CHAPTER 130– BETWEEN BATTLES
The snow had melted into slush by the time the X-Men made it into the city proper. Calgary's streets glistened under the weak sun, the air sharp with cold but not biting. For once, no alarms blared, no claws were bared. Just people, shops, neon signs, and the peculiar quiet that came when warriors were asked to act like tourists.
Misty Knight led the charge, metallic arm glinting as she tugged Colleen along. "Come on, you heroes. Boutiques this way. I'm not freezing my ass off in an airport lounge for six hours if I can be trying on boots."
Colleen laughed, her long coat swaying as she fell into step. "You're only saying that because you've already got a closet full of boots. Some of us actually need new clothes."
Logan grunted, cigar stub tucked in the corner of his mouth. "Some of us don't see the point of playin' dress-up. Clothes are clothes. As long as they don't rip when you fight in 'em, you're good."
Storm arched a brow, regal even in streetlight. "Spoken like a man who has never truly appreciated the power of presentation. Clothes are more than fabric, Logan. They are how the world first reads us."
Logan smirked. "'World reads me just fine without a wardrobe change, darlin'. Usually says 'danger, keep back.'"
Nightcrawler chuckled, teleporting up to perch on a lamppost, tail curling lazily. "Ah, but imagine, Logan… you, in silk. In velvet. In colors other than brown, black, and more brown."
"Elf, the day you get me in velvet is the day I let Chuck shave my head."
Banshee barked out a laugh. "Now that's a sight I'd pay to see."
Cyclops cut in, tone dry but not without warmth. "We're not here for fantasies about Wolverine's wardrobe. Stay sharp. We don't know if Alpha Flight's still watching."
Colossus, towering and gentle, spoke softly. "Perhaps a little normalcy is good, comrade. Even soldiers must breathe between battles."
Thunderbird gave a low snort. "Normalcy. Right. Because the world's just dying to forget who we are." He still followed them in anyway, broad shoulders tense as if expecting another ambush in the middle of a clothing store.
The boutique's bell jingled as they stepped inside. Warm air, faint perfume, racks of coats and dresses. Storm moved like she belonged there—graceful, elegant, already lifting a white silk scarf with a smile. "This… yes, this is worthy of the wind."
Misty winked at her. "Now that's how you shop."
Logan scowled at the rows of fabrics but sniffed the air, nose twitching. "Hmph. Too much perfume. Smells like a flower shop got into a fistfight with a candy store."
Colleen shook her head, amused. "Logan, do you ever not complain?"
"Sure. When there's beer."
Banshee, meanwhile, had tried on a bomber jacket, puffing his chest. "Well now, what d'ye think? Makes me look younger, eh?"
Nightcrawler teleported beside him, tilting his head with mock seriousness. "Younger, ja. Like a schoolboy raiding his father's closet."
Banshee waved him off with a grin. "You're just jealous ye can't wear one without yer tail tearin' a hole."
Colossus, who had been carefully inspecting gloves, finally picked a pair that fit his enormous hands. "These will keep me from crushing doorknobs so easily." He smiled sheepishly. "It is embarrassing."
Thunderbird rolled his eyes. "You're built like a tank, Pete. No glove's gonna change that."
For an hour, they lingered. Storm dazzled; Colleen and Misty teased each other over coats; Banshee and Nightcrawler bantered like vaudeville partners; Colossus tried to be practical. Even Thunderbird, grudgingly, tried on a jacket when Misty shoved it at him with a smirk. Logan mostly leaned against walls, sniffing perfumes, grumbling—though more than once, he quietly paid for something another had admired and left it on the counter with a shrug.
Later, at a restaurant thick with the smell of grilled beef, they crowded into two tables pushed together.
"Steaks," Logan said, as if it were law. "Rare. Still mooing."
Cyclops sighed. "Logan—"
"Summers, trust me. This place? You don't order salad."
Banshee raised a glass once theirs arrived. "To the fact we're still breathin'. And to a night without fightin'."
"Speak for yourself," Thunderbird muttered. "Every time we let our guard down, someone comes gunning for us."
Storm met his gaze, voice calm but firm. "And yet if we never pause, never savor life, what are we fighting for?"
Nightcrawler lifted his fork, eyes gleaming. "She is right. Life must be tasted! Even if it is only steak, ja?"
Colossus cut carefully into his plate, nodding. "It is good to eat as friends. In my village, we say—'shared bread is the strongest bond.'"
Misty chuckled, sipping her drink. "You X-Men… for people always saving the world, you sure argue like a family."
Colleen grinned. "That's because they are."
The laughter that followed was warm, carrying over the clink of plates and the soft hum of the restaurant. For a moment, they were not soldiers, not mutants, not targets. Just people, alive, together.
Hours later, boarding their flight, the quiet settled back in. Logan sat near the window, smoke curling from his lips as he stared into the dark sky. His senses stretched, listening, tasting the air for trouble. Nothing came. For now.
As the engines roared and the plane lifted, the chapter closed with a cut—miles away, on the damp Scottish airfield where Jean Grey stepped from her flight, red hair catching the wind, unaware of how the world was about to change again.
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Across the sea, in Scotland, another plane touched down. The wind off the tarmac was damp and salt-tinged, carrying the sharp bite of the northern coast. Jean Grey stepped out, her red hair catching the misty breeze like a flame refusing to die.
Moira McTaggart was waiting, wrapped in her long coat, smile warm but eyes sharp as always. Beside her stood Alex Summers with his arms crossed, looking restless, and Lorna Dane leaning against him with a soft wave. At the edge of the group was Jamie Madrox, hands in his pockets, green coat buttoned up to his chin, always half-smiling like he was in on a joke only he knew.
"Jean!" Moira's voice cut through the din of the airport. They met in a quick embrace, and then the others circled in.
"Good to see you, Jean," Alex said, his voice careful. "How was Greece?"
"Sunny," Jean answered, forcing a small smile. "Almost too much so."
Lorna squeezed her hand. "You look good. Rested."
"Looks can lie," Jean murmured, but softly, not wanting to dampen the greeting.
As they gathered her bags and started for the car, her thoughts spun inward.
'They don't know. None of them know. The X-Men are gone. My family. My friends. Scott.'
Her chest tightened at his name, and she almost faltered on the steps. She could still see him—jaw set, visor gleaming, that endless sense of responsibility burning him alive from the inside out. And now… nothing. Just silence.
'I should have been there. Should have fought harder. Should have—'
She cut the thought before it could break her. Smiled instead, answered Lorna's question about Greek food, nodded along to Jamie's quip about airports. The mask held.
But inside, her heart whispered the same truth with every beat:
'They're dead. All of them. And I don't know how to live without them.'
Moira walked just ahead, glancing back once with eyes that caught more than Jean wanted. She said nothing, though. Not yet.
And as they stepped into the gray Scottish air, Jean lifted her chin, red hair whipping in the wind. The world went on, indifferent. And she went with it, carrying ghosts no one else could see.