A/N: A lot of these experiences are my own. I have been a hospice nurse for may years. I also live in San Antonio. The city is near and dear to my heart.
Disclaimers: Marvel owns Logan, not me (damnit).
Chapter 1: A Lesson in Life
San Antonio. God, it's a beautiful city. I've been here a couple of times that I can remember. The people are friendly, the food is cheap and good and the city takes any opportunity to throw a party. Heck, the entire month of April is one big party. Spend April in San Antonio, you can go from booth to booth drinking Margaritas that can knock your socks off. Not that I ever get drunk. Oh, I drink. I drink lots, it's just I have a healing factor that makes it damn near impossible for me to get drunk. Hank thinks my body needs alcohol in order to fuel my healing factor. I just let him believe what ever he wants. I drink, like any other man, to forget some of the things I have to do. That I also like the taste is beside the point.
Anyway, lots of strange things happen during the party the locals call Fiesta. What happened a couple of nights ago is case in point. I was walking on the Riverwalk near my hotel, minding my own business. The Riverwalk is the main tourist attraction in San Antonio. It has sidewalk cafés, tropical plants and twinkling lights that puts a guy in the mood for soft companionship. Off subject here. Like I said, I was minding my own business when I heard a scream coming from under a bridge about a hundred yards in front of me. I, like an obedient good guy, ran to see if I could help. Before I could get there, I heard the splash of a body falling into the river. I hoped that I wouldn't become a witness to a murder. Chuck hates it when I have to testify in court. My lack of last name complicates things. Not to mention the fact that I'm a mutant.
I was real surprised at what I found. There, under the bridge, was a leggy redhead wearing a get-up that Emma would have been proud of; dark green spandex pants, a black bustier and green leather boots. Her outfit wasn't what shocked me. Her temper did. She was royally pissed. She stood there, leaning over the bank of the river shouting obscenities at the figure in the water. She had less muscle on her than the students at Xavier's before I get at them How she threw the guy into the river, I had no idea.
"Can I help ya?" I asked the furious woman.
"Na, I can handle this," she glanced over at me. "Get up you baby. It's only four feet deep. If you'd kept your hands to yourself, I wouldn't have dumped you in the river. Now you can wait for a police boat to fish you out and explain to them why you're in the middle of the San Antonio river." She turned and stomped away.
I was impressed. The guy had to have been well over six feet tall and looked like he could have played pro football. That she wasn't afraid of the hulk stuck in my mind. I had to find out more about her so I followed her.
"If you're going to try some shit, let's get it over with," she called from the shadows. "I have business to attend to."
"I'm not going ta hurt ya," I assured her. She continued to walk.
"Why are you following me?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "What happened back there?"
"Just some prick who thought he could cop a feel without me noticing." She began to snicker. I asked her what was so funny.
"I was just imagining his face as I told him how old I was."
I looked at her face a little closer. It was kind of hard for me to do that. She had a killer body that kept distracting me.
"I'm fifty."
That stopped me dead in my tracks. No way! She had a body that a twenty-five year old would envy and the clear, strawberries and cream complexion of a healthy youth and I told her that. She gave a full throated laugh and told me she had a twenty-seven year old daughter who had just made her a grandmother for the second time.
I felt a little put out. Here I was, finding a fifty year old grandmother of two attractive. That was a first for me, let me tell you. Maybe she reminded me of Jean but I don't think so. She had Jean's coloring but that was the only similarity. The whole time we were walking, she was smiling and waving at people all around us. Several times, she stopped to give a quick hug to a child or an elderly man or woman she passed. Jean would never do that. Jean just didn't have it in her to be that friendly to strangers.
I began to notice her effect of the crowd. The people she touched and even the ones she just smiled at, stood straighter. Smiles appeared everywhere. Everyone looked happier and more relaxed, even me. She may have looked like Jean but her personality was closer to Jubilee. She was a combination of the woman I have loved from afar for years and the girl who was more lifeline than a daughter. It was a heady combination.
She stopped so suddenly that I nearly ran her down.
"You like country music?" she asked out of the blue. I assured her I do.
She invited me to a place called 'Cowboy Dance Hall' on the other side of town. They had good music, a big dance floor and most important, dollar longnecks. Well, for good beer at that price, I was willing to go anywhere. We backtracked to her car, parked in a hotel parking lot and left the Riverwalk.
The Cowboy Dance Hall was at the intersection of two major freeways. It was huge. Not my usual style. I usually go for the small dive bars that have a bartender named Bubba or the biker bar run by some dude named Rocco, not a honky tonk set up for dancing. But dollar longnecks were dollar longnecks. More bang for your buck.
We grabbed our beers from one of the many bars scattered around the enormous room and found a table in an out of the way place. We got to talking. She told me her name was Kelly and she had been coming here for six months. I told her my name but didn't give her much more that that. She didn't seem to mind. I don't give my life story to many people.
We talked for a while, interrupted several times when guys came over and asked her to dance. I don't blame them. She was a looker. Most of them she smiled at and told them no thank you, maybe later. She did dance with one. He was a thin, accountant looking guy with a hang dog look that she couldn't resist. He turned out to be a good dancer. When she returned to the table I asked her if she knew him. She told me that she didn't but he had the natural grace of a dancer so she gave him a chance. She hated to get her feet trampled on. I asked her if I had that kind of grace. She looked at me with narrowed eyes and said no. I had the grace of a predator on the prowl. Little did she know, that described me to a tee.
