CHAPTER 152— FAREWELL ON THE LANDING PAD
The morning mist clung low over Muir Island, rolling in soft waves off the sea. The Blackbird rested on the pad like some sleek predator bird that had finally come home to roost. Around it, the X-Men gathered—scarred, tired, but together.
Logan lit up, the match flare cutting through the fog. He exhaled smoke and leaned against the plane's landing gear, watching the others with half-lidded eyes.
Cyclops stood near the ramp, arms crossed, his visor reflecting the gray sky. Colossus stretched stiff shoulders, metal skin gleaming in the damp air before he let it roll back to flesh. Nightcrawler crouched atop a railing, tail swaying as he hummed some German tune, quiet but steady. Thunderbird paced like a caged tiger, restless energy bouncing from step to step.
Jean and Storm stood together, their voices low, faces pale but composed. Havok leaned against a crate, Polaris hovering near him with eyes that never quite settled. Moira was there too, her hair a windblown mess, exhaustion etched into every line of her face. Jamie sat nearby, pale and wrapped in bandages, still trying to smile through the pain.
It should've been a normal farewell. It wasn't. Too much had been burned away in the fight with Proteus.
And then Banshee broke the silence.
"I won't be boardin'," he said suddenly. His brogue was firm, carrying over the hum of the Blackbird.
Heads turned.
"What do you mean?" Storm asked gently, her voice full of calm but edged with worry.
Sean Cassidy gave a small smile, though it was sad around the eyes. "I'm stayin', lass. I've done me fair share with the X-Men. Truth be told, I'm no spring chicken anymore. The bones ache worse after every scrap."
"Sean…" Jean whispered, disbelief in her tone.
Nightcrawler swung down lightly from his perch. "But—you cannot mean this is goodbye?"
Banshee looked at Moira. His hand reached up, brushing her cheek with a tenderness that made the whole team fall silent. "I can't leave her like this," he said, softer now. "After all she's endured… after losin' her boy… she needs someone here. Someone steady. And—" He smiled a little wider, a touch of boyish charm beneath the lines of age. "When she's had her time to grieve proper, I aim to propose marriage to Moira."
Moira's lips parted, shock and grief and something else flickering through her eyes. She said nothing, only let him cup her face, tears threatening but held back.
The silence that fell was heavy.
Logan broke it with a low chuckle. He moved quick, snatching the pack of cigars out of Sean's breast pocket. "Well hell," he said, striking another match. "Guess you won't be needin' these, old man. Women don't like kissin' a mouth that reeks o' smoke." He shoved the cigars into his own jacket. "So these are mine now."
The team laughed—relief, awkwardness, affection.
Colossus stepped forward, offering his massive hand. "If this is your choice, comrade, then I am happy for you."
Storm inclined her head gracefully. "Love is the greatest strength of all. You honor it, Sean."
Nightcrawler clasped his hands dramatically. "Ah, mon ami, a proposal! I expect an invitation to the wedding, ja?"
Even Thunderbird cracked a grin. "About time someone around here thought about livin' instead of fightin'."
Cyclops's stern mask softened for once. "You'll always be one of us, Sean. But… I think you're making the right call."
Jean stepped forward, laying her hand gently on Moira's. "You deserve happiness," she said quietly.
Moira blinked back the tears. "I don't know what to say…"
"You don't need t' say a damn thing, darlin'," Sean said softly, still brushing her cheek.
Logan gave his shoulder a hard pat. "Don't screw it up, Cassidy. Woman's been through hell. She don't need you actin' like a fool."
Banshee laughed, genuine and warm, the first true laugh in days. "Don't worry, Logan. I'll be on me best behavior."
One by one, the X-Men filed up the ramp into the Blackbird. Banshee stayed behind, his arm around Moira, Polaris hovering close, Jamie giving a weak wave.
Engines roared. The Blackbird lifted into the mist, banking north. On the pad, Moira leaned into Sean, letting herself rest for the first time since her world had shattered.
And in the Blackbird, Logan leaned back in his seat, puffing a stolen cigar, eyes drifting to the woman across the aisle.
'Finally,' he thought, 'some damn quiet. Jean's alive. Still breathin'. Still fightin'.'
But then the thought twisted sharp.
'Mariko. She's the one. My true love. Then why the hell can't I shake Jeannie outta my head? First love, true love—aw, hell…'
He growled softly, chewing the cigar.
And then—he smelled it. Soul scent. Faint, wrong, like Jean was there and not there, her essence fraying like smoke in the wind.
His eyes narrowed.
Across the cabin, Jean sat with her eyes closed, lashes brushing her cheeks. Inside her mind, she wasn't on the Blackbird.
She was on a ship. A medieval deck, sails full of wind, Jason Wyngarde beside her, handsome in his hunting leathers. "We'll marry soon, my love," he whispered. She smiled, radiant, her heart full.
They leaned close, lips brushing—
"Jean."
Logan's hand shook her shoulder. She gasped, eyes snapping open. The ship vanished. Only the Blackbird remained.
"What's the matter, Jeannie?" Logan asked, voice low, rough.
"Nothing," she said quickly, forcing a smile.
But inside, her thoughts were tangled and hot. The illusions are coming more often… but I can't forget the feelings. The happiness I felt. Even if it's not real.
Logan's nostrils flared. He caught the lie, clear as blood in water. Soul scent told him everything—her fear, her longing, the secret she hid.
He said nothing. Just sat back, smoke curling from his lips.
'Alright, Jeannie. Keep your secrets. But I'm watchin'.'
The Blackbird cut through the clouds, carrying them home.