06. as they took his soul they stole his pride; as he faced the sun he cast no shadow

Notes: Another Dani fic in my quest to do FanFic100 with her. This one's set around Uncanny X-Men #503 (with the car reference coming from that title, as well). The woman Logan mentions in his memory was seen in the Wolverine: Origins arc of Wolverine v3 (confused yet?) but I made up the details about her, so any mistakes are mine alone. Didn't come up with a title for this one as of yet but it's still unedited, so perhaps more marination will breed results. Hope springs eternal and all that.
Disclaimer: Do not own the X-Men or any of their off-shoots. All rights are solely those of Marvel Entertainment, Inc. Please do not sue.


It's rare to find her hair in braids these days. Rarer still for her to pair them with feathers and a headband. She's often seen sporting one (the headband in particular) but all at once? For whatever reason, that's no longer her style.

It's odd, he thinks, after she fought so hard for her individuality that she'd move more toward the social norm. He's never asked her about it, though, and he doesn't think that will change any time soon. They're not close—never have been, and it's not in his nature to pry. He has enough secrets to respect the right of others to keep theirs.

Still, when the light hits her that day—the day that she chooses to once again done her braids, headband and feathers—he's struck by a memory. It's not a feeling he's accustomed to, even after the time that's passed since M-Day.

He doesn't realize he's staring until she glances his way. "Morning, Logan," she greets, lifting her mug of coffee and crossing to the table where he's sitting. She doesn't hesitate to take a section of the newspaper from the pile in front of him but that doesn't surprise him. She's never been the type to tread lightly and, more to the point, she's never been afraid of him. Apparently, more than just her power status would have to change before that did.

"Dani," he responds with a nod before returning to the sports section. Yesterday was not a good day in hockey for the Canucks and it isn't long before he tosses it aside, scowling. The rustle of turning pages has him looking her way again and there's another flash of memory. It tugs at his mind and he can't help but think it's important. Things are rarely so insistent otherwise.

She must feel his gaze because she flips the top of the paper down to look him in the eyes. "Something I can help you with?" she asks pointedly.

He isn't sure if it's curiosity or discomfort that has pushed her to speak—she's never been one to mince words or fill comfortable silences unnecessarily—but it doesn't really matter. His answer is the same either way: "No."

One eyebrow arches delicately and he blinks. Whatever she's thinking, she brushes it off because the next moment she's looking at her paper again. "Okay," she says simply. "Let me have the sports section when you're done."

It's almost refreshing, not being pushed and prodded about his feelings and sharing. Maybe a little disappointing, though he'd never admit that. Silently, he hands her the offensive section and picks up the world news instead.

It's silent between them for a few long minutes, nothing but papers turning and coffee being sipped to break the monotony. Normally, it'd be strange to find the room so empty but it's early still and a weekend, too. It's comfortable save the memories gnawing at him, begging to be remembered.

"You're hair," he comments suddenly, not even realizing he's spoken until she looks at him with confusion written on her face as plain as day. "You don't wear it like that anymore."

Her eyebrows are furrowed and he has the distinct impression she thinks he's crazy but, slowly, she nods. Her lips are pursed and he notices that they're not quite as plump as the set in his memories. Her eyes are wider, too, and hair longer. The face shape is similar, though, and the skin. Tan skin that he remembers in more ways than could be considered decent.

"I don't," she agrees finally, touching the ends almost self-consciously. Then she shrugs. "Tastes change; people change. All part of growing up, I guess."

He grunts, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It sounds like something she's recited at least a dozen times but he isn't sure if he's disappointed because it's so very trite or because she didn't answer his unasked questions.

Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "If you don't mind me asking, Logan, why the sudden interest?" From her tone, it's obvious she doesn't care if he does mind or not. When he doesn't respond immediately, she adds, "Because, if you're looking for a new style, I have to tell you—I don't think this one is the real you."

