TITLE:  Stealing Unseen
SUMMARY:  Storm watches while the X-Men enjoy a game of baseball and life and death circle.
RATING:  G
GENRE: Drama – comic verse

Disclaimer – Marvel and Fox own the X-Men.

 

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.

 

~Shakespeare – Sonnet XXXIII ~

 

The sun’s so bright today.  Too bright.  It’s never been too bright for me before but it is now.  So bright 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 then suddenly open them and the soothing dark reds and blacks that danced beneath your eyelids are replaced with brilliance – ever bright, beckoning – calling.  So bright yet always peaceful, always soothing.  But even with my eyes closed it’s so bright – there is no hint of darkness.

 

A droning buzz 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 cannot lift my arms.

 

They’re playing in the field, a game of baseball.  No powers.  Peter waves to me off and on, calling me, encouraging me to come play.  I see him clearly, the tall young man-boy fresh from Russia, his handsome smile, polite air and respectful concern.  Even now he scowls at Logan 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 cannot play, not today.  My body isn’t cooperating.  I’m so 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 those fleeting clouds.  Sporadic birds pass like brief shadows.  Oddly, the sun feels too hot and still too bright, not right.  I want to close my eyes and cannot.  They are not open.  And yet I see.

 

There is Kitty siding with Peter telling Logan he never likes it when there’re too many girls on the team.  She’s chewing gum and smacking her glove 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, Kurt, she perks up and demands I come and show them that the women are indeed the better players.  Her small dragon, smitten with her so deeply, floats above 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 begin.  She bounces up and down on the balls of her feet much like a tennis player trying to stay limber then she winds up, prepares to throw the first pitch.

 

I see them all as if they were spread out before me.  I feel as if I could reach out and touch them.  I want to wave and laugh, join in their fun but I cannot.  It’s as if I’ve lost all control over my body.  And yet I feel fine even wonderful, light as air 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 small things bustling, seeking, busy around me.  All around me.  Instead of being annoyed with the assault I find it curiously peaceful.  It’s as if their being at 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 hushed 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 never mind.  I return his smile.  I try at least but find I simply cannot.  He looks so . . . tender 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 sister of my heart no matter if she hails from an alternate timeline.  I cannot hold Kurt for I have nothing to give him and perhaps he senses this as well.  His eyes are on her now.  He grins wide, full and open and just as tenderly as the smile he gave me only mere seconds ago.  I am truly glad for them. 

 

A puff of smoke and a pungent odor is all I have left of my dear friend, that and my memories always to be cherished.  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.  I’ll never tire of seeing his handsome face, dark and angelic in his 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; they dip 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’s come to mine now 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 of late.  I know she misses Jean as I do, as we all do yet she has a grasp of what things might become in the future.  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.

 

The delicious aroma of hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill along with ribs and the corn I love so much roasting in the coals stirs me.  How thoughtful of Scott to remember.  I want to leap up and join them.  I know Scott is in his element – in charge, chef for the day.  I will not trespass.  But it is Remy’s barbecued ribs basting in his special sauce that will be the hit of the evening.

 

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 attempts, wouldn’t know if his teammate were bunting or striking out.  He’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 the smitten Lothario’s 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, admit this. 

 

“So, what happened to no powers, cher?” Remy says with a twinkle in his devilish eyes.  He laughs good-humouredly and in reply she beams so wide it’s obvious to anyone observing these two that she loves him dearly.  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 and yet so full of fire and spirit and goodness.  And still feisty even when faced with the return of her powers.  She had – has purpose.   Remy loves her.  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.  Laughing and joking lighthearted and joyful at play, at peace.  Glimpses of things that should not be and yet are to come I see.  Like visions on a puff of air.  Jean, safe, at rest – waiting.  My heart catches in my throat.  Logan will be pleased though I do not know how Scott and Emma will feel.  Charles come back, trapped within this self contained world he has made for all like himself.  I see my parents, young, smiling, waiting arms spread wide. 

 

And there is Gateway.  I wonder why I should see him, it has been so long.  But there he is sitting cross-legged as always, unseeing, all knowing, on his throne alone in the Outback.  His eyes meet mine and I’m shocked to see recognition and something of compassion in them.  What is it he sees?  I wonder what Hank would make of all this.  I am so tired and the brightness haunts me.  I must get up.  I am not well!

 

Lucas and Logan are closest to me.  Lucas, first baseman, Logan having made it to first.  I want to scream for them to help me.  I do not.  I can only watch.  Both are such stoics 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.  Poor Lucas.  He cannot help me or I him.

 

And Logan.  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 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 shared, dreams shared, playful passion shared – fleeting but there and yet no where to go.  I wish we had tried.

 

The sun 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 from 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 homerun to center field that soon looses steam and turns into an easy out for Rogue, powers or no, and they’re switching sides.  Laughing, just a little worried about the chance of rain. 

 

So bright.  How?  Soothingly bright.  So peaceful.  The sounds of life all around me, steady and sure.  Did I drift off?  I hear voices.  Shushing each other.  “She’s still sleeping.”  “In all this noise?”  “Sssh!  You’ll wake her!”  “Just how’re we going to play if it rains?  Wake her up, Hank,” – Bobby.  “Shame on you, Robert!  “Is it time to eat yet, Slim?” – Warren.   Playful banter.   I want to send them 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 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 even claiming me – something wonderful.  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 hear more whispers, voices almost incoherent – so far away.  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 but it is Emma who gives voice to my fate.  He is beside me, my hand, cold and limp, in his – his hand warm and . . . and full of life.

 

“Pumpkin,” he says, his voice deep and broken, full of warning thinking of Kitty – how to tell her?

 

“Storm - oh, Scott!  She’s not asleep!” Emma says with more emotion than I would have ever imagined.

 

I’m surrounded by loving friends, dear friends – my family.  Vehement denials are spat out, anger flares and Emma is taken aback by the unguarded emotions.  But 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 and life.  A sob catches in her throat.  “Not her too!” she moans.

 

 

There is nothing that can staunch the shock or pain in this dark hour but they have each other and that will be enough.  Kitty has Peter.  He pulls her up, crushes 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 to be strong, not to fail Kitty who needs him now more than ever with the loss of yet another of her loved ones.

 

“God, no!  Not this way!” Kurt groans.  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this!”

 

“Ain’t a better way for ’Ro to go, Elf – in peace,” Logan says, voice firm and certain but 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.

 

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 Ororo now.  He slowly begins to steer the others away, both students and teachers.  All he can do now 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.  Scott is too stunned to do anything but follow blindly.  Emma grasps the hand he extends to her almost absently and yet instinctively.  She knows what he is thinking – not her too – not Ororo too!

 

As Bishop 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!   He will never know. 

 

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 entwined.  None of them see her or feel her but they do feel the wind – soft, light, yet brimming full of life.  

 

Logan feels as if with Ororo’s passing some part of him too has passed on.  He thinks of all the women he has loved and survived and his heart, torn, slowly hardens.  It’s too late.  He never got a chance to tell her.

 

The sun sets in a sudden brilliant swash of hues as the clouds break drifting off.  The splendor goes unnoticed.  Birds chirp peacefully as they swoop off in wide arches – unmindful of the loss of one who shared the skies with them once upon a time.  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 children as it does Ororo’s friends.  They cannot know she smiles down upon them one last time before she is gone, lost in the air like mist after a storm . . . at peace, at home.

 

I know, no matter what happens I shall always be there for them, even in this death.  I shall be with them in their smiles, in their thoughts, in their hearts and memories.  My friends, my beloved family.  Always.