The Sun Hasn't Risen
by
Jaya Mitai


Gee, and just when you were hopi-I-I mean, wondering if I'd dropped off the face of the earth . . . I came back! The X-Men used within belong to Marvel. The puppy is mine. =)

This was written for Kaylee's Blow Kaylee Away Challenge (yes, Mitai's being redundant, folks! It's a theme with this fic!). Here yah go, gal. Your favorites. (Mitai offers Kaylee a spoon.)

---

The whimpering grew louder.

Scott blinked eyes covered in red goggles, unable to sleep for the quiet whining, almost too hushed for the human ear to perceive. Almost fading away, then beginning again, so softly that it was unclear whether the sound was real or merely imagined.

But, either real or imagined, it kept Scott Summers from the rest he had been denied far too long. Again he glanced at the clock, and the red luminous digital numbers which proclaimed the time to be a scant hour before he should rise anyway. Got to bed late, as well; Bishop had requested his help in running a diagnostic test over the entire system after that Sentinel had ended up in the backyard...

His head turned sharply to the left of its own accord, as if to shake the memory - and the image - from his thoughts. The movement brought his gaze to his sleeping wife, undisturbed by the now-fading noise. Beyond her still-puffy face, he could see the beginnings of dawn creeping steadily into the lightening blue of the night.

At least, he assumed it was blue.

Scott ever so gently leaned forward to kiss his wife, too exhausted to awaken at his light touch. Despite her peaceful, relaxed face, her eyelashes glimmered wetly with the tears that lay just below the surface.

She would wake soon, and yesterday would begin anew.

He slipped from the sheets as quietly and smoothly as he could, taking a shower of not more than three minutes, slipping on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that proclaimed "MTV Road Rules" on the front and "Citra" on the back. Jubilee had presented it to him after a trip from the mall last week. She'd brought tokens for everyone, to celebrate nearly a month of peace, a month so full of promise that for the first time in a long time he'd felt all the old stirrings Xavier's words used to bring.

The Dream, it was within their reach.

Now, with the rising dawn, it had never looked more impossible.

He slipped on a pair of socks and some comfortable, worn loafers and stepped outside. The whimper was there, it wasn't merely his imagination, his memory -

The air was still, the trees somber and statue-like, the grass twitching occasionally as a drop of dew found its way from the blade back to Mother Earth. The sky seemed clear, growing with the light though no rays of sunshine would fall upon this scene for a long time yet.

The whining had stopped.

Slightly irritated at having been drawn from his bed by an elusive phantom that refused to be found, he forced himself to wait patiently. It had stopped before, only to start moments later, somehow more distant, but still as -

There.

He started off to his left, towards the little trail running through the wood that covered nearly half of Xavier's large estate. The air was completely still, breathless, yet no insects flocked to meet him as he entered the shade.

Beneath the canopy it was nearly as dark as night, and only the aid of his visor and his knowledge of the path itself kept him from straying or tripping. The whining was definitely close, and now he could recognize it as a startling human sound.

Could she have . . . ?

His steps quickened, and the whimpering stopped abruptly. He jogged on a moment more, then stopped, the soles of his shoes squishing slightly, having absorbed water from the cedar chips and leaves that lined the path. He waited, his breathing unnaturally loud and harsh in a stillness he had not heard since he was a child.

There was no sound.

He waited.

Gradually he began to detect the first stirrings of life in the wood. The leaves above him dripped occasionally with dew, the drops finding their way from leaf to leaf, eventually trickling down to drip to the forest floor with a muted sound, as if apologizing for breaking the stillness. No cars traveled on Greymalkin Lane, no planes passed overhead. It was as though he had stepped through a portal to a place where Man with all his noise and all his disturbance had never been. It was as though Nature was just waking herself, stretching luxuriously before the work of the day began.

A tiny whimper, to his right.

Scott searched the underbrush with his eyes, not daring to move least he startle the injured creature - or was it human? Something about the atmosphere suggested that he needn't be surprised to find a fae folk hiding beneath the leaves, crying because a bat had injured its wing, and something kept him, even at his age, from disturbing the magic of the place.

At length, the light grew a bit, and to his surprise, he found that his irritation had been swept aside like the dew and the night, replaced by a calm, serene air as he merely waited for the wonderful thing that would be shown to him, if only he had the patience.

And it was.

Two drops of dew that he had been studying for some time blinked.