"Ha-ha," he replies dryly, emphasizing each syllable. He waves her off, though, content to keep his personal thoughts just that—personal. "It's nothing."

She's holding her coffee with both hands as she rolls her eyes at him. "Right. And Shan likes boys." The sarcasm in her voice doesn't impress him (little does at his age) but the defiance in her gaze does.

He thinks if he hadn't had Kitty, he probably would've liked to work with her for her attitude alone. Well, her or Rahne—the wolf thing always has resonated with him.

Taking his silence to mean he isn't going to answer her, she shrugs. "None of my business." There's a slight undercurrent of something like frustration in her words, though he isn't certain if it's at him for not satisfying her curiosity or herself for being curious in the first place.

He decides to let it lie and quiet falls between them again. He's just making his way onto the local news section when she speaks again. "He told me he liked the braids," she whispers, eyes glued to the paper. There's a glazed sort of look in her eyes and he's sure she's not seeing any of the words in front of her. Then she turns to him. "Jimmy—James, I mean. Told me when we were students."

Suddenly, he understands. As a Valkyrie, she didn't wear them—she wouldn't have been able to. But when she came back and he'd moved on... she didn't go back. Didn't want him to think she was doing it for him. That explained the brief resurrection when she came back to teach for Xavier and subsequent disappearance when James returned to be part of the team again.

"You think I'm ridiculous," she mutters, face ashen as she again misinterprets his silence. "Well, you're right. It was just a stupid crush but I can't stop remembering whenever I—"

He places a hand on her arm and she cuts herself off, big brown eyes blinking up at him. "I don't think you're ridiculous, Dani," he assures her with a squeeze. "Trust me, I know all about holding onto things that other people have long forgotten."

Despite her grim expression, she chuckles. It's just a bit watery but he dismisses it. He's found that people (READ: women) tend to be more emotional during the early and late hours of the day.

Awkwardly, he releases her and moves his hand away to run through his hair. His movements are agitated but only slightly. Finally, he comes to a decision. If she can be honest with him about something that obviously still hurts her, then he can do the same. It's not like she's Emma, who'd use it against him later, or 'Ro who, well-meaning or not, would likely gossip to at least one other team member. She's Dani and even though they're not close and probably never will be, he feels he owes her this.

"I still can't remember her name," he starts, carefully keeping his expression neutral. "I've tried but..." He can feel her eyes on him but it's the feather in her hair that has his gaze. Almost without meaning to, he reaches toward it. "She always had a red feather in her hair, though. She was an Indian, like you—Ottawa, I think. And she loved to braid her hair."

Understanding dawns on her face. "You loved her." It isn't a question.

He suppresses a sigh and nods. "I think I did." It's so hard to remember but he genuinely believes that. The realization is more comforting than he would have expected.

She's smiling as she takes his hand in her hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. Then she plucks a red feather from her hair and hands it to him. He tries to wave her off but she insists, placing it in his palm and curling his fingers around it.

In that moment, the sun shining brightly behind her head like a halo, she looks so much like the phantom in his memory it nearly breaks his heart. But it doesn't and he forces a gruff smile, nodding. "Thank you."

There's a heaviness between them now and he knows they won't be able to end the conversation there without feeling awkward. She must feel it, too, because the next moment she's grinning in a way that is completely Dani and no one else. "Talk is cheap," she informs him cheerfully. "Thank me by letting me drive the Maserati."

It's enough to snap him out of it. "I don't think so," he says with a smirk.

She's pouting just a little. "Why not?" she presses, not giving him a real chance to answer. Her track record may be better than most of the X-Men (no trashed jets, for instance) but everybody knows that no one drives his car but him. "Come on, Logan..."

"No way, kid." She looks torn between amusement and objecting to the title, so he saves her the trouble of settling for a response by moving on. "But I will give you a ride. Anywhere you want... at one-eighty-five."

Now she's smiling again. "Deal." She's absentmindedly untying her braids, a triumphant look on her face. "Sam and Bobby are going to be so jealous."

