Rogue wearily dragged herself out of bed, rubbing at her gritty eyes as she yawned, and stumbled into her bathroom.

She had been at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters now for ten years; initially a student, and later a teacher. When she arrived she had been thankful for the roof over her head, and the warm food to fill her belly, after months on the road and eventually being rescued from the clutches of the Brotherhood by the X-Men. As she had settled, she had relaxed into her former youthful persona, throwing herself into growing through her teenage years as much as any girl with killer skin could. She studied, she went to parties, she had a few boyfriends - though their attentions never got past first base. Her aspirations of going to college with her peers were thwarted by her skin, though she did some online courses to get her teachers certification.

Mostly though, she, Rogue, just existed. Full time teacher, part time superhero, watching the world tick by wondering just what exactly she was meant to do in it. Was she here for a reason? What was her purpose? Was there a point to this half life she lived? Trapped in an untouchable body in a world that thrived on physical contact...

Wrenching the shower on she stepped under the scalding spray, hoping to distract her brain from its usual melancholy. Her brain promptly asked her why the hell she was bothering getting out of bed this morning, she didn't have classes to teach today.

"I have tests to grade," she told herself, her words echoing mockingly back at her in the empty room.

She took her time in the shower, and drying her hair, spending a little bit longer than usual on her hair just because why the heck not - today's look would be a curly faux hawk with Viking braids. Eventually exiting the bathroom, after giggling at her reflection, she set about finding a complimentary outfit. Thick grey tights, a fitted tunic dress, with a thick waist belt, knee high lace up boots - with a solid sensible heel of course because she was a teacher and had to set a good example to her students, even on her days off. Her look was completed, with a resigned sigh, by her ever present gloves, today's selection, black suede.

Finally ready to face the day she walked to the door, pausing with a hand on the handle when she heard the crunching of paper. On the floor, and partly under her boot, presumably having been slipped under the door, was a thick piece of paper. Stooping to pick it up, she turned it over as she stood, and was met with her own face on the page in front of her.

It was a drawing. Of her.

Her eyes were closed, a soft smile on her face as it was tilted up, as if turned toward the sky... It almost looked as she would imagine she had looked last night, when she had sat on the roof, and let the dying rays of sunshine kiss her face as the sun had set.

But she had been alone last night...

Maybe someone had been on the grounds below and she hadn't noticed, either way, it was a nice picture, though she was sure she wasn't that pretty - the artists eyes, or hand, must be fitted with an automatic photoshop. She set the picture on her dresser, smiling softly at the thought someone would give her that gift, before she turned and headed downstairs for breakfast.

A few days later Rogue found a second picture, slid under her door like the first. This one showing her in what she had dubbed her 'modern day Viking' look from the days before.

The picture her oozed confidence and strength, two things she really hadn't been feeling that day. What she had been feeling though, was in the eyes. She had never seen such expressive eyes on a drawing, maybe it was the fact that the eyes were the only feature that had colour but they seemed to leap from the page, radiating melancholy, reservation, a detachedness from life around her, even a touch of sorrow.

She hated her eyes, they always gave away what she was trying to hide, she didn't like the eyes on this picture. The way they stared directly at the viewer was disconcerting.

With a shrug she set the second picture down on top of the first, this time face down, before she left her room.

A month later, Rogue was again grading tests in her office. Yawning as she reached for the next test in the stack, she opened her eyes in surprise when the paper felt different.

It was another drawing, this one showed her in the woods, an excursion she had taken, away from the mansion and its occupants. She had been trying to find some respite from the suffocating heat of the late spring day. She was dressed in a knee length leaf green dress, having shed her tights, cardigan, shoes, even her gloves had been discarded. She was normal. This time she had been drawn with her hair loose and curling prettily, though that day she had had it tied up in a bun to keep the tendrils from sticking to her sweaty neck.