Ever so carefully, Scott knelt, his knee popping, the sound startlingly loud in the night. To his left, he heard a sudden rush, and a deer bound past, only a few feet away. Its movement caused a sleepy bird to call out in alarm, and several took off with a whir of wings that sounded as though every bird in the world had taken flight.

And the whimpering creature flinched.

Scott forgot his anger with himself as he gently held out a hand, trying to coax out something that was far too small to be a child.

"Hi there," he said softly.

An owl hooted, and there was silence.

After an eternity had passed, an eternity with no change in anything about him, a tiny, muddy paw crept out of the leaves. Then another. Then a tiny, black nose poked out, accompanied by a tiny white head, and eyes as liquid black as oil.

Scott remained motionless, and the puppy crept even closer, gently sniffing the outstretched hand.

Still Scott didn't move, something telling him that to do so now would destroy the work of an hour, even more. So he waited, careful not to stare at this strangely-marked Labrador mutt that crept all the way from the underbrush, whimpering in its throat.

The whimper was truly a thing to hear, so childlike and full of pain and fear that it was all Scott could do to keep his hand from shaking.


"Get her out of there!"

"Ah got it!"

"Gently, now, keep it level -"

- As the body of the great robot was lifted from her she cried out, a tiny sound, barely audible above the moaning of the great Sentinel as its bent and battered body was forced to support itself. Scott gently reached under the lifting wreckage, finding a hand, so damp and hot, and it held on, held on to him with only a shadow of the strength he knew she possessed -

The puppy crept closer, on its belly, watching him with eyes so brightly shining it was as though the puppy was crying.

She'd been crying.

Ever so gently he shifted his hand, palm upward, and the puppy yelped as though struck, but made no move to panic. With a motion as smooth as a branch swaying in a slight breeze he let his fingers brush a coat that should have been almost silken with puppy-softness. Instead, it was covered in grime, pulled tight over a frame with no meat.

The puppy curled up to him, shaking and crying.

Ever so gently he picked it up, cuddled the tiny, cold, smelly frame to his chest for warmth, and rose as quietly and smoothly as he could to his feet. His knee popped again, though not nearly as loudly, and the puppy began to tremble violently.

"Didn't think yah'd be able to get a hand on that thing," a rough but somehow quiet voice murmured to his left.

Scott didn't turn, merely held onto the puppy as it continued to cry. "You heard it too?"

"Damn thing kept me up all night. Figured-" Abruptly he stopped, and Scott heard his clothes move as Logan shifted.

"So did I," Scott said quietly.

They were silent for many moments, until Scott felt that the puppy was sure enough in his grasp that he could turn without disturbing it any more than it was. It shook almost as though palsied.

"You check on her yet?"

Scott took a deep breath, then wrinkled his nose. "You're getting a bath," he informed the puppy, who silenced its whimpering at once, stuffing its head further into the safety of his armpit. "No," he said louder, surprised at the steadiness of his voice. "No, I haven't. Have you?"

There was no reply.

Scott trudged towards the boathouse, his footsteps somehow louder in the growing light. Bugs flitted in and out of the shadows, and the dew crept through his shoes to dampen his socks.

The magic of the morning was gone.

He kicked off the loafers at the door, surprised to hear Logan's up-to-that-point silent tread on the stairs, and he kicked off his own boots. Scott held the screen door with his foot until Logan grabbed it with a grunt of thanks, coming in as silently as he had followed Scott from the woods.

Scott took the puppy immediately to the kitchen sink, running luke-warm water from the tap and gently putting the puppy in. It struggled wildly, starting to cry, and Scott kept a firm hand on its back, holding it in and petting at the same time.

"Never seen a white Lab before," Logan grunted, handing Scott a bar of soap.

"Neither have I." He set about scrubbing the dirt out of the surprisingly alabaster fur. Logan grabbed a seat at the kitchen table, his own black eyes fixed upon the window.

The sun had not yet risen.

A companionable silence descended, the puppy no longer shivering or whimpering, just playing with the water and trying to work the taste of soap bubbles from her tongue. It was a her, Scott noted as he worked the worst of the filth from her tummy and feet.

After the bath, Scott looked around the kitchen helplessly, both hands holding down a puppy that resembled a drowned rat and was easily as slick as one. Logan grunted, tossing him a dish towel.

Neither met the other's eye.

Scott caught it on his shoulder, swiping it off quickly as the puppy made an escape attempt, and it squirmed and talked mightily as it was briskly dried off. Scott then set the puppy on the ground, poking into the fridge.

"You know how old she is?"

