Author's Note:
Don't bother me about characterization. I have no idea where this came from. I sat down to write a chapter of another fic and this turned up instead. Just sit back, relax and enjoy it. Don't forget to review. Please.

Reflections of people once known. One-shot.

I don't own the characters in this fic. Suing me won't make me change my mind.


Logan crouched in front of the weathered grave, twirling a single rose guiltily in his hands. How many years had it been since he'd paid a visit? Too many to count. He'd nearly forgotten where to find the marker, come to that. Westfield Cemetery was Bayville's oldest and it wasn't in the best of repair.
Most of the tombstones in the crumbling graveyard were worn down to nubs of granite and marble. The etching on this one was difficult to read on the best of days. Logan reached out, brushing collected debris away from the stone, leaving trails of dirt and grime behind. Very few people visited here these days, from what he could see. The ceramic vase near the headstone was empty but for one or two dried sticks of what may have once been flower stems.
He sighed, plucking those withered stalks from the vase and throwing them away. Had Ororo been here, she'd have been able to provide water to keep the rose he left in their place fresh for several weeks. But the weather witch was gone too, buried in another plot of ground elsewhere in this cemetery. So many of them were.
Scott and Jean, laid to rest side by side just over that hill, for example. Logan's lips twitched. He still saw their children every so often, usually on holidays. Those two had finally gotten their 'happily ever after.' Of the lot of them, they were of the few who did.
Logan pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his weathered leather bomber jacket and started cleaning the headstone with an almost reverent hand. He'd have to take the groundskeeper to task. There wasn't any excuse for this.
The majority of the kids had died in one accident or another. Kurt and Kitty, for example, saving children in that hospital bombing back in '18.or was it '19? Bobby in a freakish skiing accident, of all things, on his forty-fifth birthday. One or two had been murdered, believe it or not. Logan shook his head, remembering Ororo's grief when her nephew had been gunned down in a gang war deep in the heart of Queens.
But only a very select few had actually survived their adventurous youth and managed to attain some semblance of a normal life. A few of them had even died of natural causes. Well, more or less. Roberto's carcinoma was very much linked to his mutant power, but it was still cancer and somewhat natural.
"Mr. Logan?" He didn't stir at first. Then, louder: "Mr. Logan.sir?"
"Whadya need, Will?" Will Alvers, his personal secretary, was another reminder of the past. Most of the Brotherhood people were long gone too. Pietro and his sister were buried in Graceland, Chicago's biggest cemetery, near their father. Lance and Kitty were there as well. He'd have to go visit them soon. Fred was around here somewhere. He remembered something about a triple-sized plot being necessary for accommodating the man's bulk.
"It's awfully chilly out here, sir. Shouldn't we be getting back?"
Logan ran the cloth through delicately-carved words of the faint inscription on the stone in front of him, ignoring his aide for a moment. When he was finished, he sat back on his heels and looked at his handiwork:

In Memoriam


b. 8-18-1963

d. 4-21-2031

One Man, One Vision, One World

He stood abruptly, turning away from the tombstone. Xavier's vision had withstood the years. How the man would have been proud to see what his mind had wrought. To have seen his Institute grow from a furtive, hiding building housing less than a score of students into a world-wide network of universities for 'gifted students.' To have seen the day when the United Nations had declared Homo sapiens sapiens and Homo sapiens superior to be equal citizens of the world. To have seen the day when people didn't spit at them in the streets, or protect their children from the 'mutant problem,' or tell their government to eradicate mutants once and for all.
To have seen his vision realized. Sadly, he'd missed that day by nearly thirty years.
Logan sighed, shrugging out of his reverie at Alvers' voice.
"What was that?"
"I said we'd better get back to the Institute, Dean Logan. Commencement is in two hours."
"Yer right." Logan threw a glance over his shoulder at the tombstone. "Good-bye, Chuck." Yes, he thought, the man's vision lives on.
And Logan would ensure that the vision lived on forever.