This likeness looked almost magical, fairy like. it was the first drawing with a background added. A pleasant wood, flowers, leaves. The drawn her looked content, and excited, appearing to be touching things gently. She could almost imagine the feel of the rough tree bark, and silky soft flower petals under her bare fingers. The picture made her want to rush outside and touch nature, maybe that would make up some for her lack of human contact.

With a soft smile she stood the picture up, propped up by her laptop screen in front of her, as she continued with her grading.

The next picture she found in her locker, in the lower levels. Just like that her earlier suspicion that her secret artist was a student had to be discarded; the students weren't allowed down here. Her artist must be a fellow teammate, but which one, she wondered idly, as she picked up the sheet of paper.

Turning it over to reveal the image she froze.

This picture was almost sensual, the way it was drawn, it was a bust this time. With a gloved hand holding a single blood red rose up to the face, the velvety red petals brushing against matching rose red lips. The eyes were closed this time, the accentuated feature being the lips, the only part of the image, along with the rose, with any colour.

Carefully rolling the page she set it aside until she was finished dressing, before slipping up to her room to add the new drawing to her collection.

The next picture was again slid under her door, in the wee hours of the morning before dawn. She heard the gentle scrape of paper in her semi lucid waking state, the moment she placed the sound she was out of bed and making for the door. Her mystery artist was either quick or could turn invisible though as, by the time she got the door open, the hall was empty.

Picking up the page she was surprised to find this image wasn't a drawing, well, not just a drawing. It was a drawing of her, overlaid with a watercolour painting. It worked really well to accentuate the sorrowful longing of the figure pictured. The blue and grey hues, helping to cloud the shrouded figure in misery. She was feeling depressed just looking at it, even though it was simultaneously beautiful.

She remembered the day of this image, she had been at the upstairs landing window, watching the mansion residents having a water balloon fight on the lawn. Everyone dressed appropriately for the hot, late summer day in various styles of near non-existent swimwear. As usual, she wasn't welcome, a feeling that never got easier to deal with.

With a sigh, and a quick swipe at a wayward tear, she put the new drawing away.

It was six months until she got another drawing. She had finally decided her artist had found a new muse, when she found the A4 sheet of paper tucked into her textbook. She couldn't help the smile the sight spurred, even before she had turned the page over to see what image it bore this time.

The image drew a soft gasp from her.

This was the first image that depicted other people around her, specifically her sort of boyfriend of six months, Remy. Also known as Gambit, the newest member of the team, was a sweet talking lady's man, and she knew he was no good for her but he made her feel special. He even told her plenty that her skin didn't bother him, going so far as to suggest ways they might get around it, though she was yet to take him up on any of them.

This image though... God this image made her look like a battered woman, broken and sad, almost cowering. The image version of her boyfriend was holding her, which to others might look like a tender embrace, to her it just looked like captivity. All the while his face held a look of smarmy contempt, and he was making eyes at someone out of frame.

She glanced over the picture for several minutes, trying to decide how she felt about it. Eventually settling on anger; her relationship made her happy, it made her feel normal, how dare her artist imply otherwise!

She ignored the voice in the back of her head that told her, whoever her artist was, they hadn't been wrong yet about her thoughts and feelings captured in their drawings. She did listen to that voice when it prevented her from crushing the image into a ball and aiming for the trashcan though, instead she slipped the image back into her book before continuing with her lesson.

Gingerly rolling over, holding her breath to hold in the gasp of strain, it wasn't really pain, maybe phantom pain but she was all healed now. Rogue pulled herself out of her bed and stumbled to the bathroom. She was glad to finally be out of the med lab, it felt like she had been in there for years, though it had only been a few weeks. It wasn't uncommon for a run in with the Brotherhood to land someone in the med lab, usually though their injuries were more severe than an uncontrollable psycho floating around in their head and trying to take over their body.

