Secrets Still – by Darlin

Chapter Three – Can a Goddess Truly Die?

Time passed as it has to. Ororo was remembered for a time and then slowly forgotten. Her friends let her go as they had to. And as it always does joy came to them again, to cushion past and future griefs for such is life. No one had believed Logan or if they had at first he was sure Jean made sure they quickly changed their minds. At first she ardently denied having any part in Ororo's death and then she simply never spoke of Ororo at all when they were alone at night in their room and Logan continued to press her.

Now that Ororo was out of the picture Jean was speaking to Logan again. But one thing Logan knew for certain, if someone had accused him of killing Ororo he'd be more than pissed and there would be no way in hell he'd be trying to sleep with that person or acting as if everything was alright. Once a spouse, or anyone for that matter, accused you of killing someone then you had nothing left even if it wasn't true. But if it was true and you were just covering of course you'd go out of your way to be sweet and sympathetic and even shut up more, like Jean was doing. And to him that was the final clue. Without a doubt he knew his wife had killed Ororo, somehow shutting her down through her psionic abilities. What's more, Hank had admitted that such a feat was theoretically possible when Logan had asked him.

He'd also asked for an autopsy. Many times. But Hank, probably thoroughly mind wiped, was adamant that Ororo had died from natural causes so there was no need to go to such lengths. And Logan finally learned what defeat truly was. Jean had complete control of everyone of them. Maybe she hadn't tried to get into his mind but she'd gotten to everyone else. It was as if he were continually hitting his head against an unbreakable wall. They were virtually Jean's prisoners only no one else could see this. He was reminded of a story by Harlan Ellison, the protagonist wanted to scream but he had no mouth. In his case Logan wanted to scream, to shout, but when he did no one had ears to hear.

He mourned hard that first year, drunk more often than not. It took a lot of liquor to get and keep him drunk and he didn't stay drunk for long even then. But it was enough of a difference in him that Jean played the tragic wife that long, hard year. Then they both attempted to move on as had the others, what few remained.

Sometimes Logan still thought of Ororo, missed her deeply, regretting all the things left unsaid as one is wont to do but then he would force himself to leave the past where it belonged. Like Mariko, like the others before her even, Ororo was gone and there was nothing he could do to change that harsh, bleak fact. Still, sometimes he'd slip, go on a binge, get so drunk he'd badger Hank, try to make him do an autopsy, hoping maybe Hank's incredible brain would somehow work through Jean's mental block but it never did. Then he thought his luck had change when Hank grew tired of Logan's drunken insistence that Jean was capable of murder outside of being the Phoenix. And so one night as Logan droned on about his sick theory it was Hank who demanded an autopsy to prove Jean's innocence.

They dug the coffin up when all were asleep, easy enough, but at the crucial moment Hank couldn't open it. He recalled the look of utter heartbreak on Logan's face the day Ororo died and the memory disturbed him enough to make him second guess himself. Logan, unknowingly, feeling exactly like a grief ridden Heathcliff, readily took over, his heart and mind racing. Would Ororo be preserved and as beautiful as the day she died, like Catherine was in just that instant before the air could contaminate that beauty? Would he be able to handle it if that beautiful face became decrepit before his eyes? Would he be able to handle it if she was already badly decayed?

In the end neither of them had the heart to open her casket. Logan just sat down in the dirt and cried. Hank, taken aback, just crept silently away. Drunken Logan wasn't fun to be around. He was beginning to think Logan was losing his mind.

Things didn't get better for Logan. Jean was still with him though he barely acknowledged her. Life had a routine about it. Kill bad guys as much as he could when he could get away from X-Men business, hang with his friends, play poker, and bitch about married life, teach at the school, train, avoid Jean, play with his child. Life kind of sucked except for that. And it got worse.

Almost a year to the day of Ororo's death Sentinels struck. It was as bright and beautiful as the day she'd died, clouds floating gently, birds chirping lazily and the sound of laughter ringing out joyfully. They took out the strongest X-Men first. Logan wasn't there. He'd been at his weekly poker game with the likes of Steve Rogers, Ben Grimm and Nick Fury. He never played poker after that. He would never forgive himself for being gone that day.

