Heyoka: Epilogue
by Minisinoo

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Notes: They're Marvel's (mostly), not mine. Finally Logan gets a voice. This chapter brings us to the end of our walk, folks. I'd appreciate feedback. Remember that feedback is what keeps writers writing, so if you want to find out what happens next, let me know. Otherwise, I'll assume that people hope this little romp dies a quick and painful death. An opportunity to click on either email or comments is at the bottom of this epilogue. ;>

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Two days after the Christmas party, the mansion went into holiday hibernation. Three quarters of the students were gone and most of the help. Those who stayed took on additional duties, including cooking. Logan was told that Valeria went back to Genoa every year. This year, Grace volunteered for kitchen duty. Sioux women, she said to the professor, knew how to cook for an army. They were called relatives. So she made chili and corn soup and Indian burritos, and fry bread. Lots of fry bread.
Logan was having the time of his life, watching the winchinchala turn the mansion on its ear, so to speak. In truth, she'd just become part of the place, the same way he had. It was Summers who she was turning on his ear. And Logan found that hysterical. The kid couldn't stay away from her for more than three hours, end to end. Except maybe at night. Logan was pretty sure they weren't dirty dancing under the sheets, even if they'd done a little on the dance floor at the Christmas party.

Logan had known the Sioux girl wasn't serious when she'd said that if One Eye tried anything, she'd show him just how well she could defend herself. He'd tried quite a lot on the floor later, albeit nothing truly intimate. The Boy Scout didn't do that kind of thing, even when he was thinking with the head in his pants. That didn't mean he hadn't made it obvious that he'd like to explore possibilities in private. And Logan had caught them necking in the hallway outside their doors later, had suggested that they might want to pick a room and take it inside before they shocked the half of the student body that they hadn't shocked already. Summers' red face had been priceless. He was such a dickhead.

Now, Logan sighed and watched Summers flirt with Grace across the counter of the kitchen window. For a dickhead, he knew how to flirt with women. Of course, anybody with looks like that had learned young what he could get from the opposite gender. Now the shades just made him more initially attractive. Until the reason he wore them scared the girls away, or the fact he could never take them off got on a woman's nerves, like Jeannie's. Logan wondered how long Gracie would put up with it, though he suspected it was Summer's anal-retentive nature that would get on the Indian girl's nerves first.

Jean wasn't here to watch romance blooming under the holly. She'd had enough of that at the Christmas party. Logan didn't think Summers had meant to be cruel ­ he'd been too damn self-involved chasing red ass ­ but Logan had seen Jean's face. She still loved the freakin' dickhead even if she had kicked him out of her bed. So she'd gone home. She'd told Logan she needed the time, then had packed her bags and gone back to her parents' house, though she'd given him the address and told him to borrow the bike to come visit. He hadn't yet, wasn't sure if he would. He wasn't the kind of boy you took home. But maybe he'd call her, meet her for lunch somewhere. He needed to see her. He'd come back here for her. Or that's what he told himself, anyway.

The bench rocked and he glanced sideways. Marie in her habitual cocoa brown. It looked good on her with those beagle eyes. He grinned. "Hey, kid. What's up?"

"Got a present."

"For me?" He half-laughed.

"Well, yeah, I got one for you, too. But not right now. Got one for Gracie. Really, for Gracie and Mr. Summers. Kitty, Jubes and I, we went in on it together. But I'm not sure if she'll like it. It might insult her."

"So you want my opinion."

"Sorta."

"Sorta?"

"I'm kinda honor-bound to give it to her, but I guess I want your moral support. Will you come with me when I do it?"

"Right now?"

"They're together right now."

"They're together a lot. Can I finish my coffee first?"

"Sure." She smiled and snuggled down next to him on the bench, her head on his shoulder. He still couldn't touch her like Gracie could, but it was winter and with the clothes he was wearing, he was safe. It felt nice to have the kid curled up beside him; it felt right. He must have known this once, somewhere, sometime. A kid under his arm. He drank his coffee and watched One Eye, perched on the counter now. He and Grace were laughing about something. "He really likes her, don't he?" Marie said.

"Yeah. I think he does. But he's got no idea what a train wreck they're in for if he don't change his ways some."

"Why's that?"

