NOTES:          1) This is an AU. Aurora is Ororo’s chosen English name.  2) This story refers to events that occur in Alterations and Bobby’s Monster. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:  Huge thanks to two of my well worshipped beta goddesses: the playwright U-Shan (yes, men suck, but sometimes they find just the right place <bg>); and Meret, a rather fine Smallville writer learning just like me. This piece would not have been one of my favorites without you. Also, to The Kamusi Project – the Internet Living Swahili Dictionary (http://www.yale.edu/swahili/). Just a superior reference, with great links to other relevant sites. Great job guys! COMPLETED: 7/14/02

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From high above, she watched him walking in the garden.

It was early in the winter; it was cold, but snow had not yet fallen. She had watched him walking almost every night after the children quieted down. Unlike herself, or Logan when he had been here, it was uncommon for him to walk here, especially alone.

She sighed. Wisps of ghostly breath caught the faint light from the penthouse behind her and she crossed her arms against the chill. He wandered slowly through the informally planted space between the crisscrossing paths. Aimless, he drifted from dried brown clumps to patches of flattened leaves, head down, shoulders slumped, walking the random pattern established on previous nights. Only the barest flickers of garnet illumination came from his visor, and she guessed he spent a good deal of the time with his eyes closed.

She was getting worried.

It had been nearly three weeks since he and Jean had ended their relationship, but things had been going badly before that. From what she had seen, they had been drifting apart since spring. The arrival of Logan in July seemed to spark something – a recognition, a realization perhaps. Though he had left soon after, his presence had affected them all, but the two of them most deeply.

Aurora had seen Logan’s obvious attraction to Jean, and had watched his flirtation with her grow. But something had changed on the Liberty mission, and when the Canadian emerged from the medical bay, his interaction with Jean had become different. He still flirted with her red-haired sister, often with an outrageousness that made Aurora laugh. His innuendo reminded her of the youthful bravado of the men of her village. After that mission, she had noticed the lingering glances between them were gone. His longing glances were falling on another, more surprising member of her family. Stranger yet, they were being returned.

Storm had gotten to know Logan when he was at the Academy. They both felt confined living this closely with so many others, especially at night, and they had taken to patrolling the grounds in the evenings. They had spoken a little, but there had been a comfortable silence between them. She believed that he was a good man, despite his occasional bouts of inappropriate behavior and crude language.

It was those glances that had concerned her. That, and the fact that Scott was wandering aimlessly with his eyes closed. She knew he disliked to be without sight. It reminded him of the dark times when he was on the streets, the months between his emergence and the day Charles had found him. His behavior was so unlike it was before his relationship died. She wanted to go to him, to do what she could, but she knew he had to find his own way, a new way.  

“Napiga moyo konde,” she whispered. Summon  courage.

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He had remained on her mind all night, making her sleep long and restless. She awoke, tired and concerned. Stepping out onto the balcony, she rested her hands on the stone railing and prayed to the Goddess for fortune. She had decided what to do.

That night she waited for him, guessing that she would find him there. She stood in the crook of the building next to the conservatory, sheltered from the wind. The night was clear and cold, and the stars glittered in the sky, away from the glow of the city. At her feet, a scrap of a paper luminary left over from the Halloween Ball made a faint scratch on the concrete. Her thoughts returned to Scott, a place they rarely left this last few days, her concern prompting this ambush of sorts.

She toed the brown paper, and it flipped over, revealing the remnants of  cut out eyes and a toothy grin. It reminded her of the fuzzy, wandering thread in the tapestry of their lives. 

She was the only one to see Scott’s face when he discovered the Canadian had left on his bike. His expression had explained everything - the looks, the uncharacteristic outbursts, the sudden change when Charles fell ill. It had only lasted an instant before his usual stern mask fell into place, but she would never forget the look on his face.