Rogue glanced onto the mirror, her eyes had been the scariest part, waking up to see someone else's eyes in her face had been terrifying, thankfully, they were back to normal now. The Professor had hypothesized that the brief snatch she had taken from Mystique earlier in the fight, had allowed Ms Marvel to change her physical appearance, in an attempt to strengthen her mental takeover. Thankfully that hadn't worked but it hadn't been easy.

She longingly looked to the shower as she finished up in the bathroom, before deciding she just didn't have the strength yet and heading back to bed. A flash of white caught her eye on the nightstand. That hadn't been there before, she realised as she picked up the familiar piece of paper.

Turning it over to reveal this months image she unsurprisingly saw herself, this must have been when she was laid out in the med lab. Her eyes were closed, her face appearing serene and peaceful, there was an air of fear to the image though. This one was coloured completely, unlike most of those before, her features deathly pale, an angry purple bruise covering most of her face. Vivid red blood leaking from her mouth, nose, ear, matted into the white strands of hair around her face. She looked like death, serene death.

This picture was accompanied by a note. 'I'm glad you're okay', was scrawled in the lower right corner, bringing a smile to Rogue's face before she set the picture aside. It was nice to have someone caring about her, even if she still didn't know who it was.

The next picture to turn up would have made her smile and laugh, if she hadn't still been so angry.

She had finally decided, after her nearly life ending run in with Ms Marvel, that life was for living and she would live hers the best way she could. Meaning, she would give her boyfriend the chance to love her physically, working around her mutation. Knocking on his closed door had been a relic of the politeness taught her as a child, the following banging thump had worried and amused her.

As she pushed the door open, assuming she would find Remy tripped over something in his haste to get to the door, she had frozen at the soft feminine squeak from his bed, as the loose sheets were hurriedly pulled up over a naked body. Unfortunately for him, her boyfriends naked body was on full display sprawled on the floor, where he had indeed tripped, over the sheet that was twisted around his ankle.

"Right," was all she had said, before she turned around and walked away, leaving the door open behind her. Remy's shouts for her to wait, and come back did nothing but fuel her anger, and when he was finally dressed enough to come chasing after her she was fury incarnate. She had chewed him out right where he found her, in the middle of the main hallway, in full public view of everyone, and the drawing captured her righteous fury perfectly.

Every sweep of the charcoal - that's what she had discovered most of the drawings were done with - spoke of pride, of strength, of purpose, and she found herself silently cheering for the drawing her. So confident and at ease in standing up for herself, she was sure she hadn't really looked like that, she probably looked like some pathetic, emotional fool, but it was nice to pretend.

That argument had ended their relationship, in typical loser fashion Remy had tried to gaslight her, placing the blame for him cheating on her and her mutation. Only problem was, he had known about her mutation from before the first time she agreed to go out with him. He knew what he was getting into, he chose that, and he was just a cheating man-whore who couldn't keep it in his pants. She had marched away, leaving him to face whatever public ridicule would come after that, and he hadn't bothered to come after her again. In fact, in three days he hadn't even stayed in the same room as her long enough for her to look at him.

With a final glance at the picture, she let a tiny smile slip past her scowl as she set it aside in her collection.

By the time the next picture arrived she was well and truly over her break up. Gambit had tried to make a reconciliatory pass at her a week prior, foolishly for him it had been as they were heading in for weekly team practice. Her response had been to use his face to mop the floor as she proceeded to kick his ass.

That had unfortunately caught Scott's attention and she had been reprimanded, every single training session and mission since. She was tense, she needed to loosen up, her teammates weren't the enemy, she wasn't meant to kill the enemy, and on and on he went. She was about ready to have a go at him, until this last mission...

He hadn't reprimanded her after the last mission, which she thought was funny as she had been particularly reckless this time. She had taken on Sabertooth. While she was 'assigned' Sabertooth as a combatant - yes some of the Brotherhood were assigned certain X-Men as primary hand-to-hand combatants due to their mutations or skill - Sabertooth was primarily left to Wolverine, as they both healed and had claws, and basically couldn't kill each other, and wouldn't die from each other. It turned out her own recently acquired invulnerability protected her some from Sabertooth, not that she had been thinking about that when she had stepped in front of him. All she had been able to think was Wolverine was too far away to get to him in time, and if she didn't step in he was going to kill... Scott.

