Logan//Wolverine (forgetfulprof) wrote in newalliance, @ 2012-05-27 20:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | iceman, shadowcat, wolverine, x-23 |
Who: Logan and Steve (+OPEN)
NPCs: Xavier students
When: Memorial Day (5/28)
Where: Arlington National Cemetery
What: Field trip turns into a trip down memory lane in so many ways.
Rating: Eh, low. Language warning - it is Logan.
Memorial Day wasn't easy for him, especially as he was surrounded by the idiot students who wanted it to be summer and celebrated a three-day weekend as they did. He hadn't felt like being the sociable, barbecuing type since his trip to Gotham, memories pressing too close to the present for his comfort. Usually, he could take it a day at a time, plan for tomorrow or the next few days, and forget about the past.
But not when crumbling brownstones stirred such reaction from him, and not when the whole damn country was looking back to remember and honor its veterans. He looked at the old men, vets of World War Two and Korea, and had the wrenching knowledge that he'd seen what they saw, and so much more. He might well have fought with them, back in the day. He was still alive. And so many were not. He owed them his memory, or at least as much of it as he still had.
So, to shut the kids up and to settle himself, he arranged for the fieldtrip to Arlington. And whadda know, the sight of the fields of white gravestones, each with it's flag for Memorial Day shut the kids up. "This is what 400,000 American dead look like," he told them bluntly. "That's the dead of World War Two. Only. There were other wars. Do the math.
"Walk around. Look and think. Meet back here in an hour and a half. If you ain't respectful, you answer to me."
Duty to the kids discharged, he walked away from them, knowing exactly where he was going. He'd been around when it was first established, and most years had found him here. First stop was always the oldest headstones from the Civil War. Then he made the rounds of those from World War Two; the men he'd served with in his regular unit, then those of the Howling Commandos.
He didn't talk to them, exactly, just stood awhile, hands in his jacket pocket, chased down what he could remember of them and himself. Didn't always like it. It hadn't been a shiny time with shiny deeds, even if that's what people wanted to remember it as. It had been grim and bloody and sometimes desperate. But they'd been good men. He couldn't think of a higher praise for them. Him? Well, he'd done what he needed to, and he lived with it. He always did.