He laughs a little, shaking his head. Partly because she's right—the Hayseed and Brazilian Rich Boy will undoubtedly be green with envy, even if they both have pretty sweet rides—and partly because she's successfully diffused the situation. He thinks she probably is a pretty good teacher-slash-mentor for the kids; not only is she a survivor but she's smart. She knows people, and she knows how to get what she wants. Apparently Summers knew what he was doing (this time, anyway).

04. anyone can find the same white pills; it takes my pain away

Notes: I was thinking about the five stages of grief and, well, Dani's my girl so I tossed her in. (I've been trying to do FanFic100 with her. *shrug*) Continuity is vague in so far as it's set pre-Secret Invasion but obviously AU as to what's really happened. Things may seem vague but it should all be explained by story's end. Umm... I guess that's about it.
Disclaimer: Do not own the X-Men or any of their off-shoots. All rights are solely those of Marvel Entertainment, Inc. Please do not sue.

Five Stages

I. Denial

"I don't believe you." The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them in an angry hiss.

She didn't miss the hurt flash across his face but she ignored it. She didn't have a choice. She loved him, she did—he was like a brother to her!—but this… there was no way. It wasn't possible. It wasn't allowed.

She loved him but she could never, ever believe him.

His expression was set but there was sadness in his dark eyes. They were so different from his cornflower blue. "It's true, Dani," he said sternly. "Sam—"

"Shut up!" she yelled, interrupting. "You are so full of it Roberto Da Costa and I—I refuse to play this game with you any more! It's not funny, 'Berto! It's not!"

There was sympathy in his gaze now as he put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. "I know," he insisted in a gentle tone, continence betraying an unusual amount of patience. "But—"

Again, she didn't let him finish. "But nothing," she said harshly, pulling out of his grip. "I don't believe you." There was not even a hint of question in her voice.

"Dani—"

"No!" she shouted suddenly, slapping him across the face. Then she turned and ran. He probably could've caught her if he'd tried—he was taller and fit, after all—but he didn't chase her. Apparently she needed time on her own to digest. And he… well, he didn't need a set of red handprints on his cheeks.


II. Anger

"Uhn!" she grunted, giving Viper a roundhouse kick to the chest. The green haired woman stumbled back for a moment before leaping toward her. Dani managed to duck aside in time to avoid the attack aimed at her face and had rounded again when the villain suddenly flickered out of existence.

Growling, she looked toward the control booth. "What the fuck?" she shouted in what might generously be called an unfriendly tone. When there was no answer, she proceeded to seethe. "Ooh, someone is just asking for a fight…"

"Yeah?" a familiar voice prompted from behind her. To his credit, she hadn't even heard the doors open, let alone his entrance. "That someone you?"

With an inelegant snort, she turned to face the intruder. "Sounds more like you, don't you think, Logan?" she sneered. "What're you doing here—I have the Danger Room reserved for another half hour."

One eyebrow rose at her tone. "Just thought you might like a real fight," he offered casually, as if they were discussing the weather or something equally mundane. "From someone who can handle it, that is."

Her arms were crossed now as she eyed him up and down. "You that someone?" she asked with an ugly look of contempt on her face. "I'm not stupid, Wolverine, I know you can kick my ass five ways from Sunday."

"And I know that you want someone to feel the pain you're feeling," he countered in that same neutral tone. "Might as well be me seein' as I can actually take the heat you dish out."

For whatever reason, that only served to make her angrier. "Well sor-ry," she snapped, dragging the second syllable of her questionable apology out. "Not all of us can heal our wounds as easily as you."

He just smiled in a slightly disconcerting but mostly kind way. "Can't rile me up, darlin'. This is about your anger. So how 'bout you get it out before it destroys everything you care about?"

She was stiff for a moment, considering, then nodded. "Fine." And the next second she was in the air, lashing out angrily toward him. She hated admitting it but it felt good. Anger was safe like that. She knew she'd have to let it go eventually, but for the moment she was happy to revel in it.