Scott heard gentle crooning, and squeezed his eyes shut as images came flying back. With an effort, he halted them, and grabbed the milk. He shut the fridge, reaching above for the loaf of bread.

"Six weeks maybe. Young."

Scott poured some milk into a bowl, placed it in the microwave. Then he shredded two slices of bread into bite-sized pieces, noting the stillness of hands that should have been trembling. When the milk was lukewarm, he removed it from the microwave, put in the bread, and placed it on the floor.

He didn't have to offer twice.

The two men stood in silence, only the sounds of snarfing breaking the pre-dawn stillness.

The sun had still not risen.

The puppy inhaled the meal, licking the last drops of the milk before gamboling off to explore. Scott carefully followed the puppy.

"She ain't gonna mess, Cyke."

"Let's take her with us."

The puppy froze in place, seeing its reflection in the television glass, and a silence descended, so complete that for a moment Scott wondered if this was how deaf people perceived the world. Eventually, he heard Logan expel his breath in a sound close to a snort.

"Hank might not like it."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Logan was quiet, and the puppy proceeded to investigate the couch, finally sinking needle-sharp puppy teeth into the upholstery.

"Maybe."

Scott rescued the couch by stooping and picking up the swollen-bellied puppy, who yipped in surprise.

"My thoughts exactly, little one," a female voice murmured.

Scott straightened to see Logan for once turning his back to a Jean clad in only her nightshirt. His eyes belied the motion, almost bright with mischief, and she smiled despite herself and swatted his back.

"Very funny. Scott, hand it over."

Scott obediently handed her the squirming white puppy.

"Hewwo, you," she said soothingly in baby-talk, and the puppy grunted with the effort of reaching her face to lick it as rapidly as possible. A slight giggle left her mouth before she had to close it in order to protect it from an exuberant tongue.

"Where . . did you get this," she managed, holding the puppy away from her as it struggled to be closer, whining with its desire to please.

"It was outside," Scott murmured, taking it back as its sharp claws found Jean's wrist and she winced. A few drops of blood, bright red despite the lack of sunlight, appeared on her wrist.

The puppy whimpered, and Jean smiled and shook her head.

"Just what I needed," she told it seriously, before grabbing its little face and playfully giving it a little shake. The puppy's tail wagged furiously. For a moment, Jean met Scott's eyes, before excusing herself quietly and heading into the bathroom. After a few moments, they both heard the shower start.

"Shall we?" Logan asked quietly.

Scott opened the door.

***

The clouds were just now being touched by actual beams of light, though the sun still had a good half-hour before it would be visible, and the dew glinted like silver on the lawn as the two men trudged through, the puppy whimpering as it was taken outside, and huddling into Scott's chest.

Scott's eyes found the ruined trees, the cracked poolside, the impressions in the lawn, finally settling on the hideous robot itself. They hadn't had the time or the will to dismantle it, merely to disconnect all the functioning parts from the main processor, and its head was still frighteningly intact, pitiless indentations where eyes should have been, the lights dimmed now, but painfully, painfully bright only too recently.

"We need to get rid of that thing," Logan grated, his voice so full of hatred and anger that the puppy whimpered, digging even deeper into Scott.

Scott nodded, stroking the puppy, surprised at its trembling. Logan aside, did it think he would leave it back out here?

Had she thought he would leave her there?

Scott clenched his jaw, passing the level part of the back lawn they usually used to play volleyball. Passed the lawn chairs, overturned or flattened. Passed the great indention where the Sentinel had fallen from the sky.

Where they'd struggled through minutes much too long to free her.

Logan said nothing as they passed, and Scott wondered if Logan could still smell the blood, or it had been absorbed into the ground too deeply for him to detect. He assumed the former. Logan would probably always smell a trace here.

Like Scott would always hear the whimpering.

They passed into the house silently, this time not shedding their shoes but wiping them thoroughly on the matt before continuing. The puppy poked her head out, gazing around curiously now that they weren't outside in the dim and the dew.

Both men walked to the Infirmary silently. Both men entered.

Both men knew that they could not have had the other hesitated.

Hank looked up as the doors slid open, his face tired, his fur unable to hide either his grief or his fatigue. They lit up with something akin to surprise, however, and he started forward.

"An albino Labrador?"

Scott handed the puppy to Hank, who was promptly licked and nuzzled by a decided black nose.

"No, dark eyes and a black nose . . . black pads on the feet . . . how rare. Where did you find this?"

"Carryin' on all last night outside," Logan grunted, strangely rooted to the spot, feet splayed hip width, as though he needed to be perfectly balanced, lest he fall.

