Crying
(The Emptiness Remix)

Author: Khaki

Original Story: Dumb Feast by Cherry Ice

Summary: Jubilee listens in as Logan mourns.

Rating: PG

Fandom: X-Men

I can't cry.

It's not like I really want to. I've always hated how it makes me feel so weak and powerless. It's just that they've been dead a month, and even when I tried at the funeral, I couldn't shed a tear. I'm just empty inside.

Maybe it's 'cause I wasn't there when it happened. Maybe that's why none of this felt real.

As with all the really cool missions, the Prof told me to stay behind for this one and get the Med Lab ready while he and the X-Men flew off to save the world. You'd think they'd want the firecracker by their side. After all, who kept the Wolvster alive all that time over in Madripoor when they were heaven knows where? But no. They'd rather leave one of their best weapons behind to stock up med supplies in the lab and stack up sandwiches in the kitchen.

I walked into the hangar the second the engines shut down, just like every other time after a mission, waiting for the hatch to open and the X-Men to come limping out. Only this time, not all of them emerged.

I guess I knew something had gone terribly wrong the moment Gambit helped Rogue off the jet. Her face was buried in his shoulder, and she was bawling so hard she could hardly catch her breath. Still, I couldn't imagine anybody'd actually died until I heard Professor X's voice in my head, filled with his own boundless sorrow.

Scott and Ororo. Cyclops and Storm. The two leaders of the X-Men. With them, we were united, a force to be reckoned with. Without them, we're lost. If Magneto, Mr. Sinister, Apocalypse, hell anyone tried to take over the world right now, I doubt we'd notice let alone care. Even if we did try to fight 'em, we'd probably lose. None of us has set foot in the Danger Room since Cyke ran us through his latest scenario the morning of his death.

Nope, not even Wolvie.

He's the one that worries me the most.

Remy left. Rogue walks around in a daze. Bishop won't talk to anyone and neither will Betsy. Hank's down in his lab more often than not. The Prof's with Jean when he's not asleep, and Jean's gone completely nutzoid. Still, it's Wolvie that really concerns me.

Maybe if he took off like Gambit or destroyed his room and part of the mansion like Jean 'fore the Professor stopped her, I might not be so worried. He's done both before. I know how to react when he gets that way. It's this quiet, contemplative Wolvie, this responsible Wolvie, that's got me clueless.

Who d'ya think told Cyke's family and all our friends about what happened? Who made all the funeral arrangements? Who checks up on everybody every day whether they notice or not? Wolvie, that's who.

It's like the part of him that houses his rages, that berserker animal part of him, doesn't know how to react and has left the rest of him to deal with the loss.

No, that's not right. I can tell he's angry from the way he's always clenching his fists and gnawing on his cigars more than smoking them. It's a quiet kind of anger, though. Like he's holding it all in or maybe even directing it in.

It wasn't until tonight, though, that I found out the real reasons behind his actions.

I was half-way to the kitchen for a midnight snack when I started smelling the weirdest combination of foods: macaroni and cheese, grilled salmon, and chocolate pudding. I couldn't imagine who in the mansion would be cooking at this time of night, let alone those foods, but in a thousand years I never woulda suspected Wolvie. When I reached the kitchen door, however, it was his voice I heard.

He was talking to someone about how everyone was dealing with what had happened. At first, I thought someone else was in there with him, but he was saying stuff anyone at the mansion would already know, so I figured he had to be on the phone. That is, until he addressed her. 'Ro.

A chill ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the cold air blowing through the kitchen's door frame. He was talking to Storm like she was actually there, like he was just updating our leader on the team's status.

He paused for almost a minute before demanding, "What are you sorry for? I was the one always off after Jean. I was the one who didn't catch onto the clues you were sending. I was the one who was too god-damned afraid of change to admit even to myself that I cared about you. I was the one who wasn't..."

He stopped before trying again. "I was the one who wasn't..."

It was only then that I realized. He'd loved Storm. Sure, he'd respected Cyke, but he'd actually loved her, and he hadn't known until it was too late.

That's why he'd been so quiet. He was spending every moment thinking of her, thinking of what had been and what might have been. If only...

That's why he was so careful about the funeral arrangements. He wanted to do what little he could for her body and her memory, the only things she'd left behind.

That's why he was watching over everybody, trying to help where he could. He was trying his best to do what she would have done for the team.

As I came to these realizations, I heard her voice, a faint whisper floating on the cold wind through the door. "It wasn't your fault."

Storm.

She really was in there with him. She really was dead. No one was going to arrive at the mansion with a huge April Fool's Day card telling us Storm and Cyke were alive and this was all one of our enemy's bad jokes.

It really happened. They really died. I'm never gonna see them or hear them or talk to them or play jokes on them or hug them or do any of a thousand other things with them.

The emptiness inside me suddenly filled with everything that would never be, and I cried.

end

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