III. Bargaining

It was weird, being in a church. She wasn't Catholic or even Christian but there was something so peaceful about the space. She felt like if the gods were going to live somewhere, it'd be places like that.

Her face was lifted toward the sky, specks of color dancing over her closed eyes as she tried to find something resembling peace. "Isn't there something I can do?" she asked softly, startled by the sound of her voice in her ears.

"Ah but that it were that easy, lieb," a gentle German accented voice responded. It didn't surprise her, exactly—she knew this was his sanctuary more than most—but she also hadn't heard or seen him since her entrance.

Opening her eyes, she saw he was standing not too far from her, straightening up. "Kurt," she said quietly after a long moment of watching him, "why would God—any God—let this happen?"

There was something decidedly sad in his smile. "That's not how it works, Dani," he answered slowly. "You know that."

"I don't know anything!" she burst out suddenly, only slightly mortified by the loudness of her voice. "I would give anything—everything—to fix this. To take his place. Something. Please, there has to be something. It's just—it's not fair that we're all so helpless!"

There were tears running down her cheeks and he was hugging her but she didn't notice either of those things just then. "What can I do?" she asked. "What can I do to make this better? How can I—" here, her voice cracked, "how can I save him? Please, there has to be something…"

He knew she wasn't asking him, so he only held her and whispered comforting words in German. It wasn't much but it was all he could do for her just then. This was something she had to face on her own.

Eventually, she sniffled and pushed away slightly. Now, she looked at him with wide brown eyes, red-rimmed and glistening with still more unshed tears. "Why can't I do anything?"

"All I can think," he said slowly, "is that there is some plan out there." He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "And remember, lieb, it may be his fight but there are things you can do. There are always things we can do."

She sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Yeah," she agreed half-heartedly and he wondered if she truly believed his words at all.


IV. Depression

She was sitting, pouring over a box of pictures when he found her. There were tear tracks on her face and tissues littering the floor around her. He didn't say anything until he was crouched beside her. Turning the photo in her hand so he could see it, he smiled a little at the image. It was him and Sam horsing around with a guilty-looking Doug and innocently mischievous Warlock—classic.

"Soon there'll only be you left," she whispered, bypassing the usual pleasantries. Fresh tears sprang from her eyes and it hurt to see her so very broken. "The other two are already gone…"

His heart constricted as he released the picture and put his hand on her back instead, rubbing circles gently. "Dani, you shouldn't think like that. The doctors—they say he has a sixty percent chance of finding a match."

She was silent for a moment, leaning into his touch. "You know it's a bunch of bullshit," she said quietly, no malice in her tone. There was only heartbreaking sadness to be found there. "He's going to die. Everyone we love does—Illyana, Doug, Warlock, Kitty, Jean…"

"On multiple occasions," he tried to joke.

"'Berto!" she admonished, though there was a watery smile on her face. It dimmed almost as soon as it appeared, though, and she covered her face with her hands. "Everybody dies and there's never anything we can do to stop it."

He pulled her into a hug then and she curled against him, body shaking with silent sobs. "We can be there for them," he whispered into her hair, holding her tightly. "We can let them know we care for them."

She let him pet her hair comfortingly for a minute before shaking her head. "It's not enough. Nothing can ever be enough. And I just—I can't…" she trailed off into hiccupping sobs.

Murmuring words of comfort in both English and Portuguese, he rocked her gently back and forth. "Just be honest with him. Tell him how you feel." He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead as he extracted himself from her. "It will be enough. For him, that's always been enough."

Unfortunately, the truth of his statement only served to draw her deeper into her despair. Whether it was because of how it spoke volumes about Sam's kindness or guiltily reminded her that she'd rarely been able to give him that, even after all these years, she wasn't certain. In the end, she decided it probably didn't matter. In her state, little felt as if it did.