We danced only once that night. She was considerable taller than me. The size difference put my nose even with her chest. There are advantages to being short. The dance had me with my nose buried in her cleavage. I was the object of many an envious glance as we left the dance floor. One guy murmured "I wish I was that short," as we passed him. I couldn't help but growl at him.
We talked for a long time that night. I learned that she was a nurse and she was working for a home hospice. I'm familiar with hospice. They do a job that I couldn't even begin to do. They care for the dying in their homes, allowing them to die in familiar surroundings, with familiar people around them. It's an emotionally draining job with a huge turnover. She had been doing it for ten years. She dealt with death on a scale that I couldn't imagine. Every day, she had to pronounce a patient, consol the family, make arrangements to have the body picked up and deal with the emotional toll on herself. I was amazed that she was still sane. That much death changes a person, not for the better. She was not only sane but had a zest for life I could only wish I had. She lived life like she was going to die tomorrow. It wasn't like she went out looking for trouble, she didn't. She just knew that life was short and wanted to experience it to the fullest. But it wasn't just that. She wanted everyone around her to enjoy life as well and went out of her way to make that happen.
It wasn't like she took chances; she didn't. She was happy with her life and herself and shared that happiness with everyone she met. She didn't sky dive or climb mountains, she just smiled. That smile could change an entire room. I'd never met anyone like her.
By eleven o'clock, she'd had four beers and was pretty cooked. I'd had an even dozen and was stone sober. I offered to take her home if she would let me drive and she agreed. I followed her directions to her house on the north side of the city. It was easy to find the house. A bunch of right turns off the outer loop and you almost run into the house.
I asked if I could use her phone to call a cab to take me back to my hotel but she invited me to use the guest room for the night. I wasn't too sure that was a good idea. I had spent the evening half aroused by her and I wasn't too sure I could ignore what she did to me much longer. I'm not exactly sure how she did it but she convinced me to stay the night.
As she opened the front door, the scent of sickness wafted out. We were met by a woman who could only be Kelly's sister. She introduced herself as Kim. She grabbed her purse and dashed out the door with a good-bye.
"I have to check on my parents," she told me.
When she opened the door of the downstairs bedroom, the scent of sickness nearly knocked me down. I could hear two heartbeats in the room. One was strong but the lungs were not. The wheezes of sick lungs floated out of the room. The other heartbeat was very sick and weak from repeated damage. The scent of impending death was strong but I couldn't tell which person it was coming from. Oxygen rich air swirled out of the door and I noticed two machines chugging beside the beds.
She introduced me to her parents as a overnight guest as I took a closer look at them. Her father was very tall and thin to the point of emaciation. His eyes were glazed with confusion and the odor of death was strong on him. I didn't think he would last more than a few days. Her mother was tiny, her sick lungs thick with fluid. Her lips were the blue of oxygen deprivation. She welcomed me to their home with a halting, gaspy speech. I nodded curtly and ran from the room, my heart pounding with pain for her.
She closed the door behind her, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and my arm and dragged me out the patio door. She sat down at the table and lit a cigarette with steady hands. I lit mine with shaky ones.
"How can you do this?" I asked her in amazement. "You deal with dying patients every day then come home to deal with your dying parents. How can you do it and still stay sane?"
"Philosophy," she told me as she drew on her cigarette. "Death can be a beautiful time in your life if you are surrounded by people who love you. For my patients and my parents, death is freedom from pain and suffering, an end to a long journey. Most welcome it with open arms. I morn their deaths but I also celebrate their lives."
I thought about that for a long time.
"I only know death as a violent act either to someone close to me or caused by me. I've never known anyone who died peacefully."
"Even death by violence or accident is a release of sorts. People who die in accidents are usually in agony before they die. Some beg for death. People who die by violence are often violent themselves and unhappy with their lives. Death is an end to the crushing loneliness the often are experiencing. We aren't meant to go through life alone. We crave the company of our own kind in the role of family, friends or lovers. They keep us sane and make us whole. Without them, we become twisted, uncaring, soulless human beings with no regard for the lives others and no regard for our own lives. That kind of person looks for situations that could be lethal at a moments notice. They are actively searching for death and don't care if others die with them. In fact, they hope there will be others so they don't have to die alone."
"You're amazing," I told her. "You deal closely with death but you still have the brightest outlook on life I've ever seen. Most people would be hard and cynical to the point of rudeness. You, however, go out of your way to make people feel better about themselves and their lives no matter how bad. Why do you do it?"
"I believe that everyone needs good memories to look back on. I can only hope that the memory of me is one of them."
I know it will be for me. I don't think I could ever forget her.
"Come with me on my rounds tomorrow. You'll see how death is supposed to be."
I have to admit I was curious. I wanted to see how people reacted to death when it was expected so I agreed.
She showed me to the guest room, kissed me on the cheek and wished me a good night. I stripped off my clothes and climbed into bed thinking about what she had said. I didn't know what to expect tomorrow but I was sure it wouldn't be anything I had ever experienced before.