Maybe that's why she hadn't been reprimanded, maybe Scott was just a hypocrite, who didn't mind the rules being fudged so long as he benefitted from it...

Today's picture was a scene from that fight. Her uniform was torn, her hair was tangled and mussed, her ponytail pulled partway out. The determination in her eyes though, as they flashed dangerously, even drawn on paper. Her artist made her look terrifying to behold. Like an angel of death she was closing in on her target, ready to strike him down as he cowered before her.

She chuckled. Her artist was a little disingenuous, if Sabertooth had been fearful of the attack launched against him it would have been of Wolverine, who had joined her moments later, not little old her.

Adding the picture to her collection she decided to skip her pre-breakfast shower, for now, and headed for the gym, maybe a turn in the danger room to have another go at kicking extinct kitty cat butt was required.

The pictures began to come more frequently all of a sudden, she started getting one every few days rather than every month or so. They were also smaller, or more focused, her face, her hands, her artist seemed to have a fetish for her gloved hands.

She had pictures of her hands, sometimes resting, relaxing, sometimes touching or holding things. She had pictures of her face, showing her emotions, happy, sad, crying - when her artist had ever seen her cry she didn't know, she never did that where anyone else could see. The larger, more detailed pictures still came from time to time too. One of her helping Ororo weed the rose garden, another of her swimming in the woodland pond a mile from the mansion. One of her helping one of the youngest students with homework... She loved that one, the content little smile on her students face filled her with joy, she was making a difference to someone.

She didn't notice at first when the tone of the pictures began to change, the edges softened, the smiles were depicted more. She only noticed the more sensual edge when a seemingly innocent picture turned up. It was her, from the back, her arms raised, pulling her thick curly hair back into a ponytail. The side of a breast visible, peeking out the side of her tank top under her raised arm, her leggings drawn tight over her surely not that well defined ass... It was almost like an image drawn by a lover, attention not drawn to any one thing, just an overall enjoyment of the whole package in a seemingly innocent moment in day-to-day life.

Today's picture was one step further.

She was at the lake, under the waterfall, head tipped back as the water cascaded over her head and down her body. Her thin dress was plastered to her body, and she could tell the drawing her had nothing on underneath. It may as well be a picture of her nude, yet still the gloves remained to constantly taunt her that this picture was the closest she would get to being naked with a lover.

By the one year anniversary of the pictures beginning to arrive Rogue had half a drawer full of them. She was starting to get a little disconcerted that someone, she still didn't know who, was watching her that closely. It was almost as if she had a stalker... a nice stalker, who sent her pretty pictures, but still... a little creepy.

There were pictures that focused on one feature, her hands, her feet, her hair, her butt, her breasts, her eyes, her mouth, even one of her nose - oddly enough they were all g-rated, all relevant parts fully clothed, her hands were even gloved.

Still others, action shots as she thought of them, her pre-mission in her seat on the jet, her post-mission helping an injured teammate get settled, her drinking and playing pool at the local bar the X-Men sometimes went to, to wind down or just have fun. Her in the kitchen, eating ice-cream from the carton after a nightmare, her laughing uproariously when she got stuck in the middle of a popcorn fight on movie night, her collapsed, exhausted and sweaty, and laughing, on the bench in the gym after she just beat Colossus at a bench press.

And then there was todays one...

Was her stalker getting bolder? Or did he just have a good memory and an even better imagination?