"Because he dots all his i's and crosses all his t's and he lives by a watch. And she don't."

"Maybe she'll be good for him."

"Yeah. Maybe." He finished his coffee and stood up, dislodging Marie. "Come on, kid. Let's go give your present to the winchinchala."

"What's that mean? You call her that all the time." Marie was following him through the maze of dining room tables.

"It means 'little girl' in Lakota. But really, it means 'pretty girl.'"

"You think she's pretty? She don't look like Miss Monroe."

"She looks like an Indian, Marie. She's pretty in her own way. We all are, eh?"

"Some of us are prettier than others."

He stopped dead so that she ran into him, turned around and bumped her chin up with his hand, so quick the brush of skin on skin didn't have time to register. "You're plenty pretty, Marie. Don't put yourself down. Ever. Now come on."

Summers dropped to his feet off the counter as they approached. He didn't bridle at Logan; he was looser these days. Marie was right, the winchinchala was good for him. And he and Logan were no longer in direct competition for a woman. That helped. "Marie says she got something for Gracie."

With that introduction, Marie could hardly wriggle her way out of it. And Logan would make sure the Sioux girl took it the right way ­ whatever it was. Logan didn't need Gracie's empathy to smell the nervousness on Marie. He liked the winchinchala, but Marie was his Marie.

Grace had come over to the window. She wore an apron, frybread flour on her hands and a little in her hair like a white streak to mirror Marie's. "What?" she asked.

Marie pushed the little package across the counter. "It's from me, Kitty and Jubes. It's half for you, half for Mr. Summers."

Summers' eyebrows had hiked over the rim of his glasses. "What is it? Fancy negligee or Godiva chocolate? Except she can't have chocolate, so that would make it all mine."

Gracie hit him, got flour on his pants, and Marie tried to hide her shock. The kids really didn't know Summers half as well as they thought they did. As Logan had said to Jean, he was anal, but he wasn't dead. He wasn't even all that shy. Handsome men didn't learn to be. Logan had to admit that half his original dislike of the kid was over his pretty-boy face. No one had ever called him 'furball,' even in fun.

Now, Marie glanced nervously at Grace, One-Eye, then blurted, "We're not trying to insult you or nothing. We're just, well ­ We thought you might could use these."

Gracie had wiped her hands on her apron and was opening the package, pulled out two white boxes.

Not a negligee. Nicoderm CQ patches. 'The power to calm. The power to comfort. The power to quit.' She broke up laughing. So did Logan. Scott was the one who appeared embarrassed. "Marie­ " he started.

"It's okay," Gracie said.

Marie was studying her hands. "You told us once that if you caught us smoking you'd kick our ass, because it makes some fat white jerk in the Carolinas rich. So we thought you might should quit making the fat white jerks rich. Besides, we don't want you to get cancer."

Now, Gracie was really laughing, holding her belly, and Summers seemed to have realized that he could, too. So he did.

Logan leaned back against the counter, pulled a cigar from his pocket, put it between his teeth, and said to Marie, "I'll make sure she uses them. But don't give me none of them things. I like my cigars. And I can't get cancer, eh?"
  
  
  

The professor had asked Logan to attend him in his office. He'd said it wasn't a crisis. At six days till Christmas, Logan wondered if the old man needed some Christmas shopping done, but why him and not the Boy Scout? That seemed unlikely at best.

In fact, Summers was present as well ­ and Grace. What on earth was going on? Summers looked as surprised to see Logan as Logan was to see him. "Logan, thank you for joining us," the professor said. He had a habit of making an order sound like a favor. "I thought you might like to be present." Logan shot a look at One-Eye, who'd gone back now to inscruitable, but it was clear from Gracie's expression that she had no more idea what was afoot than he did. Since One-Eye was leaning against the wall with his hands behind his back, Logan took the second chair in front of the desk, shifted it a little so he could see all three of them.

The professor had turned away from Logan, folded his hands on his desk to face Grace. "I have a Christmas present for you."

She looked skeptical. "You do?"

"I'm offering you the chance to take a trip." The professor tossed a set of keys that had been sitting at his elbow across the desk towards her. "Those are to the Land Rover."

She leaned forward, picked them up. "Just a Land Rover, not a Mercedes or a Lexis? Let me guess ­ it's black, at least."