She was ashamed to admit that she had spent too many nights away from the school when the relationship between her oldest friends rapidly went from bad to worse. She had been unable to help and unable to watch her brother and sister in such pain, and in a way she felt cowardly that she had fled their rows.

If she had been there more often, maybe she could have prevented some of Scott’s pain, maybe keeping him from finally snapping on Bobby. She was thankful, that the two seemed closer now than they have been in a long time.

Perhaps Scott could talk more comfortably with a man, but Bobby is so much younger than Scott that he would be a poor confidant. For both Jean and Scott, that role seemed to be hers in the weave of things.

Bobby’s Halloween Ball had stitched them all back together for better or worse. It took both Bobby and her to convince Scott to attend. ‘It simply would not be acceptable to miss the welcome party for one of your oldest friends,’ was the argument that seemed to work the best with him, though it was only one of many reasons he needed to attend.

It had taken a concerted effort of both she and Jean to get Scott and Henry, respectively, to the party. They had never had such trouble when Warren was home, but he was still away. In deference to her oldest friends rejoining, she had forsaken her favorite character, the lioness Queen Sarabi, for Rafiki the Mandrill, whose name means ‘friend’ in her language. It was a choice not lost on neither her harimu nor ndugu, and she received small smiles and knowing nods from all three of them that evening. It had been a good night.

But now the party was over, the holidays were approaching, and the reality of their new lives was setting in. She could see her brother slipping away, a little each day. It was time for her to intervene.

She watched from the shadows as Scott Summers began his solitary roaming. She waited until he was well away from the building before walking out to meet him, being sure to tread loudly enough to announce her approach. In that unguarded moment, he looked so sad that her heart trembled.

He didn’t turn to acknowledge her, but stopped and stood amid the swirling leaves, head down, eyes closed.   She came up behind him and breathed, “Harimu,” just loud enough for him to hear before sliding her arms around his waist, embracing him. She rested her cheek on the back of his shoulder and waited for him to acknowledge her.

He was stiff and cold, and just for a moment, he froze in her embrace. Then, with a soft, shuddering exhalation, he relaxed back into her.

“Jambo, Ororo,” he whispered.

The sound of her language sent a pulse of joy through her heart. That was one of the reasons she loved him best of all men, her little brother. He was one of the few to recognize that to understand her as a person, you had to understand where she came from. He was the only person to really try to learn the words of her youth. She hugged him tightly.

“Sijambo,” she softly replied automatically in the traditional response. ‘No problems’ was hardly accurate. “Habari?”

“Nzuri,” he returned quietly, not very convincingly.

It was the ritual greeting of their youth, but it was somehow different now that they were older. And things were not ‘fine’.

“Aisei?” she asked, disbelief and concern evident. She pulled away slightly from his back, but didn’t let him go.

“Hivi, hivi,” he told her reluctantly after it became clear she didn’t believe him. She clucked behind him, and waited.

“Mbaya,” he finally whispered. His breathing became hitched, and she drew him back to her and made soothing noises.

“I know,” she whispered only for his ears. “Asante.” Thank you. 

Her words calmed him. His breathing became regular. “For what?” Scott asked.

“For being who you are. For helping the people who need it. For teaching the children…” She paused, baiting his response.

He turned his face toward her, finally looking up. A glint of red; his eyes were cracked open, just a bit.

“For being my _little_ harimu,” she teased, softening the words of truth.

She was rewarded by a little smile, a precious thing these days, and it lifted her spirits. He turned and hugged her back, so tall now, then pulled back a bit and gestured to a nearby bench. They settled onto the cold seat, the branches of a maple tree screening them from the school. The sky was clear, but gray snow clouds were gathering in the distance.

“I have been worried about you,” she began, her voice warm and rich with just a hint of formality from her time in England. They sat just apart, turned toward each other on the wide seat, not quite touching knees.

His quiet had returned, even in the span of the few steps. He looked down again in the momentary gap, and it took him a few seconds to return his attention to her.