She knew it was someone on the team, so it wasn't a stretch to think whoever it was had been in her room. They had all been in each others rooms at one point or another, whether hanging out as friends, or helping injured teammates to bed after a difficult mission, so 'the room' could be put down to good memory. The pose however... she was asleep, in her night clothes and sleeping gloves, and draped in a sheet. Half curled on one side, hair fanned out across the pillow, the position of the sheet on the bed beside her however indicated she hadn't been in bed alone, or at least, her artist hadn't imagined her being alone.

She stared at the picture for a long time, trying to decide if it was meant innocently, or if it was time to try and dig a little deeper into finding out the identity of her artist. Eventually she placed the image away, and got on with her day, still deep in thought, not all of her thoughts being about her artist so much as the idea of sharing her bed with another person.

Her artist it seemed had very definitely begun to allow his - she had decided it must definitely be a male - imagination to come into play. The images she was receiving now were not so much based in reality, as influenced by it. It was as if the artist was constructing a new reality, just for her, or maybe for them.

There had been a picture of her, influenced by one day she had been sitting under the oak tree on the far side of the lawn, just resting against the trunk. The picture however showed another figure, a male figure, between her and the tree. She was sitting between the legs of an unknown man, leaning back against his chest, a beaming smile on her face as she twirled a daisy between her fingers. The man, who she assumed was her artist, was faceless, like a face had been drawn for him but then smudged out like the artist was trying to keep his identity a secret.

Today's image was from the fundraiser the Professor had held over the weekend.

She had had a dress custom made for fundraisers and other special events, this was the first time she had gotten to wear it. It was a dark forest green, strapless, tightly fitted, with a mermaid tail floor length skirt. It had a top layer of sheer silk, in the same forest green but shot with minuscule silver threads that made it shimmer and sparkle like it was soaked in glitter. The sheer layer covered her from high on her neck, to the tops of her fingers, and the fitted and flared skirt to the floor.

She had looked stunning, if she did say so herself, her hands encased in short black silk gloves, fitting over the top of the dress's long sleeves. Her hair she had arranged in long flowing auburn ringlets, with two bolts of white twisting and curling through it like smoke. Her makeup was minimal, which was her own preference, she had made her eyes up just a little more than usual, going for a demure smokey eye. Accompanied by dark maroon lipstick, the dark dress, and dark eyes, her skin had been contrasted incredibly. For once, her lack of general exposure was working to her advantage.

Her artist seemed to think so to.

He had drawn her from behind, her face turned, so it was in profile. She was dancing with a man, by the look of it the same man who had been drawn with her under the tree, again his face was obscured. This time, turned into the crease between her shoulder and her neck, as if he had dipped his head to kiss her where he would be protected by the high neck of her dress. It was an incredibly sensual image, and she found her breath catching as she imagined someone who might dare to actually get that close to her.

Her artist, it seemed, was either not brave enough, or not ready to make that step. Hopefully his boldness, in inserting himself into these images, meant he was preparing to make a more physical step. Or maybe he was trying to warm her up to the idea of being close to someone... if he was, it was working.

Rogue absently wiped the condensation off her mirror and stared into her own eyes. Why? She couldn't help asking herself, why was she still so emotionally invested in the parents that abandoned her that she cared what happened to them? Where were they when she needed them? Did they cry when she was on the street fighting to survive? Did they worry about her when she had been running for her life from the Brotherhood? Did they even think congratulatory thoughts when she graduated high school and they refused to attend her ceremony? So why did she care about them now?

Because now she would never know the answers to her questions, her parents were dead now. Ironically, killed by the humans they had abandoned their mutant daughter in favour of.

She felt like she had spent a lifetime weeping for them on hearing the news, though it had only been a couple of days. She was done now, done with crying, done with mourning people who didn't care for her.

Once she had blow-dried her hair, she headed into her bedroom, forcing all thoughts from her head but those that focused on finding the right combination of clothes that wouldn't make Jubilee recoil from her in fashion horror. Eventually seating herself in front of her dressing table, she froze when she saw the image propped up against the mirror.