Hank merely nodded, patted the puppy, and handed it back to Scott.

"She's awake. She's been awake most of the night, I couldn't get her to rest . . ."

Scott just nodded, consciously unclenching his jaw as his brain registered the ache there. Without a word he handed the puppy to Logan, who accepted without word.

"I'm going to make some coffee," he announced, and turned on his heels.

The sun still hadn't risen.

***

He returned in time to hear quiet laughter coming from the back room, ending far too quickly. Hank hunched over a microscope, not turning to look as Scott set the mug of coffee beside him.

Twenty feet.

Twenty feet to the room.

Twenty feet of scrubbed, smooth tile.

Nothing more to distract him. Nothing more to give him an excuse.

Twenty feet.

He couldn't do it.

She was lying in that room. Dying. Dying when she should have been watching for the first rays of her sun - and it was her sun - in her loft. She should have been safe.

Oh, God, she should have been safe.

How had it gotten in? How had they not detected it? The tests hadn't shown a thing, nor had the analysis of the Sentinel itself. Bishop assumed that it must have sent out a wave to disrupt the security for an instant, but surely the alarms should have run, it shouldn't have -

It shouldn't have fallen on her.

The winds had been fierce. Ororo had not been holding back, and so few of the X-Men had been outside at the time. A well-aimed shot from Cyclops had distracted it enough for Rogue to toss Logan on board, and he cut all the wires - cut the ones on the thrusters -

Why had they fired again? It would have fallen harmlessly had they not kicked back on, flames hot and true, propelling it a few feet further, a little faster.

And she hadn't been able to get out of the way.

He clenched the mug of coffee in his hand. Dammit, how could this have happened! They broke their backs training, they had saved their world. They'd been out to space. They'd survived alien invasion. And yet, one teammate fell here. Home. Where she should have been safe.

Remy took it hard. He'd said his goodbyes yesterday, packed a few things, and vanished. Didn't leave a number, didn't tell anyone where he was going. Rogue had gone after him - he could only imagine how she was faring. She hadn't checked in yet.

Jean was hopefully still at the boathouse. She'd spent too much time trying to buffer Ororo's pain with her telepathy, and the toll had been great. Hank, as well, had spent far too much energy without rest, and it was evident now in his heaving shoulders. Scott didn't need to ask if he'd had any more success with the second surgery.

And Logan. Sweet Jesus, he could only imagine how the man felt. He'd cut the wires. Hell, he'd been on the Sentinel when it had hit the ground. When it had landed on her. He hadn't spoken until this morning, been with her the entire time. Never said a word, through her crying, through her surgery, and after. Hadn't shed a tear, hadn't let lose with a rage. He'd just . ..stayed with her.

And now he was there again, with her. Scott couldn't interrupt them.

Scott couldn't go those twenty feet.

He didn't have to.

The door to the back room opened, and Logan emerged, Ororo laying like a rag doll in his arms, her own curled around his neck, her head resting on his chest like a child's.

Calm, misty blue eyes met Scott's a moment, clouded with pain and with drugs. They recognized him, he could tell by the set of her mouth, the seven muscles that it takes to pull lips into a smile warring with the thirty-odd that pulled them down in a grimace of pain.

"Scott."

Logan carried her past Hank, who leaned up, his face stained with tears.

"She wants t'watch the sunrise," Logan told them both roughly, walking past and out the door without another word.

Scott followed them to the porch, where Logan gently laid her in the porch swing. Only then did Scott notice the bulge in Logan's shirt, and he pulled the puppy free, placing it in Ororo's lap. It instantly snuggled against her and went to sleep. She smiled again.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, following his gaze. "But it isn't for me-"

"Kept tryin' to tell her to tell it that," Logan interjected, his voice rougher than normal, the comment a desperate attempt at levity.

Scott just shook his head, sitting down beside her, on a porch stair, forgotten mug of coffee set without notice on the floor of the porch. He rolled his head on his shoulders, staring towards the east, where the sky was lighter, probably streaked with greys as well as light reds.

But the sun had not risen.

Logan stared at Scott a long time, an unreadable expression that Scott returned with his own inscrutable look, his eyes, therefore his pain, masked behind the visor as red as the blood that flowed through - and out - of her veins, the bleeding Hank could not stop. The bleeding that would kill her, despite the blood they'd been dripping into her arm these few days, trying to replace.

The pain in those black eyes was almost enough to make Scott turn his head in guilt. Logan could not hide behind a visor, be strong. The blame, the guilt, was there for everyone to see. His face was lined, mouth set and eyebrows hard, trying to make up for the pools of soul, glinting like the dew on the grass.

