X-Force, right? So stupid me got all caught up in the Jean spell.

"Man, I almost think she played with me intentionally, led me on with all that sweetness at first. Married the bitch an' she turns into a jealous shrew. Who'da thunk that sweet woman would harangue all day an' all night? 'Logan, honey do you think I look fat in this costume? What about pink and white as a color scheme? Logan, are you listening? Logan, Logan, Logan, Logan!' She just wouldn't shut the fuck up!

"Don't look at me like that, bub. Yeah, I'm drunk. Not as drunk as I want. Fucking healing factor. What? I know Ororo hated my foul mouth but she's fucking dead while my so called wife is alive and probably as happy as she's ever been with her big fat crocodile tears.

"So, here's the thing. I got no proof, not that lack of proof would stop me from killin' her, but I can't. I can't kill Jean. All I can do is divorce the bitch. That's it. What kind of punishment is that? How is that gonna hurt her, make her pay for what she did to Ro, to me?

"Look at her faking those tears. You wanna bet she's smilin' behind them tissues maybe even laughin'?

You wanna know the truth? I know it wasn't really Jean who killed Ororo. It was me, it's my fault we're sittin' here at Ro's funeral. If I'd just listened to her – she was so damn smart, I mean intelligent smart an' she was the best friend you could ever have, a good woman, not play actin' ta reel ya in – but if I'd just listened an' gone back to Jean an' left Ororo alone Ro would still be alive. But if she were alive I'd still be plannin' on talkin' her inta bein' with me after I got a divorce so I guess Jean would've killed her anyway.

"Can't kill her. Want to. Dig my claws so deep, then twist 'em slow an' . . . an' make her cry for real.

"Damn. I killed Ro!

"How am I supposed ta live with that?

"Fuck!

"An' ya know what's even worse? Not Ro bein' dead or Jean bein' her killer but that no one's gonna believe me. There ain't no way Hank or Remy would listen ta me. They'll think I've finally gone crazy or she'll mind fuck 'em so they think I'm crazy. Ro gets no justice an' I'm stuck with this crazy, ass bitch till I can get a lawyer who can't be mind controlled. Now how do I get one of those? You see how fucked up this is?"

Logan's companion tilted his head to one side and nodded as he observed the very drunk Logan. They were sitting in the last row of chairs lined up on the lawn. Most of the others had moved away from him, taken seats closer to the small podium as many of them gave heartfelt eulogies. Jean was getting up now to give hers and Logan could see her looking at him but through what little psychic bond they shared since their marriage he caught a distinct sense of joy. It was more than he could stand.

"Sit down you lyin', hypocritical, bitch!" he roared. "Get off of me! Lemme go! Y'all don't know it but she killed 'Rroro! An' you ain't cryin' – give me that tissue!" Logan fought off his little companion as he got up, knocking chairs out of his way, then ran up to the podium and grabbed his wife.

The other X-Men were slow to act. First, they were all shocked and secondly it was fascinating to watch Logan having an emotional outburst that wasn't based solely on anger. This time his outburst of anger was mixed with intoxication and grief and it was aimed at his wife who was Ororo's best friend and with his sudden and very strange accusation none of them could understand why Jean would want to kill Ororo or why Logan would say anything so absurd. They were simply stunned.

It took Logan's hands around Jean's neck to get them up. But Jean had it under control. Logan was so drunk his mind was easier to get into and she just simply shut it down. He collapsed and she let out a wrenching sob that was actually very good acting.

Lockheed shook his head. He believed Logan because he saw things that others didn't see because often times they didn't know he was even around. He liked the white haired lady Ororo because Kitty loved her and he liked the wild man Logan because Kitty and the white haired lady loved him. The red haired lady Jean, she wasn't close to Kitty at all. Plus he'd seen the little confrontation Jean had with Ororo, and he'd heard the threat. Yes, he believed everything Logan said but he knew no one would believe him just like they weren't going to believe Logan. Besides, he didn't want Jean to do what she'd just done to Logan to him. Or what she did to Ororo. Nope. He didn't want to die and leave his Kitty.

Lockheed shook his head slowly as he watched Hank and Remy carry Logan to the infirmary while Jean, sobbing and repeating over and over that she didn't know he'd take Ororo's death so hard and how much they both loved her, was accompanying her husband. Probably to do some serious mind twisting, Lockheed thought. He shook his head again. He was sorry for the wild man but other than lending a sympathetic ear he couldn't help him. He was sorry about that and very sorry that Jean had killed Ororo. And he was doubly sorry that Kitty was so sad. That meant Peter would be around a lot more if that were even possible. He didn't dislike Peter exactly and he was used to him by now but it still annoyed him that with Peter in Kitty's life he, Lockheed, was second best in her heart.

He wondered if the wild man was third best and if the white haired lady was fourth best. But then he thought that he loved all of them and so why couldn't Kitty love all of them too, not numbered love but just love? He nodded at this epiphany. It was like a light after the darkness. And then, feeling better, partially because, thankfully he knew these X-Men never really died for good, he flew over to Kitty and Peter and actually settled on Peter's lap and then he laid his head on Kitty's arm. Love was good. Kitty would be okay because she had his love and Peter's and even Logan's once the poor, wild man figured out how to live with the truth. Lockheed knew you could do anything if you loved and had love.

~Shakespeare – Sonnet XXXIII ~

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all triumphant splendor on my brow;
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.