Her artist had snuck into her room again, was it while she was asleep, or while she had been in the shower...

This image showed herself, lost in her sorrow, tears running down her cheeks from red rimmed eyes. Her artist even drew her crying pretty, whoever this guy was he must have it bad for her, she knew she was an ugly crier, she didn't think it was actually possibly for anyone to really, genuinely cry prettily.

She wasn't alone though, in fact, she hadn't been drawn alone for about the last two weeks. Her mystery male was with her again, his identity still obscured - his head bowed, hidden behind her own from the orientation of this picture. He stood behind her, his thick muscled arms wrapped around her waist as he held her while she cried.

'Grief falls upon all as the rain, not selecting good or evil, visiting the innocent, condemning those who have done no wrong.' Was scrawled on the upper right corner of the page.

With a smile she picked up the image before walking across the room and placing it on her nightstand. Lying down on her bed, where she could keep the picture in her line of sight, she let herself relax, she let herself cry, and eventually she let herself sleep. A soft contented smile sat on her lips, as she dreamed she was being held in that strong, warm embrace as she let her grief run its course.

She jerked upright with a gasp, equally as pained as surprised. Her every nerve ending was screaming out like all hell was on fire inside her body. A soothing voice inside her head was purring softly, assuring her all was fine now. She was safe, the burn was just his healing, coursing through her body, putting all the pieces back in the right places after the bullets, and grenade, and falling masonry, had tried to rearrange her in a form that just didn't work.

As the doctors fussed around her where she lay on the floor of the jet, she turned her head tentatively to regard her unconscious saviour. Wolverine's fast thinking had been for him to touch her, to give her his healing. She wouldn't have lived if he hadn't, her body had been too damaged for the doctors to fix, even if they had been able to get her to the medical bay in time.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, even as a tear slipped across her face. "Please be okay," she begged, in a broken whisper, even as the soothing voice in her head assured her he would be fine. She fell into a deep healing sleep, listening to the steady, soothing, thump of his heart.

When she woke again she was in her own bed at the mansion. A note on her bedside table instructed her to drink the glass of water that had been left for her, and to call Jean if she needed more painkillers. Easing herself up, she methodically stretched each limb, right down to her fingers and toes, before rolling her neck. She felt refreshed, energized, and... aroused...?

Contemplating that odd foreign feeling, one she had tried her best to quash since her mutation had activated, she sipped the glass of water slowly. Next stop was the bathroom. She had just decided to take a shower, and stripped the post mission sweatshirt she had been dressed in off, when she was blindsided by another ferocious wave of arousal. It took her a moment to realise the arousal wasn't hers, as eyes, her own but not, skimmed over her body in her reflection in the bathroom mirror, drinking in every detail.

With a surprised gasp, when her eyes finally met in the glass she realised whose the arousal was, and it wasn't just lustful arousal either. It was contentment, and comfort, silence, peace, longing, belonging... love. Images, memories, began to pour through her mind, even as her newest passenger apologetically scrambled to capture them and keep them from her.

With a beaming smile she turned to the shower, scrubbing off the post-mission grime the med lab crew hadn't been able to get off with their quick sponge bath. Before she could contemplate what she was doing, she dressed and slipped down the hall to Wolverine's room. It was right at the far end of the hall, as far removed from the other rooms as it could get; he didn't like to disturb anyone else with his nightmares.

Silently sneaking into the room, she smiled softly at the form sleeping soundly in the bed. It was obvious from his position that it was not an entirely natural sleep, that was obviously how he had been laid by whoever had carried him upstairs, but he was alive, and by the sound of it, almost ready to wake. Quickly she went to where the memories, that Wolverine was now grumbling at her irritably for looking at, lead her. Kneeling down beside the bed she reached underneath, and pulled out the box she found. Sliding the lid off she pulled out the huge pile of pages, each one a drawing.

Of her. Of them.