"Green, actually," Summers said. "Forest Green. We have a Hummer, too. It's black. I didn't think you'd want a black car, though."

"What do I have to do with it? All your cars are black ­ "

The professor interrupted. "I thought you might like to go home to see your family. If you leave tomorrow morning, you should reach Upper Cut Meat by Christmas Eve."

Grace had started to smile, like a sun coming out from behind clouds. Summers wasn't. Instead he looked a bit startled. Whatever their scheme, he apparently hadn't been told this part, must have had something mushy planned for Christmas that just got sidelined. Too bad, so sad, Logan thought at him and was glad he wasn't a telepath. We can miss our women together, kid.

"Scott?" the professor said now.

Pulling himself together, Summers brought out his hands from behind his back and leaned forward to lay a set of papers in front of her. "Registration, tags and title for the car. You have to sign it. Then it's yours."

Grace gaped back and forth between them, then down at the papers for a car that had probably cost more than her house. The men were enjoying their little joke, and had absolutely no idea what they'd just done to her ­ although maybe the professor was starting to. The smile on his face was fading. Even well-meaning telepaths could make occasional mistakes. Deciding he'd better do something before it blew up in their faces, Logan leaned across to set a hand on Grace's arm. "Consider it a give-away, winchinchala."

She glared at him. "You knew, too?"

"No. And they don't understand. But this ain't charity. These people don't do that."

She put a hand over her mouth and glanced at the professor; they held eyes a moment and Logan could guess the old man was talking to her telepathically. Summers just looked as confused as hell. Yeah, Logan thought, these two were in for a train wreck if he didn't start using that brain between his ears and learning to walk a mile in her moccasins ­ and if she didn't learn not to react with a knee-jerk that nailed him in the balls when he least expected it. Xavier wouldn't always be there to make it all better.

After a moment, the professor said aloud. "Along with the SUV, I have a proposal. But the gift of the vehicle is not contingent upon accepting that proposal. You have every right to refuse, if you so wish."

"What's the proposal?" she asked, cautious.

"I seem to recall that a certain young lady remarked once on my school's white demographics." Logan could guess, from Gracie's grin, who had done the remarking. The professor continued, "We do have some students who represent the rest of the color bar, but I admit, many of them came from the upper middle class, such as Jubilation or Jennifer, or even Ororo. I am quite sure that our racial and socio-economic demography here is not reflective of that in the general mutant population of the country. But it is easier for a British ex-patriot to convince white runaways that he means them no harm, than to convince Indian, black, Hispanic, or Asian." She just nodded.

"You have something of an advantage," the professor said. "You could sense that what I told you was the truth, and still, it took you months to fully believe it. It took John Proudstar a whole year. But that is why I asked you here ­ to show you what we are about. Now, I'd like to make you my ambassador to those who wouldn't trust my word ­ or Scott's or Jean's. Ororo has sometimes been my voice in the past, but two voices reach more than one. And Ororo is not an American, nor can she move about the country as easily as you." He pushed across a list, written on paper by hand. It was, Logan noted, a long list. "I can find them with Cerebro. But I can't reach them. Will you talk to them, Grace? Offer them a home here?"

She picked up the list, studied it. "It'll take a little more than Christmas break to find this many kids. Half of them don't even got real addresses."

"I'm aware of that."

"What about making me train with Rogue? What about keeping the office?"

"No one will make you train with anyone," he corrected lightly. "We simply think it would be in your best interest. Regarding the office, Scott will have to do his own filing again for a while." Xavier smiled at that. "And as for Marie ­ " He looked now to Logan. "Can she begin training alone?"

"Sure. I can work with her. Or the Boy Scout can pair her," he tilted his head toward Summers, who wasn't, at the moment, very happy. "But how long is Gracie's little trip gonna take?"

"Unknown; probably not more than a month or two. All of these children cannot be reached in one trip. Nor should they be. Grace shouldn't attempt to contact some of them until she has been given self-defense and has Storm with her. And perhaps John Proudstar."

"Yeah," Grace said, still studying the list. "One's in southeast Atlanta and I've heard the mailmen won't even go in some neighborhoods there, ain't it? Central Detroit. Harlem. East Saint Louis. Downtown LA. Most of these kids will listen to Ro a lot better than to me. If they listen to either one of us and don't just shoot us first and ask questions later."

