It's All In Your Head: Part Twenty Four

by sevenall

Elizabeth took one last look in the mirror. She had spent nearly thirty minutes on her make-up, but it hadn't helped. She looked like a corpse. There was a grayish hue to her skin that defied both foundation and blusher and she was beyond the fashionable stage of thin. If she had ever needed a padded bra, now was the time. The shoes were perfect, though, black lizard flats, and the braid she had wound around her head distracted the viewer from the patches where chemotherapy had made her hair fall off. The dress was lovely, too, made of heavy midnight blue silk with silver embroidery from neckline to waist and she had arranged a silvery scarf to conceal her bony shoulders. She tried a chipper smile. The effect was ghastly.

She received various insincere compliments from the resident X-People as she made her way downstairs. The guests weren't expected for another hour or so, but there was one more person she needed to talk to before she left and for him, she wanted to look her best. She hoped that the guests at her official farewell party would appreciate her efforts, as well, or she might as well wobble in dressed in a hospital gown with a drip for accessory. Her suggestion that the party theme should be "Night of the Living Dead," had not been well received.

Although the party didn't have a theme, X-people from all over had been rounded up on short notice and were coming to dinner at their own risk. It had been Scott's idea and she had gone along with it, mainly because she saw how important it was to him. Jean had been more practical. She and Bobby had worked out a detailed plan for how X-Money would finance the rebuilding of the hospice in Mount Kisco. There would be a new wing, named for Lisa, and two annual scholarships for medical students. Elizabeth had appreciated their efforts and she had been both surprised and touched when the X-Men collectively presented her with "The Victoria Foundation for Medical Research and Information." Bobby had set it up for her and would run it, and Hank would head the scientific committee. No X-Money was going into that foundation, but each and every one of the X-Men had made a contribution from their private savings. Ororo had donated an antique necklace that Elizabeth suspected belonged in a museum or to a museum. Rogue, who owned next to nothing, had returned her wedding ring to the jeweller's and put the money into the foundation, saying quietly that Remy would have liked this research.

Years ago, Elizabeth had planted English roses on Doug's grave. The sapling she had put down beside the stone had been overturned by a Colossus under the Shadow King's command, and someone had thrown it away. The roses had survived the assault, though, and were more beautiful than ever.

"Hiya, kid," she said. "Long time no see."

Three years, four months and six days, in fact. She hadn't been there the day they put him into the ground, hadn't been standing in the drizzle and listened to speeches that meant nothing. Rumours said it had been a pretty dismal event. Brian had been drunk for days. Funerals did that to him.

"I won't come here anymore. Someone else will tend your grave, cut the grass and water the flowers. Not that it matters to you. Such things didn't matter to you and you were right. I liked to come here and pretend I was doing something for you, but you aren't here, you never were. I'll tell the stone and the roses goodbye, but what's left of you I carry with me."

Always. She blew a kiss into the air.

"Love you, kid. "

Then she walked away.

--

Elizabeth was halfway back to the house when a gravelly voice hailed her.

"Talking a lot to the dead, darlin'?"

Logan. She should have known. He was standing in the shade under the trees, all but a shadow himself.

"Happens."

She shrugged, tried to make him out through the intricate play of light and darkness.

"What they tell ya?"

"Mostly things I already knew. Are you coming to dinner?"

Wrong question.

"I'd rather no one saw me right now, darlin'."

"Not even me?"

"No. I ain't whatcha call presentable right now."

"Like you ever were. Is it...bad?"

It was his turn to shrug. Pretty bad, then.

"So ya chose to tough it out, darlin'. I'm proud."

"Well, I beat around the bush for a long time and then I messed up."

"Done a few messes meself. Some real conspicuous ones."

He chuckled, almost nervously.

"Is this a social call, Logan?"

"No. Yeah. I wanted to tell ya, darlin', these are yours anytime you want ‘em."

The claws popped out with a snikt, retracted again. Her eyes widened.

"Logan, you wouldn't..."

"Not unless ya asked for it, no, " he assured her hastily. "But asking is enough. I won't make you beg for it, like I did her."

The death of MarikoYashida fell between them like a shadow. The proud noblewoman reduced to begging for release. Elizabeth shivered.

"Thank you, but the answer is no."

For now, she added silently. There was no telling what she'd do when the disease took her mind, her dignity, everything that had been Elizabeth Braddock. It was best to turn down the temptation while she still had her wits. Before fear made the decision for her.

"The offer stands, darlin'."

She had been afraid of that.

"What would you do, if I made you the same offer?" she asked.

He spread his palms in a glum gesture.

"That is a pointless question," he said. "This ol' canucklehead can't die. Found that out a long time ago."

"In a sense you can," she said, watching him closely. "Clean slate and rebirth."

He tensed for a second, fangs flashing white in a predatory grin, but Elizabeth didn't budge. Walk a mile in my shoes, Logan. The heels will kill you for starters, and more pain is yet to come.

"Ya ain't bad," he said with grudging admiration, tension leaking away. "Not bad at all."

"The answer, Logan," Elizabeth whispered, advancing a couple of steps, then a few more.

He tried to evade her, to fade back into the forest, but she wouldn't let him. She put her hand on his arm, conscious of the muscles flexing, the precarious control he exerted in popping the claws. He had cut her before. He had done worse than cutting. She looked at him, at his changed face, where a snout had replaced the nose and the human teeth had been exchanged for carnivorous ones. The calluses on his knuckles told her that he ran on all fours at least part of the time. The eyes with their slitted pupils were the only feature to suggest anything human about him. He swallowed.

"No," he said thickly and then: "No!"

It was a howl. He lurched forward, claws popping. Elizabeth instinctively flung her arms about him, which was insane, and held him, which bordered on suicide.

"Logan, come back," she said softly. "Come back to me."

She had no authority to command him. All she could do was ask. He shuddered, once, but didn't push her away. She watched as the fire in his eyes died and shame and doubt crept in. She pulled him closer and he didn't resist. Within the circle of her arms, his breathing slowed, the pounding heartbeats settled down. They stood under the trees, leaning on each other.

"Survival," Elizabeth rasped. "That's it. That's what we do. Whatever happens. We keep going, because there's nothing else we can do. You‘ve been there, done that, got the T-shirt, well, so have I. And still we go on. Or are you quitting on me?"

"No," he said, packing years of anguish and loneliness into a single syllable.

"I know what it's like, Logan", she said, quietly now. "I've got my own beast inside my head. What Kwannon was, is there, too, and an X-Woman and a top model and a STRIKE agent and a teenager who wants to be a superhero. The daughter and the sister. The woman who loved Tom and Gabriel and Warren. Lady Mandarin of the Rings and Matsuo's mistress and slave. And now, the tumor. Gliablastoma multiforme, for which there is no cure. It will take all I have and all I am, to fight it. The best of me and the worst of me and everything in between. I hope it will be enough. It has to be enough."

His shaggy features grew still with grief. It was the sorrow of the immortal as the ephemeral faded and there was no comfort for it. He had told her once that death had a dry, cold smell, like snow falling on frozen ground.

"I may lose," she said. "It wouldn't be the first time. Many lives have slipped through my hands over the years. Even my own, although I've been uncommonly lucky in getting it back. But I'm still here. That's what matters. And every day that passes means I haven't lost yet."

He drew her to him, held her there. Like a man would do for a friend in need. Like an animal would do for a another animal in pain. The best of whatever there was, man or beast.

"It means more than that, darlin'," he murmured into her hair. "It means that yer still winning."

[next part]

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