Turning the stack over, so she was starting from the bottom, she slowly peeled back one image at a time. They started out innocently, scenes of the mansion, and its various residents, slowly they began to focus on her. Scene, after scene, feature after feature. Her sad smiles, happy smiles, sorrow, longing, her in the gardens, reading on the couch in the library, listening intently to a mission briefing, brow furrowed in concentration as she focused on landing the jet, her tells in the middle of a poker game.

It wasn't long before the tone of the images changed, much like the ones she had been getting but... more. Sensual, sexual almost, images of the two of them together but in these his identity was not hidden. Some of the images were downright pornographic, some screamed possession, while others spoke of contentment and future. An image of her spread out on a bed, body naked but barely obscured by a sheet. Her naked body writhing on top of his clothed one, his hand between her legs obscuring the extent of the scene, even as the him in her mind confirmed their depicted act. An image of her wrapped in a thin, flowing sheet, his arms wrapped around her, pulling the sheet taught to display her swollen belly - this image accompanied by a deep possessive purr from inside her head.

A hitch in the rhythmic breathing from the bed told her he was awake, and she glanced up at him, letting her soft, knowing smile meet his gaze.

"You weren't supposed to know about those ones," he grumbled half-heartedly a moment later, as he slowly began to shift and stretch. "Damn you pack one hell of a punch," he murmured, though his tone and teasing grin told her of his pride at that fact.

"Sorry about that, want me to help you sit up?" she offered, setting aside the pile of drawings as she moved to the bed. Receiving a grunt, which she assumed was acceptance, she helped him to pull himself upright, before stuffing pillows behind his back and helping him scoot back to rest against them. Handing him the glass of water that was sitting at the ready, she queried how he was feeling, getting tolerant answers between sips in response, as he assured her he felt fine, a little weak, and hungry, but fine.

"I'll go get you something to eat," Rogue offered, standing and heading for the door.

"Rogue," she was interrupted halfway across the room. "Could you put them away first, they're... I don't want anyone else seeing them," he said softly, nodding toward the stack of drawings. "Maybe one day... you could tell me which one's your favourite," he murmured, and was he blushing?!

"Oh that's easy, sugar," she replied with a smile, "This one." And she set her favourite picture on the bed beside him, as she slid the rest of the box back under the bed.

For a moment he gazed down at the image, it was a point of view shot, from his perspective, of her. It showed her, them, at an alter, her face minimally obscured by a sheer veil, as he slid a ring on her finger. Pure joy radiating from her face as she stared back at him, the image even felt like it was staring directly into his soul, filling him with her love.

"I like that one too," he replied, eventually tearing his eyes off the image to regard the woman before him. "Maybe we could re-enact the scene one day?" he suggested, grinning happily when all he received in response was a saucy wink, before Rogue fled the room, promising to return with food.

Rogue lay still, hugging the body beneath her through the warm silk sheet, as she basked in contentment.

“Hey Logan,” she murmured softly, smiling at the half-hearted grunt she received in answer. “When did you know?” she asked cryptically, though knowing he would understand her question.

A chuckle was her initial response, before his deep voice rumbled, “From the minute I first laid eyes on you, I’d been here about fifteen minutes, I was waiting on the Professor for, I don’t know, orientation... I saw you pass by the window, you were gorgeous... and you were pissed about something, you were gone all to soon but I decided right then and there I was going to stick around a while, had to find out who that beautiful, mysterious woman was.”

Rogue’s brow furrowed in thought. “But I was on a mission when you arrived,” she recalled.

“You were on a mission by the time I was introduced to the rest of the team, maybe that’s why you were pissed when I saw you, I recall you didn’t like that mission, said something to Chuck about ‘I told you that would happen’ when you got back... I asked around about you while you were gone, people told me some things and... I decided a girl like you, hell, you wouldn’t be interested in a guy like me, I was about ready to pack up and leave when I saw you the second time.” Logan smiled fondly at the memory. “I was in the garden, I saw you head for the mansion, you looked exhausted, and you sat down for a while on a stone bench in Ororo’s rose garden, then you lay down and I think you fell asleep for a while... there’s a picture I drew then, while I was watching you sleep... I was pissed as hell when Iceman found you and woke you up.”

