The flight back across the pond had been interesting. Logan had stayed away from them, and mostly sulked to himself while smoking a cigar. Lost in thoughts, Gambit had figured. Mean while, Ororo had decided to begin teaching Remy more about flying the jet. That had came to an end when Logan had stormed out of the back of the yet to growl at them, after Remy had done one to many loop de loops.
He didn't see why the man was so upset, usually he'd be laughing about such a thing. But there was no accounting for what had happened to Logan on the trip.
When Storm landed the bird, they found Scott was waiting for them at the exit from the hanger.
"Welcome back you three, everything go okay? Where's the Professor?"
"Get outta my way, Cyke." Logan grumbled, pushing him aside and stalking off.
Scott just looked after him, rubbing his shoulder, and muttered. Gambit distinctly heard something about pissing in his cereal. Remy wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"The Professor is remaining on Muir Island for a few more days to study his son, and make some preparations with Moira. He'll call when he's ready for you to come pick him up, Scott."
Remy enjoyed the priceless look on Scott's face as he disbelievingly asked 'Son?' and seemed like he had to shake himself out of a bad dream. Or perhaps it was a nightmare. Who could say? Remy wasn't totally sure how much of a father/son bond existed between Scott and Charles, beyond Scott was legaly adopted as his son.
Guess it kinda like finding out ya got an adopted brother, or something. Mebbe.
"Oiu. De Professor's son be de reason we had to go to Muir. Bit of a nutjob dat kid, but in a coma again now. Mebbe a problem another day, eh? You get your report later, Boyscout. Me and 'Ro got somet'ings we need to be talking about."
Not giving Scott time to demand answers, he gave her hand a light tug towards the door, to start the long walk up towards the attic. At least the elevator would make by-passing the majority of students easy. He didn't want to deal with them right now, even though he could feel curiosity surging through the mansion, and wariness. People must've been running into Logan.
Storm's hand clutched his tightly as they walked, but she was eying him quizzically. He could tell she was fighting down the urge to ask what they had to talk about, but he didn't think she was conciously aware of how tight she'd been gripping his hand whenever she wasn't occupied with doing something lately.
I was married once. I'm a Widower.
The thoughts didn't cause him to flex his hands like he wanted to pop his claws at least, and he was able to recognize the memories for honest ones now. He'd slipped out of the mansion as soon as he could, out to the dock by the boat house. The kids would all be in doors at this time of the evening, and it afforded him some alone time.
For once he didn't find his eyes drawn towards the light that was Jean and Scott's room. He had much more important things on his mind then the redhead he could never have, anyway. Almost callously, cruelly, Legion had broken a horde of his old life free from where they had been repressed. Or maybe they were just hidden. Logan didn't know what had been done to him, but now he knew some of it.
The earliest memories of Japan started with a man named Ogun. It was almost 19 years ago, if he had done the mental calculations right. He had no idea why he'd ended up in Japan, oddly the earliest of his memories indicated he'd been part of a ship wreck and had amnesia. He'd picked a fight with the man who'd found him – Ogun. A fight that had ended badly, embarrassingly badly, but had impressed Ogun enough to warrant him being trained by the man.
He'd spent two years with Ogun. Two years learning the way of the Samurai, fighting with the Katana, the martial arts. Learning Honor. Two years of Master/Apprentice that had ended with Logan learning that so much of what Ogun had taught him, the man himself didn't truly believe in. He'd killed Ogun, when Ogun tried to possess his body for his own.
A non-japanese body. It is beneath me, but you are a unique one Logan. Your healing is extraordinary, your reflexes amazing, the enhanced senses.. think of what a true Master could do possessing those capabilities?
He could recall those words, the scorn the man had for taking a hairy somewhat short westerners body, but he'd wanted it. After that, he'd wandered for a time, pulled some work as a bodyguard and a not quite honest job working with the Yakuza of House Yashida. It was where he had met Mariko, and fallen in love with her. Despite her brothers protests, they had married after only seeing each other for eight months. Not quite half a year later, the grudge that came of their marriage resulted in her death by the hands of her brother.
Mental images of a man bound in silver armor, calling himself the Silver Samurai flashed through his mind. Logan remembered something else. He had a deposit box in New York waiting for him, even after all these years. It'd still be there. The Honor Blade of Clan Yashida. Perhaps he would reclaim it..
Fer what? Ain't got no use for a blade. Mariko..How could I have forgotten you, Mariko? How?
He remembered Yukio too. She'd been little more then a teenager then, and already in the blacks of a Ronin. For all that she claimed the Title of a Ronin, she worked for House Yashida, Mariko's brother in particular, but over time her loyalties had come to be with Mariko not her brother. He remembered her urging him to leave Japan after Mariko's death.
Remembered her pushing him onto a flight out of Japan, after a chance encounter on the streets had revealed to him some of his past identity. He was Special Forces military, and they wanted him back. He'd left Japan with Mariko unavenged. Somehow though, he knew there was more to it that he didn't remember. There was no other way to explain how he didn't feel the need for retribution, for vengeance.
Mariko Yashida. God bless your memory.