Fully caught off guard nearly everyone at the mansion had perished. Only Jean and Hank and Kurt had escaped the first barrage. Considered lesser threats, they were targeted last. Jean who had sensed her friend's alarm and fear and then nothing at all, wasn't caught entirely off guard but she was unable to save anyone. Her warning came much too late. Rogue, Alex, Lucas, Bobby, Peter, Warren, Remy, Dani and the students – none of them had survived. The Professor had nearly escaped but handicapped as he was there was nowhere to flee, his hover chair an easy target.

When Logan got back the mansion was in ruins. Smoldering rubble. Nothing new but the devastation was chillingly unexpected. The sight told him all he needed to know. Almost. He began to dig through the rubble, calling out for his family and friends but finding only charred remains and bones, and the long dead in destroyed caskets with decayed remains. Ororo's casket was among them except when he resolutely nudged the loose lid off there were no remains.

Logan stood over Ororo's casket looking inside the emptiness. He'd been drunk the night he and Hank dug up her casket and drunker still when he'd covered it again with tears and dirt. Now he didn't know what to think. Ororo's body was gone as was his little girl's. Grief overcame him. He was a sitting duck.

Rising from the rubble one Sentinel attacked. Below ground Kitty Pryde had been looking for Peter, Lockheed and the others. Intangible and hearing the ruckus above, she immediately surfaced. She saved Logan. When he woke they were in Mutant town at Jamie Maddrox's office, Logan's skin barely clinging to his bones but he was alive.

Those that had survived the onslaught were there, watching and waiting. Jean, a fiery flaming beauty full of rage that had yet to burn out, Kitty and her beloved Lockheed and Peter whom she found out later had been away at the time of the attack having sneaked out to buy her a ring for her, planning to propose later that day. Kurt who had teleported himself and Jean and Hank to safety was bad off but would recover, and Jamie, Rahne, Guido, Monet, Rictor and Theresa along with a girl only Logan knew, Lalaya, those who had escaped notice there in Mutant Town.

The X-Men rebuilt. As always. Stronger, safer. And after another long hard year Jean and Logan began to feel again. After discovering her husband's feelings for her best friend Logan believed that Jean had simply taken matters into her own hands and killed Ororo because Jean had discovered that she was pregnant and she wasn't going to lose the father of her child. But their beautiful little one year old girl, had been killed in the attack. Her death devastated both parents. The tiny little toddler who followed Logan everywhere had begun to bring hope and life back to Logan. He'd stayed with Jean only to prevent his little half pint from being raised by a crazy murderer. And yes, he saw the hypocrisy in that. But he would have done anything for his little girl and Jean, knowing this, had laid down rules that he was to follow or else he would never see his child again.

Wracked with grief over the loss of their child they mindlessly continued with their routine. Logan ignored Jean and Jean dreamed of the past, she dreamed of life with Scott before Logan, before such unbearable loss of a child barely a year old. But Scott was not the only ghost between them now. And had they known – or rather I should say, had Logan remembered that X-Men seldom remain dead he might never have stayed with Jean. Neither remembered that storms have a way of materializing unexpectedly. But even a telepath who had wielded the power of the Phoenix could not read the future and when one morning, very early, in a mist so thick even Logan's senses were impaired, every bit of the truce he and Jean had managed to achieve after loosing their daughter completely and irretrievably vanished.

Running, any time of the day, was something Logan loved. Rain, shine, snow, fog. It didn't matter. He had ran with Ororo, with Sam – when he was alive, with Alex – when he too was alive. He ran now because he had to. It kept him sane. This form of exercise was like therapy although he never consciously thought of it like that.

The day was misty, grass still wet with dew, just a little chill of autumn but promising. Still, something felt wrong, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. What better way to discover what might be remiss than taking a jog around the complex? He ran at an easy gait, short thick legs showing every cut in his muscles every time a foot hit the earth. Thump, pause, thump, pause – he couldn't stop listening to the beat of his sneakers against the dirt, as if his senses were shot. Finally he came to a halt, bent at his waist to catch his breath then stood with arms behind his head. It was a bad run. He felt too tight, no, too tense, there was no peace to be had this morning. And then he saw her.

