What's done is done.
We cannot just write off his final scene.
Take heed of his dream.
Take heed.
The Gunner's Dream - Pink Floyd
Logan's words hit her. She felt as if a sledgehammer had been slammed into her chest.
"You're running. That's for damn sure."
She climbed out of the bed and pulled the curtains back and looked out. The atmosphere was just down right depressing here. She couldn't help but sigh loudly and pull the curtain back. A parking lot greeted her and another cheap, roach infected hotel across the street was her beautiful surroundings. The nicest thing was the corner/liquor store and considering she had been attacked just blocks away from it, she wasn't quite fond of it.
Ororo wondered how she got herself into these situations. It wasn't as if she had made the decision to lose her parents. Both her mother and father were killed in a robbery at a convenient store just down the street from their home in Harlem. Ororo had been waiting in the car, playing with her dolls that her grandparents had sent from Africa for her.
She was in the backseat, strapped in (because her mother was very strict when it came to safety) and humming to herself when the sound of gunshots had gone off. Her eyes widened and she looked up to see what the commotion was.
Her father was standing face to face with a man that had been dressed in black from head to toe. One thing led to another and Ororo found herself latching on to her mother and father while the police had to pry her hands off them. Her white pigtails were stained with her mother's blood as she cradled her head and kissed the spot she'd been shot.
The thought seemed almost hilarious to her.
She was so young and foolish to think that kissing a bullet wound would bring her mother back. That was, after all, what her mother had done when she would scrape her knee or hit her elbow.
How she missed her innocence when she was a child. That all seemed to be stripped away from her the day her parents were murded. And the man that killed them and robbed the convenient store? He was never found. Who cared about a small group of people in Harlem that happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time?
No one.
That's why Ororo Munroe ran. All her life, she ran. That was the only thing she knew how to do. If running was going to keep her alive, she definitely wasn't going to stop doing it now.
"Ah, polluted air. You gotta' love it." Victor Creed slammed his car door shut and put his hands on his hips. To the common passer-by, he simply looked like a man sight seeing. There was no harm in that. Of course, the common passer-by did not know the things that had gone through Victor Creed's head. He could just imagine Ororo there, squealing to Charles about the things he had done to her.
Victor had a theory in life, though. There were people that kicked the shit out of people and there were people that got the shit kicked out of them. It was a very important theory in his life. Had he not learned this lesson, he would have gotten the shit kicked out of him his entire life.
He wasn't always bad.
Well... not when his mother abandoned him and his father decided to use him for a punching bag. Victor had to stand up and be a man. If that included bruising up and/or killing people, so be it.
The last time, if he remembered correctly, this cute little brownstone was once the home of Charles Xavier, that cute little red head Jean Grey, and his darling Ororo Munroe. He licked the tips of his fingers and brought them up to smooth up his mustache. He tugged at his Black Sabbath t-shirt and looked at his black boots. At least he was matching.
Crossing the street, Victor made his way up to the brownstone and knocked on the door, urgently, but politely.
He plastered his most winning smile on his face. Of course, it started fading when Scott Summers opened the door...
So you like this woman? You've barely known the woman? A few mind-blowing nights with her and you've... well, that.
With most women, it's just sex. It's always been just sex. Of course, this particular woman - this woman - with her platinum blond hair, azure eyes, and beautiful cocoa skin... It was different. Everything was different.
Dodge the jab and swing with the left hook.
Of course you wouldn't be able to take your mind off her. How could you? She has that sort of personality that grows on you. Kind of like a parasite but in a damn good way. Everything about her is perfect. Even the way she smells.
Is that crazy?
Obsessing over a woman that smells how it smells after a rainstorm?
Well, not a rainstorm in New York, of course. Not like fresh, wet garbage.
Air.
Freedom.
She smells like the clouds ought to smell after the storm.
Yes, that's perfect.
Right. Left. Circle.
It's good to have something take your mind off your father and brother for once. Now, instead of thinking of being abused, you think of being a protector. That has a nice ring to it.
Protector.
He felt as though his attempts at being a protector in the early stages of his life had fallen through. This time, with this woman - Ororo - he would do it right.
Stopping in full swing, Logan's thoughts had drawn a blank and he frowned. The first thing he needed to do was find out Ororo's full name.
Victor felt like someone had taken a knife and rammed it into his throat. He was expecting the red head or the old bastard to open the door. He remembered Scott Summers like he remembered his last piss.
Of course, now, things were much different.
Summers stood across from him dressed in a conservative combination of colors, a royal blue sweater with a white polo shirt underneath, khaki pants, glasses, and his hair combed perfectly. And oh how he'd grown.
No longer the little runt he remembered from years ago, Scott was now just as tall as him and if he was looking right, just as large as well.
"Look who's decided to become a man?" Victor mused and held out his hand. He laughed when Scott did not return the handshake.
"I'm surprised to see you're still here. That redhead finally let you in?" He teased and flashed his canines.
Scott still did not reply.
"All right, so I see this little reunion isn't going to last very long," Victor hiked his leg up on the top step and leaned an arm over it. "I'm looking for Charles Xavier. I only need to talk to him for a moment. It's really important."
Victor waited patiently for his answer. Now, Summers was a smart boy. He knew that much. The damn kid had graduated the top of his fucking class. He could make this easier for himself by cooperating and telling him where Charles Xavier was. His thirty-eight was just itching to make acquaintances with him.
Scott sighed and took off his glasses.
"Is this about Ororo?" Scott folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame.
So she was here. Excellent.
He had given her the entire day to gather her thoughts. It was now night time.
Heading up the stairs to the motel, he noticed a man working hard selling drugs to a crackhead just next to his motorcycle. If that bastard took his motorcycle he would kill him. The crackhead scratched the back of his neck and limped away, humming an old Joe Tex tune he loved.
Knocking on the door, he leaned back on the railing.
The door slowly opened and Ororo stood there, giving him the softest look he had ever seen a woman give.
"Let's go for a ride."