He realized he was crying, and growled. The Wolverine didn't cry, but he couldn't stop himself. He'd never realized he'd loved and lost so deeply, and now that knowing made him hurt all over. A pain that made the pain of his claws cutting through his knuckles seem like nothing.
"Remy? Remy?..."
Ororo wasn't sure what he had wanted to talk to her about. He was being confusing. Once they'd gotten up into the attic, he'd just stopped and looked at her. His face unreadable, his devils eyes shimmering in the darkness. When they'd stepped in, he'd only shifted the lights to dim, which she didn't question. His eyes were sensitive to light, she knew, and she herself could see fairly well in even dim lightings.
As a grin spread across her lips, she felt a grin start to match on her own lips, but she kept it from doing so. Out of annoyance at him. Here he was grinning at her after staring off into no where for sometime, worrying her.
"Oh, sorry chere. Was just t'inking. Ya know dat whatever else happens, ya won't lose me, yeah? Y'got me heart and soul, Stormy, dere ain't not'ing dat gonna change dat."
How did he do that? Raise her ire just a little, and then pull the rug out from under her. It was so hard not to just stare into his exotic eyes as he watched her with a look of concern. He was being honest again, and she found she'd moved without realizing it. To run her fingers along his jaw lightly. He was lightly tanned, contrasting to her own chocolate colored skin. Faint stubble marked that it was indeed somewhat late at night, and been hours since he'd last shaved.
This close, his scent was thick in the air. Cigarettes, spices, and a natural musk that smelled sinfully delicious. She must have lost concentration, because his hand gently brushed her cheek, and he repeated his words for her. Surely, she hadn't gotten that distracted in running her finger tips along his jaw.
"Of course I know that Remy. I feel the same way, and you know that. What did you want to talk about?" Concern still touched her tone, she knew, but she couldn't stop her fingers from tracing his features. Touching him was addictive, she knew from experience, but she couldn't stop herself.
"Stormy.. you been clutching onto my hand so tightly it hurt a bit since dat stuff wit' Legion. What gotten into ya, chere? It ain't like ya to be like dat. Like you afraid dat I not be dere for you. You worried bout dat bit of throwing lightning at me? Talk to me, mon amour."
Her fingers traced over his full lips. They were lightly moist, and grinning, she ran her fingers along his cheek, over his ear, behind it, into his hair. Where her fingers curled in the reddish-brown hair, and gripped firmly.
"I can be like that, Remy. Legion.. used my fear of the Shadow King. Possessing you."
He looked sad, but he didn't move his head at all. Probably because her fingers had a firm enough grip he wasn't going to be able too without it causing him pain, or him losing some hair. To her surprise, his arms slipped around her, and she felt those strong hands caressing her back. Fingers of a master thief working the knots of fear and tension out of her back.
"Was an illusion, chere. T'get ya to do what he wanted. Ya ain't got nothing to fear, eh? Dis Shadow King, he got beat by Xavier. He come back, we beat him again. Dese guys like dat? Dey just road blocks t'get past. Me an you, we forever Stormy. Let guys like Shadow King and Sinister come, we send dem packing eh? We like de beaches in Maui. De tides beat at dem again and again, but all dey do is move a few flicks of sand, an de beach, de beach it always dere. An it always look beautiful. Dat de kinda foundation we got, non?"
That answer had an undeniable smile upon her lips. He sounded so sure, so cocky, so full of bravado, and so sincere. Like he believed that their love alone made them untouchable. That from a man who had known love only to bring pain to him or to those he loved. He had that much faith in them...
She wasn't aware that tears were trickling against her cheeks, because she was focusing on the feeling of his lips pressed against hers. Not the passionate consuming kiss, but soft kisses, lips clinging and reaching for eachother. She wasn't sure how long they kissed for, it didn't matter, long enough for her tears to have dried on her cheeks though, before she finally began to lean back, before catching his lower lip between hers, and giving it a faint nibble before stepping back.
"You're right, Remy. Put some music on? I'm going to freshen up..."
She tossed a smile at him as he slipped towards the stereo, and she grabbed her bag before heading into the bath room.
As a light rain began to fall on previously clear night, like nature was crying, Logan just grunted. However, there was no grimace or mutter about Ororo. It seemed to fit his mood and thoughts for once. The feeling of earth itself weeping was oddly appropriate, as the man called Logan mourned his dead wife for the first time in fifteen years.
Author's note: And that concludes this particular story. I'll be launching into the sequal shortly, unless something distracts me. Logan has regained some of his memories. Gambit and Storm have found some happiness in each other. Scott and Jean are enjoying themselves. And darkness and evil await them on the horizon, as hinted at by Legion. Sinister is out there, so is Weapon X, and who all knows what other evil lurks in the shadows. It is the end of this story and the beginning of the next, because future stories, while Gambit will remain the (or one of the) central characters, it's now more focused on the X-men in general.
Feed back is majorly appreciated on what has been written however. Please feel free to make suggestions or things you might like to see in the future, or thoughts on what's already been written – particularly if it's something that will help future writing, or might fit my style. My contact info (messengers) is in my profile if anyone wishes to speak with me about past or future story arc stuff.