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The Sea Unites
01. The Sea Unites
Author: Syrinx
Rating: PG15
Summary: After the X-Men are no more, two former members find
each other again.
Disclaimer: Marvel owns the X-Men, I don't; wish they'd write
some stories about them that didn't suck lately...
Part I – Reflections of White
Ororo Munroe stood perfectly still, watching the
aquamarine waves roll through the restless sea,
plummeting onto the serene shore and pulling back,
bubbling into the great mass of liquid she had come
to recognize and know so well. It had taken her
forever to learn how to sleep through that constant
noise, the endless sound of waves crashing over each
other and hissing onto the beach. Now it seemed like
something she had grown up with, as though she had
been here since the beginning.
Ororo raised a hand and pushed a stray strand of
shockingly white hair from her forehead, pushing it
back into her low pony tail, remembering that her
class would start in only a few minutes. A few
children, young teenagers really, wandered into her
classroom early, smiling tentatively and sitting
down in unassigned seats.
The classroom was not anything like those she was
accustomed. She was used to high ceilings, hardwood
floors, and the wide windows that the mansion had
offered her at Xavier's academy in New York. In
fact, that was all she had known.
It wasn't so long ago, Ororo kept telling herself.
Five years. Not so long in the grand scheme of
things. Not long at all. But here it was again – the
first day of class. Another year gone by.
The bell rang and suddenly students were swarming in
her classroom, sliding behind desks and dropping
assorted bags onto the floor, unzipping them hastily
and pulling out new three ring binders, setting them
on their table tops.
Ororo smiled, pulling away from her thoughts and
calling out to them in Greek, laughing as she made
her way to the front of the room. She wrote her name
on the small black board in bright blue chalk.
Ms. Ororo Munroe.
"I am Ms. Munroe," Ororo said, turning around and
facing her students. She knew them all from last
year. After all, she was the only English teacher on
the island and the group of children was never a
large one. She had been refining these girls and
boys for years, teaching them the proper grammar of
a language she herself had learned at their age.
"However," Ororo smiled at all the bright faces. "I
think most of you already know that."
She went through the lesson plan for the day.
Reviews, mostly, with a reading assignment on the
side. Ororo never let her students slack, even
though many tried, and had tried at the academy in
Westchester.
The day moved quickly as Ororo taught her classes,
mainly English and a new History class she had
managed to push through the school board the year
before. She was halfway through a sentence in her
last class as the bell sounded loudly in the hall
and all fifteen students jumped up and made a
beeline for the door.
"Hold it!" Ororo called in Greek, something she only
did when she had to. She had learned most of the
language quickly, but she had never been entirely
comfortable with it.
"Your homework is to read chapter one of the text by
tomorrow. There may be a quiz."
The students groaned and collected their things,
chattering amongst each other as they left the desks
and sped out into the hall, leaving Ororo alone in
the suddenly empty classroom.
She stood for a moment, watching the students walk
down the small hallway, by her open door, smiling at
the familiar sound of lockers opening and shutting,
loud voices calling out in both Greek and English.
Turning, she picked up the eraser and wiped away all
the blue chalk, watching the fine powder drift down
the black board, collecting in the tray underneath.
By the time Ororo left the school it was already
late into the afternoon and the winds were dying
down on the island, the waves out on the sea
becoming less prominent and less white, slowly
transforming back into the crystal clear blue and
green.
Ororo walked through the town, passing by the
startling white buildings and the colorful doorways
and walkways, almost all painted a vibrant blue.
Some deviated from the norm, painted a pastel green
or a shocking red, maybe even a yellow here and
there. She walked through the small alleyways,
stepping around the old women and their donkeys,
making her way up the freshly outlined walk to Taxi
Square, where she had no intention of picking up a
taxi.
Her means of transportation usually meant walking.
She would have flown if she didn't think the locals
would be completely frightened into an uproar. It
had been so long since she had even used her powers
for something other than a little rain to help her
plants. It was so painfully dry on the island that
they could go months without ever seeing rain.
Ororo's exotic plants could not go without water, so
she allowed herself small showers, and only at
night.
She walked down the busy main road along the
shoreline, walking along the sidewalk, her bag
lightly banging against her hip as the motorists
drove quickly by. If there was one thing that was
entirely different from home it would be the
motorists. The numerous accidents she had seen in
the past five years astonished her, but it was
another aspect that she had also become accustomed
to. The sea, the constant wind, and the roads of
cars. She had been terrified at first, but things
fell into place slowly.
Of course, people did treat her with a certain air
of hesitance. No one quite knew what to think of her
long white hair and blue eyes. Many of the men had
followed her about, enchanted by the mysterious
differences, which was a sudden and severe surprise
for Ororo. Never had she been looked at like that
while at Westchester, save once. But, flattered or
not, Ororo turned them all down until the last
available men knew not to ask. It was just another
mystifying quality of Ororo Munroe.
Ororo turned onto a more rural street, heading up
the suddenly sharp rise on the rugged island, and
Jean flashed into her mind. She had kept a constant
touch with her friend over the years, listening to
the new developments at the academy. At first they
had all wondered if Jean could handle taking over.
Even Ororo had her reserves then, but Jean had
pulled through fine. Scott was there with her and
the academy was pushing on, even without Charles
Xavier. There was talk of even putting together a
new team of X-Men, since word of mutant registration
was again rising its ugly head in Congress.
Up ahead, Ororo could spot the abrupt pink of the
large oleanders lining her drive, their vibrant
magenta flowers hanging in heavy clusters all over
the thick bushes. She unconsciously began to walk
faster, reaching the bushes and stopping, rising up
on her tip toes to inspect the nearest, perfect
blossom. She had planted them herself five years
ago, and already they had grown magnificently,
flourishing under the hot Greek sun.
She plucked a small cluster off the closest bush and
turned to survey the island, squinting her eyes as
the bright light bounced off the shimmering sea and
over the white town, reflecting off the buildings.
The large ocean liners were sitting at port, docked
as their passengers splashed in the extra salty
water further up the shore.
Pulling the tie out of her hair, Ororo shook her
blinding white tresses out and pushed the two
oleander blossoms behind one ear. Then she walked up
the drive, watching her long shadow skip across the
pebbles and over the tall oleanders.
She couldn't wait to kick off her shoes and relax,
to settle into her overstuffed chair with a book and
occasionally glance out at the sea to check on the
goings of the boats, and on the small ferry to
Delos.
Her gaze must have been too caught on her shadow to
notice, her attention too busy with digging in her
bag for her keys to see the tall figure waiting for
her on the porch.
She pulled the ring of keys from the bag and glanced
up, the sight before her sending her stumbling to a
halt. There, between her body and the front door,
stood a man she hadn't seen in over five years. He
was leaning against the post of the porch, perched
on the last step casually, looking down at her with
a neutral face, the same one that had left
Westchester so many years ago. To her horror, she
could feel that same warmth spreading through her,
the warmth that had been absent for so long.
With effort, she swallowed, pushing the warmth away,
feeling herself slowly being filled with undeniable
anger.
"Ororo," he said hoarsely, as though he didn't know
of what else to say.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to
contain herself.
"Logan."
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