The Fogs Around and AheadTakes place Wed, March 14th, the evening after "A Farewell to Arms"
Why is it that some days, nothing worth mentioning happens, and other days are packed with the most varied of events? In the case of this Wednesday, however, Storm was quite certain that at least the last conference she could easily have been able to live without. Suddenly, boredom seemed like a so much more desirable thing, something she certainly would have preferred over this mess.
Actually, calling it that helped a little. Messes could be sorted out, couldn't they? And as much as it was self-deception, Ororo felt the need to keep it up, if only just a little longer, to avoid facing the despair death looming over a friend usually called forth. In that, Rogue's and her ways of dealing with this twist of fate weren't that different, just that for the Windrider, it was but a set of mind, while her friend actively tried to, well, do something. For whatever that was worth.
She didn't have to consciously find the way, her steps carrying her to the Grey-Summers' apartment just like you'd expect after such a long time of walking a trail over and over again. Unfortunately, that meant her mind was free to wander. And to question. Storm was used to a part of herself raising doubts regarding just about everything she did, strangely enough making her cover up that little voice with some additional confidence. With an attitude other than that, she'd surely have long gone under, lost the fight against one of their countless enemies.
In a way, it was ironic that Scott's final battle might be an internal one, his downfall brought about by a natural cause. Well, as natural as cellular degeneration could be anyway. The reason for all this, Ororo was still trying to grasp; failing every time she tried to make sense of it all. She was no doctor. Not like Jean. Storm tried to imagine what it had to be like – being able to second-guess how your own husband's illness would develop, and still being unable to do anything against it. Or was that better than being left without having the faintest idea what was going on? Was ignorance bliss or curse in this situation?
The question was pondered for the rest of the way, a hand reaching to know almost automatically before the weather witch realised that she wasn't even sure what to say to her long-time friend, what to do. Was this like a strategic meeting, or consolation. Should she somehow muster the optimism to not accept that Hank was the only one with the faintest chance of finding a way out? And what if Scott was there...? Oh sweet Goddess – what if he was in there too?
She knocked anyway. The world had to continue spinning, hers and that of others. Most truths, like this one, account for many things at once.
There comes a time in everyone's life when we have to take over responsibility.
The question remains whether there is also a time when we can get rid of it again.
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