“Ni na sikitika,” he said with a genuine, deep sorrow in his tone. He looked up at her, then moved his hand gently over hers. She felt him shiver in the cold.

She looked down and shook her head as if dismissing his need for forgiveness. She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, then tried again and failed. She finally said, “I should have sought you out earlier. I did not want to make things worse.” She watched his face, waiting for a reaction.

“I’m not sure they could be worse,” he confided, looking away, out over the garden to the forest beyond.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I don’t know what to do, ‘Ro.”

He glanced at her, then back away as he knew that she deserved a better explanation. He removed his hand from hers and turned to sit squarely on the bench. Leaning forward on his knees, he rested his chin in his hands.

“You know that things haven’t been right between Jean and me for a while,” he sighed, focused on the trees.

“I think it just got to be too much…” he started, then stopped when his thoughts failed. He tried again, “Maybe we just grew apart…”

She watched him search the skies for the clarity that he sought within himself.

“We just stopped talking,” he finally breathed miserably.

His expression was so sad, so pained, that she wanted to comfort him, but she did not dare. He needed to get this out in the open air, and she didn’t want to interrupt. She probably would not be gifted with another chance.

“After we brought Logan back, I could see how interested she was in him. It made me so… angry I just couldn’t see straight. He followed her around like a dog in heat, and she encouraged him!”

She watched as he became more animated, repressed anger bubbling up, and perhaps a hint of jealousy as well. He sat back, rubbing one hand distractedly, still looking away.

“Even Rogue was following him around like a lovesick puppy dog, It just made me so angry and there wasn’t anything I could do. The man just got under my skin. Then Charles got sick, and I realized…”

He stopped suddenly, letting his hands and gaze drop to his lap. He drew a deep breath. He looked at her pleadingly, “I mean, what kind of pheromones does that guy have?”

She took his hand, bringing it to her lips for a quick kiss before allowing it settle between them.

“I spoke to Jean a few days ago. She explained to me what happened between you, though I already knew.”

A hint of anger touched his expression.

“Your relationships are just that – yours. I will be here for you if you need me, and I will be there for Jean. But I will not get between the two of you,” Aurora explained firmly. She watched him until his anger faded.

She squeezed his hand. “I think she might be right. What do you think?” she asked him softly.

He looked away from her again, and it was a few seconds before he replied, voice breaking,  “I know that she’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier.” His wide shoulders began to quiver, and his head dropped back into his hands. Aurora slid over to him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him in the starlight.

After a few minutes, he sat back, face streaked with tears that he roughly brushed away, sliding his glasses up above closed eyes to wipe away the salty trails. He leaned backwards into the shadows.

“She loved you, and she still loves you.”

He nodded, unable to speak.

“You must move on. Baada ya dhiki faraja.”

He looked at her, confused, not recognizing all of the words.

“After hardship comes relief,” she translated. “Every cloud has a silver lining.”

He looked at her dejectedly, his doubt clear.

“There will be others that will love you,” she continued. Seeing no reaction, she pressed the point, “Perhaps already do.”

Scott stiffened, surprised and unhappy at her unexpected observation. Her small, gentle smile was meant to telegraph her acceptance. She waited patiently until he nodded and relaxed a bit, but he still seemed too tense.

“After all, _I_ love you, and I have exceptional taste in men,” she teased, attempting to break the tension. He sputtered, choking, then recovered, gracing her with another of those dazzling little smiles. Her typically single status was a strong indicator of her romantic track record.

Scott Summers gracefully regained his feet, extending his hand to his rafiki, the closest thing to a sister to him he could imagine.

She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet and into a comfortable hug. He rocked her back and forth for a second, then pulled back and cocked his head quizzically.

“Walk with me?” he asked, a smile playing across is lips. She couldn’t help but remember asking that same question to another man, the one so close in their thoughts and yet so far away in body this night.

/The threads of the tapestry turn upon themselves in surprising ways./

“Anytime you wish, harimu, anytime you wish,” she smiled.