Eventually Logan dropped that unreadable gaze to her, staring at her before he brushed a curling lock of albatross hair from her face.

"Remember before all that mess with the Marauders, 'Ro?"

Her gaze traveled up from the horizon to his face.

"Remember what we said?"

Her eyes blinked slowly, and her mouth moved with none of the hesitance they belied.

"You told me you were . . . a loner. I told you we depended on you. I told you . . . you must be there."

Logan took her hand, pulled it close, kissed it, taking in her scent.

"I'm still here, darlin'. To the end. Like I said."

She nodded slowly. "Like you said."

He glanced at Scott, eyes bright. "Think there's some things Cyke here wants t'say, so I guess I oughta get outta his way. I'll be right out there." He gestured towards the wood.

Ororo shook her head weakly. "You were never . . . out there. You've always been here. Been . . . here." She withdrew her hand to lay it on her chest, her smile slight and her eyes brimming.

Logan stood up quietly and left, leaving a wake in the dew across the emerald lawn. He never looked back.

Scott started to open his mouth, to protest, and Ororo laid her other hand gently on his arm.

"Let him . . . he needs to remember . . that way."

Scott took her hand, cold, steady, so different from those scant days ago as he'd held it, waiting an eternity for them to get the robot off her, to end the pitiful, pain-filled whimper that was tearing him apart -

"You're not gone yet."

She smiled again. "You feel it, didn't you."

He rubbed her hand gently, glad of the visor, glad of his rock-steady voice. Her eyes were bright with tears, the tears that had spilled down her face as he'd gently picked her up, so gently, and pulled her from beneath the crushing weight and the darkness.

He wouldn't see her cry again, if he could help it. He had to be strong.

"Feel what?" Keep her talking, keep her distracted. Let her make it to sunrise. Oh, god, let her make it to sunrise.

"The Goddess. She is here." Ororo glanced at the still-sleeping puppy beside her. "This is not a gift to me." The puppy seemed to blend into what Scott assumed was a white hospital gown and the sheet Logan had taken with her, and it sighed contentedly in its sleep, too exhausted to dream.

Ororo held his gaze with a calm strength, and he was unable to look away.

"It wasn't your fault," she said softly. "You saved me, my friend."

He tightened his jaw, and said nothing.

"All I remember . . . is you pulling me free . . . and Logan carrying me .. . to the house." Her words slurred slightly, the porch swing rocking gently as her bare feet pushed it. "I remember . . . the sunlight . . . and the way his face looked . . ."

"Ororo . . ." he said softly, voice still strong, still controlled. "Rest. Don't try to talk."

She smiled faintly. "No more time," she said, and looked towards the puppy.

"Don't . . ."

She turned her gaze back to Scott, no tears, no trembling, her eyes somehow clear. "Go now, Scott. Go. Watch the sunrise. It is her last gift to you."

"'Ro, please -" His voice broke, just slightly.

She made a shooing gesture, turning slightly to curl a bit around the puppy, closing her almond-shaped eyes, red as the sky, as the oceans.

Scott stayed a moment, until she squeezed his hand, harder than before, squeezed a sob from his throat, and pulled her hand from his grasp, placing it on the sleeping puppy. He stood steadily, swallowing, cursing his one moment of weakness, and the porch plank cracked startlingly loudly beneath him, almost destroying the sudden calm of the moment. Ororo nestled further into the large pillow, and the puppy heaved a great, contented sigh.

Without word or sound, Scott set off across the lawn, making his own, second wake through the dew, beside Logan's.

He never looked back.

Logan was waiting at the treeline, leaning against an elm, eyes steady and serene as he watched Scott approach, cigar in his mouth.

"She sleepin'?"

Scott inhaled deeply, glad of the scent of the smoke he normally complained of. Glad of the distraction. Glad of the reminder. "Yes."

He sat heavily on one of the roots, watching the growing light reflecting off the mirror-still lake visible in the distance. A hush was still settled upon the morning, broken not even by the insects that buzzed about. He still heard no planes, no cars. Once again, the magic stole upon him, calming him, taking away a bit of the pain. Logan kept his eyes fixed on the lake, the light reflecting mirrorlike in his eyes as tears fell unashamed to tumble down that hard, hard face.

"Goddamit," he finally swore in a strangely calm voice.

The puppy began to whimper, quietly, and the magic was broken.

And the sun still had not risen.



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