Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with X-men or the very vague hint to two chars from Alpha Flight. It's not my toy box and I'm merely playing.
Note: Written for a RPG bio a long time ago. I kept meaning to post it as a ficlet and for some reason something always came up. Contains spoilers for the third X-men movie, though I somehow doubt that'll bother anyone.
Deciding to Stay:
Logan stopped in front of the marker with a frown marring his face as indecision held him there. Why had he come down here? Why hadn't he finished packing his bag? Why hadn't he left yet? He glanced at the mansion and then back to the grave that had no body under it.
He could hear several of the students playing a game, their laughter was contradictory to his foul mood. He wanted nothing more than to go to his room, grab his bag and leave. The need to keep moving was like an itch just under his skin, something he couldn't reach to relieve, it often sent him into action instead.
Just go inside, he told himself, find Ororo and tell her you're gone. Don't stick around for goodbyes.
His eyes were unfocused as they shifted over the grave, over the name, the dates, the epitaph. His eyes were seeing graves from a past that remained hidden, just out of reach, and called for him to keep searching.
A shriek brought him back into reality and he tensed, but relaxed when it was followed by an argument of who'd won that game of tag. As the argument dissolved into childish antics he tried to tell himself that they didn't actually need him. They wanted him here and he'd had that before, a place where he was wanted. It hadn't stopped him from leaving before, so why was it making him hesitate now.
For the first time he was needed, and that made the itch under his skin burn that much more intensely. He had to get out before he started to need them.
His eyes moved to the other graves, it hurt to look at them. He once again took in the grave that he'd stopped in front of. Scott's words still echoed in his ears, 'Not everyone heals as fast as you.'
The words were true, but they were wrong. Healing physically he could do, anything other was a mystery to him. How do you keep memories when most of them blur or can be shoved back into a recess of fragments? How could he stay when in such a short amount of time, three people had become important to him and then were just gone?
This was why he had to keep moving, he'd lose more of them. How many had already died that he couldn't remember? How many could he not remember that thought they'd lost him? How could he stay when a twisted version of one of the people who's graves he stood in front of had died at his hand?
He wet his lips and wished it was raining, wished he could block out the sound of the children, who obviously needed more adults to keep their school running.
He scratch at his arm and looked towards the kids, thinking about the ones he'd trained with, that he'd taught things to. He shuddered as he remembered launching into explanations of things he didn't remember even learning himself.
His decision made he growled at the grave before he stalked back inside, ignoring the few students who scurried out of his path as he made his way back upstairs. He grabbed the bag from the floor and threw it on the bed, practically ripping the zipper down. In a hasty and agitated manner he unpacked the few belongings he had. He dropped onto his bed and grunted, "Stupid kids."