V. Acceptance

The first thing she noticed about the building was how white it was. Floors, walls, ceiling—even the curtains were white. They tried to break it up with touches of color here and there, a peaceful and utterly non-offensive painting in each room, things like that. She knew they were meant to calm the patients and visitors but it had little effect on her. Mostly, the mediocre art just served to irritate her.

She let herself into his room—number six-one-three, quietly closing the door behind her. If he was asleep, she could just come back. Yeah. That's what she told herself. And she'd make sure she didn't wake him, if that were the case. Out of respect. Uh-huh. Not because of any sort of guilty feelings because she hadn't visited him at all since he'd been admitted. No, no. That wasn't it at all.

"Hello?" his voice called, a bit horse but still distinctively Southern. "Someone there?"

The curtain (white, of course) was hiding her. It took all of her courage to push away from the (also white) door and walk fully into the room. Somehow she managed, though, the small bouquet of lavender in her hand feeling woefully inadequate.

It could've been her imagination but he looked tired to her. His blond hair was a bit stringy, as if it hadn't been washed for a few days, and there were wrinkles around his blue eyes she'd never seen before. She stopped a good distance from his bed and waved bashfully with her free hand, a light blush covering her cheeks. "Um, hi."

His face instantly softened, and he smiled. "Hey there, Chief," he said kindly. He eyed her for a long moment, then waved for her to come closer. "Whatchu doin' all the way over there, girl? Get over here!"

That was all the prompting she needed. She dropped the flowers on the foot of his bed and all but flew to his side, hugging him tightly (but carefully). "Oh, Sam, I'm sorry," she breathed as she pulled away. "I know I should've been here, but I just didn't want to believe it because—because, well, you're Sam and this isn't supposed to be happening. You were gonna outlive us all. And I—I just…" Tears were racing down her face but she paid them no mind. "I'm so sorry. You deserve better."

"Hey now," he replied softly, reaching up to grab her hand in his and pull her closer again, "don't say that. You're one of my best friends, Dani. Who cares if it took ya a while to come? You're here now, ain'tcha?" His free hand wiped away some of the tears on her cheek. "That's what counts."

Sniffling and swallowing hard, she shook her head. "You're too nice to me, Sam. You've always been too nice." That was why women walked all over him and how he was patient enough to be best friends with the likes of Roberto Da Costa. "I just couldn't take it, you know? I didn't want to admit…"

Here's where she drew on her last reserves of strength, hoping beyond hope that she could find it in her to be brave. It was easy to face things she could fight; things she might fear but could still beat. Facing her feelings, though? That was a whole other ball game.

She sat beside him and took both his hands into hers. "I love you, Sam. You always believe in me and are such a good friend… I hate to think of my life without you. Even when we were apart, I always knew that if I needed you, you'd be there. That's what brought me back. That's what keeps me fighting." She gave his hands a gentle squeeze. "Not the other New Mutants, not Xavier's dream, not the next generation—you. And I just don't know where I'll be if I lose that. If I lose you."

And there it was. Her deep, dark secret. The truth of how she felt about him—the truth she'd never shared. The real reason she didn't want to accept his diagnosis and the finality of what it could bring. She just hoped it was enough. Because that was really and truly all she had left to give him. The only help she could think offer.

He nodded once and then his face broke out in a smile. "Thank you." Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he pulled her close so their foreheads were practically touching. "But you know I'm gonna live to a ripe old age, just to tease ya 'bout your big emotional display." Impulsively, he gave her a wet smack of a kiss on the cheek.

"Ugh, Sa-am!" she cried, rubbing the spit off as best she could. "I swear, even after all these years, Roberto still hasn't managed to get any manners into that thick skull of yours." She shook her head, then snuggled against him a little. "Guess I'll just have to whip you both into shape once you get outta here."

Pulling her shoulder tightly, he reached up to give her a noogie. Still, there was nothing but warmth in his tone as he agreed, "Guess so."