Summers was definitely looking unhappy now, Logan thought. But the professor went on, "I suggest you begin with safer targets, those more likely to accept and listen to you. And only a few at a time. Rome was not built in a day. Nor was my school. I have learned to be a patient man." He gestured towards the list. "Begin at the top. There is a young girl across the border, on the Blackfoot reserve of Canada. I am not certain of her situation. She may not need us at all. Indian mutants have not, so far, suffered as much rejection. As you know." Grace was nodding. "But there's another, a Winnebago boy in Omaha, Nebraska, who has been suspended from his school. And speaking of the Winnebago, this brings me to the second part of my proposal."

Grace looked up. Xavier went on, "I have received reports of a compound, not far from the Winnebago reservation in northeast Nebraska. Once it harbored a militant white supremist group called Koinonia ­ ironic name choice ­ but this group has now shifted its focus to anti-mutant activities instead of racists ones. The midwest has, I fear, become particularly inhospitable for mutants, even more so than places in the South. Previous attacks by this particular group have been isolated and primarily against non-whites, so that it was difficult to tell whether to call them anti-mutant activity or racially-motivated hate crimes. But word now has it that they may be stock-piling munitions for a strike of some kind against a larger target. What that target is, we don't know."

"You fear it may be here," Summers said, suddenly alert like a bloodhound. "I thought things had been a little too quiet lately."

But Xavier was shaking his head. "We don't know, Scott. It may be here, it may be some other place. This school is not the only haven for mutants. There are others. In San Francisco, in Seattle, in Minneapolis-St. Paul, in Washington, DC, in Toronto and Vancouver across the border. Not all of them are schools. Most, in fact, aren't. But most are also more visible."

"And you want me to find out about this group," Grace asked.

"Yes," the professor said. "But this is an information-gathering assignment only, Grace." The old man glanced at Scott, who was looking damn nervous. Logan could smell the sweat starting under the kid's arms, and was sure Summers hadn't known about this part of the plan. Logan would love to hear what he had to say to the old man later, but doubted he'd get the privilege.

"Do not," the professor went on now, "attempt to contact these people. Even if they didn't suspect your mutant status, you are still a minority to them. Instead, I'd like you to talk to the Winnebago. See what they know. There have been previous clashes between some members of Koinonia and young men on the reservation. They may talk to you. We need information about the group, before we send in anyone to contact them directly."

"I know Nebraska," Scott said. "I should do it. I lived in Omaha for five years. It's too dangerous for Grace."

Grace spoke almost offhand, "They won't talk to you on a res, Thunderbird Eyes. They'll think you're a cop."

Thunderbird Eyes? Logan grinned and tapped his face beside his own eyes. "And it won't be you the professor sends in to the compound, either. Them shades, kid. Besides, you're no farmer boy." He glanced at the professor. "You want me to try to infiltrate them."

"Exactly. But only after we know more. And only after you've had a chance to begin training our new recruits. In the meantime, I think that Grace may be able to find out something for us."

Logan just nodded. Grace stood up and pocketed the keys. "I guess I should go pack. I will come to say goodbye, before I leave in the morning." She glanced at Summers, who moved away from the wall to follow her out like a dog behind a bitch. In the doorway, she looked back. "Do I get a code name now, too?" There was a smile on her face.

"If you want one," the professor replied.

"Then call me Heyoka."

Logan laughed. Summers asked, "What's a heyoka?"

"A sacred clown," Logan replied. "They do everything backasswards. Ninty degrees out and they run around in a sweater and tell you they're freezing."

"My grandmother said to me, before I came here, that I am an upside-down, forward-backward girl. A heyoka."

"That's you, all right," Summers said with a smile. So, his humor hadn't entirely deserted him. She chased him out.

When they were gone, Logan asked the professor. "You think she's going to be safe out there?"

"Is any of us safe out there, Logan?"

The man had a point. Logan got up and headed for the door himself. "Oh, Logan," the professor called. Logan looked back. "Would you and Ororo please see to it that the students are occupied tonight and do not have cause to burst in on Scott and Grace in her room? She tends to forget to lock her door."

Laughing, Logan closed Xavier's own door behind him and went to find the Storm Child.