On her knees in the grass, her hair almost one with the mist as it swirled around her, a shroud of whitest white. She was looking at her hands, her lips were slightly parted. And he saw she had no hands. She was in the exact same spot where she'd been when they'd found her minutes after she died.

"Ororo?" he called but she didn't hear or couldn't hear.

A quick look around the field assured him they were alone. He took a step towards her then looked around again. He caught her scent and his eyes squinted in curiosity. Her scent was true but her body was fading like the mist over the field.

"Darlin' . . ."

Large blue eyes captured him in their gaze and he stopped again. They looked larger than he remembered, and more like cat eyes. She was pale too, her color muted and then she was gone.

"What . . . ?"

That was the first time he saw her. A vision? A ghost? He would've doubted himself had he been anyone other than who he was with his superb senses. Her odor was as gentle and sweet as the earth itself, something he would never forget if he lived to be a thousand years old. There could be no mistaking – it was her. The way his heart sped up and the tightness in his shorts all told him it was her.

He didn't tell a soul. He knew he should have but he couldn't bring himself to. First, he knew they would think he was crazy and secondly he felt that if she wanted them to know then she'd appear to them as well.

It was just a few days later when he was thinking it had all been a dream when she appeared again. That morning he ran right into her. She appeared out of nowhere and he couldn't avoid hitting her. She was almost transparent, made of wisps of fog and fragments of skin and bones. They both went tumbling. He'd hit her hard. She cried out, startled and in pain. All he could do was stare as he lay on top of her. Fog, steam, wind, flesh – Ororo.

"Hi," she said in a voice that was both small and large, hers and yet not fully.

"Hi," he replied, stunned, not trusting his senses. Sight, smell, hearing all claimed it was her but – how?

And as he looked into her clear, liquid, blue eyes she disappeared. He hit the ground, shocked and bewildered. But again he told no one. Something held him back. Perhaps Ororo was still alive or either he was seeing apparitions who conversed with him against all probability. If the latter, it was no one's business.

Several weeks later, now noticing the slightest changes in the weather, he saw the mist over the grounds were thicker than usual and it reminded him of this new Ororo. He went for a run hoping against hope to find her but knowing that every day since he'd seen her last he wouldn't see her again. It did not help that Jean was growing suspicious. Normally reticent he had become more so and their already tentative relationship had suffered. He knew he should tell her and yet nothing really had happened so he justified, refusing to dwell upon something that really wasn't anything at all even though he desperately hoped it was.

The old saying was a watched pot . . . And just as he thought this, like a phantom she appeared and he would have run her over again had she not been – what? Made of nothing but air? And rain and snow by the feel of it, he thought as he rubbed his frozen wet body having ran straight through her.

"What the hell? 'Roro?"

"Logan."

He knelt beside her. He could see her fading again, saw water mixed with snow rushing through her body like a second skin.

"Don't go! Tell me what's happening to you, darlin'."

"Logan."

"Yeah, darlin' it's me, talk to me. Let me help you!"

His hand reached out, hesitated only a second before touching her cheek. But instead of meeting solid flesh it passed straight through leaving his hand ice cold and sopping wet. He yanked it back, balled his hand into a fist then blew on it attempting to chase the bitter chill away.

"Logan," she said with large eyes wide with confusion and then she was gone again as if she'd never been there at all.

He debated with himself for days after that, whether or not to tell what he'd seen. Something intuitive, told him not to speak quite yet and so he waited. Every morning he ran in the field where Ororo had died but he never saw her again. After a month passed and Jean was becoming more relaxed around him again, probably because he wasn't so preoccupied with thoughts she dare not trespass upon, he felt it was safe to tell her.

"Jean, listen, I saw Ororo . . . when I was running in the . . ."

Jean laughed. She stopped in the corridor of the school and kissed him on the tip of his nose.

"I think you've had one too many beers this morning honey, maybe you should try drinking a little later in the day," she said with a playful smile.

He started to protest but throughout their married life he had learned that with Jean it was best to just go along with what she wanted. It simply stopped the arguments that had plagued them. He went to Hank instead.

"Hank, now I know you're gonna think this is crazy but what if, just what if you saw someone who was supposed to be dead – they even talked to you – but they disappeared, kept disappearing – what would ya think?"

The curious look Hank gave Logan was less curious than what he'd expected. The bouncing, blue beast, now more a bouncing, blue monstrosity, set his chin betwixt his thumb and forefinger as he contemplated the question.

"How often have you had this visitation?"

"Three times now."

"When?"

"It happens in the morning just before noon when I'm out running."

"Whom have you been seeing?"

He paused.

"Now we can play twenty questions but it would be simpler if you just divulged the source wouldn't you agree my stubborn friend?"

"It's Ororo."

"Ororo!" Now Hank looked shocked, even disbelieving, but only for a few seconds. As his great mind delved into this new mystery he began to nod his head up and down as he worked out the possible physics.

"You say she keeps disappearing yet has spoken to you?"

"She called me by name but she looked scared, Hank. She wasn't the Ro we knew but . . . kind of bits and pieces of her and water and snow all mixed up."

"Water and snow?" he asked, incredulous.

"When I touched her my hand went right through her, came out half frozen."

"Interesting! That is quite an evolution if evolution it is."

"Evolution? You think Ro's evolved?"

"Logan, when Ororo died so unexpectedly there was no feasible reason for her death. Jean was correct in her analysis. She was in perfect health."

"I know she was dead. We buried her. "

"But you said her body is different, new?"

It took him a moment before he could respond. He remembered the empty casket. "Then Ro's really alive?"

"It would appear so. You'll have to show me where it is that you've seen her, tell me everything and I'll see what I can do to help ease her transition."

"Uh, Hank I don't want anyone to know just yet."

"You haven't mentioned this to anyone else?"

"I told Jean but she thought I was playing around," he said with a shrug.

"Certainly it's nothing new when one of us comes back to life and Jean, of all of us, should know it's quite possible."

Thereafter for many days Hank ran with Logan. Afterward he would retrace the path of their runs sniffing and feeling and exploring with instruments that Logan couldn't pronounce the names of. She never appeared when they ran and Hank found nothing out of the ordinary around the grounds.

"There's one thing," Logan said one morning after a fruitless run, "She came back right where she . . ."

"Hmm, where she died? That's intriguing."

Meaning he was still just as clueless, Logan thought.

"Perhaps we should try running over there more frequently. Let's have a look."

But once again there was nothing different, nothing to give Hank any idea of what he could do to aid Ororo. Hank thought to return later that night, the bewitching hour he called it, and he left Logan alone. But only for a while. Mist turned into fog and soon the grounds were obscured and Logan wasn't startled when he heard her this time.

"I remember . . . I remember the fun – everyone was playing . . . not me. My mind . . . shut down, I wasn't myself, couldn't control – Logan, what happened? Where did they go? What happened?"

Ororo was standing right beside him. She was just as he had always remembered her, flesh and blood, her brown skin smooth and bright, her eyes sparkling blue, full of life, and her mouth soft and welcoming, mauve colored lips turning up slightly at the corners when he grabbed her.

When her arms went around him he knew. His heart knew. Her touch, her smell, eternal sunshine and soft rain. Ororo. The woman he loved. She was as real as he.

"But how?" he asked as he held onto her.

"How?"

"How're you here, darlin' – alive?"

"Alive?"

"Do ya remember anything?"

"Remember? Remember what? Is there something I forgot?"

"You were . . . you were dead, darlin'!"

"Dead?" she gasped.

"You're – you died! I shoulda checked on you but . . ."

"I am not dead. I was gone. I know. Asleep. I woke and you were gone, everyone was gone. But I'm back now."

"But how? Where were you?"

"I was . . . I was . . . here . . . in the air . . . in the rain . . . and snow and wind. I think – no, I remember though I don't quite understand how but I was one with everything – with the very elements. I . . . I tried to pull myself together but it was so . . . I couldn't . . . I didn't know how. But I am here now. I have come back – for you."

Those words pierced his heart. Her smile melted his soul.

"Ro." His burly arms squeezed her tight and he kissed her with a passion he'd almost forgotten. And in her arms he realized the desire he felt for Ororo was like nothing he'd ever known. It was then that he realized he had a wife.

When he stopped mid kiss Ororo looked at him, puzzled, her blue eyes now white and shining. She moved to kiss him again and he let her but only briefly.

"I gotta tell ya somethin'," he said.

"Tell me that you love me – that is all I want to hear."

The request startled him. Her whole manner, so free and full of love, startled him. Before they had never mentioned words like love and commitment. They'd taken from each other and given all but no words had ever been spoken between them of what it was that they felt for each other.

There would have been a time before her death that he would have been overjoyed for this but now he couldn't bring himself to speak the words she needed to hear. How many times had he told Jean that he loved her? Once when he'd proposed. Had that been it? But he had loved Jean. A long, long time ago. Only he had finally seen that desire and lust were not love. But now she was happy, no longer jealous though no less demanding and sometimes she wouldn't shut up. She didn't know that in his heart he kept a special place for Ororo.

"I don't know any easy way ta tell ya 'cept ta come out with it . . ."

"What do you . . . ?"

"Things changed after you . . . died."

"I did not die as you can see. I am here – alive!"

He took her by the shoulders. He looked at her, felt as if he too had come alive for the first time in years even while he was dying inside. He got up, moved a fair distance from her. Everything had changed with her death and then after the death of most of their teammates and the students, his child.

"You know how I feel about you, Ororo. You're probably the only woman who really knew me, knew me and accepted me . . . Damn, this is hard. Don't know how ta tell ya."

"Tell me what?" Ororo asked, standing now beside him and he had to blink it happened so quickly.

"How'd you do that?"

"What?"

"You know – one minute you were on the ground and the next you weren't."

It took her a second to comprehend and then she laughed. "It's difficult even for me to understand fully, Logan. I am . . . I am the wind and the rain and snow – it is as if I am all the very elements. Does that make sense? It's the only way I know to explain it."

"Second mutation . . ." he muttered.

"A mutation?"

"Hank was right I guess, just like him an' Emma an' Warren, the others, an' how Sage could . . ."

"And where are they? I must see them, it has been so long. How long have I been gone, Logan? It felt an age and yet only moments ago I watched all of you playing baseball and I listened to your conversations."

All he could do was stare at her. Her long white hair was streaming down her back, her eyes no longer white with desire but brilliant as the sky on a cloudless day. She was more than beautiful. There was majesty to her. Always regal, now she was – she was eternal, a true goddess.

"Logan?"

"Yeah, darlin."

"It is so good to see you."

"Same here. You were missed more than I could ever tell ya, darlin'."

The catch in his voice told her more than any words. She wanted to hold on to him, feel his body hard against her own that was so new and strange but she sensed she had said too much, much more than she had ever admitted to him before so she made no move, only admired him from aloft. He was as handsome and rugged as she remembered and the sight of him gave her boundless joy.

"You keep doing that," he said, his smile so very familiar and welcoming.

"I am! I barely noticed," she laughed as she floated downward. "I am still adjusting to this . . . body. It is mine but new. Perhaps because I have not been able to use it for so long. I cannot say."

"It's been a long time since . . ."

"Since I . . . died?"

He nodded.

"How long?"

"Over a year."

Now she paused, unable to think or speak or even react.

"But you're back, darlin' an' that's all that matters."

And once again Logan forgot Jean as he pulled Ororo to him. His kisses made her sigh, his arms around her gave her peace and he felt complete and happy again and his mind was made up. He would never give up Ororo. He would divorce Jean immediately.

Still, in the back of his mind he didn't know how he was going to explain to Jean that Ororo was back and was the reason he was leaving her or how to explain to Ororo that though he had planned to divorce Jean they had stayed together because of a child they'd lost. And would Jean attempt to kill Ororo again – was that even possible now? He would not risk her life again. And yet after her death and after the Sentinel attack he'd told himself if he ever found love again he'd never let it go, never waste a minute. With Ororo he had lost the woman that he loved without ever telling her that he loved her but he vowed to himself as he held her that he would never lose her again even if it meant taking Jean down.