“Why did you start giving the pictures to me?” Rogue queried, “You’d been at the mansion four months before you gave me the first one.”

Wolverine stroked her back gently with a gloved hand, a smile on his lips as he did. “I was on the roof that night, on the east peak, up by one of the chimneys... you came out, to watch the sunset I suppose, I was this close to walking over to you and saying something but you just looked too peaceful to disturb. It was one of the few times I had seen you truly relaxed, you were radiant, and not just because the sunlight turned your hair to fire and skin to burnished copper.

“As you went inside though, your eyes... you looked so... weary. Like your soul was tired. I went straight inside and spent all night getting that picture perfect, I don’t know what it was but I just felt like... like I needed to show you, I wanted you to see yourself how I saw you,” Wolverine told her softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“There was a big gap between the pictures at one point, why was that?” Rogue asked softly, almost hesitantly.

“You were with Gambit,” Wolverine replied, spitting the other man’s name in disgust. “It didn’t surprise me, he was a smooth talker, polished and shiny, the kind of guy I figured a girl like you would go for... I was so jealous of him, to start with at least, I did my best to ignore you, I didn’t want to do anything to embarrass myself, or you... Then one day something caught my eye and... I realised you weren’t as happy as everyone thought, as I’d thought. I gave you the very first picture I drew after that, part of me hoping I was wrong, the rest of me hoping you would see too.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Rogue asked curiously, glancing up at Wolverine when she felt him tense. She had to prod him again before he answered.

“I thought about it, so many times... I guess I was scared, I didn’t do relationships, and you aren’t the kind of woman a man takes to his bed for the one night... I didn’t know if I deserved you, I don’t ever want to hurt you, or make you regret this... Now that I’ve got you, if I lost you now, I don’t know what I would do,” Wolverine murmured, hugging her tighter.

“Same here sugar,” Rogue replied, snuggling down into his warmth. “Let’s promise each other, right here, right now, and forever, we’ll never lose each other. I’ll always be yours, and you can always be mine,” she murmured sleepily.

“I promise,” Wolverine rumbled in reply, sighing contentedly as he joined her in sleep moments later.

Marie stretched slowly as she floated toward awareness, reaching for Logan for her favourite morning ritual – snuggling the stuffing out of him. Her hand met cold sheets, causing her eyes to jerk open in surprise, right as her sleepy brain remembered him waking her in the wee hours of the morning. He had told her he was being called out on a mission, wishing her a happy anniversary, and promising to be back as soon as possible – hopefully with some anniversary left to celebrate with her.

With a contented smile stretching across her face Marie reminisced on their anniversary, two years they had been together now. Two years of feeling loved, feeling wanted, being touched in the most comforting and creative ways. Two years of finally feeling at peace, at home, content and satisfied. She had found her reason for being there, for being alive.

She stayed in bed for around an hour, wishing Logan would return to keep her company. Eventually she dragged herself out of bed, with a yawn and a stretch, and headed for the bathroom. With her eyes almost closed she moved around the room by memory, until her hand brushed against something as she reached for the tap.

Paper, she would never forget the feel of that paper, as always her smile growing even brighter as she wondered what drawing Logan had left for her this time. He had continued, throughout their relationship to leave her little pictures, and she knew he had been working on one lately that he had been particularly adamant she couldn’t see while he was working on it. Sometimes he let her watch his work, sometimes he got her to pose for him; though they both knew he didn’t need her to, he knew every line and curve of her body intimately after all. This time though, he had been smugly secretive, even going so far as to take his tablet outside to work on it in the woods, or hiding it so she couldn’t find it; both things she had teased him about mercilessly.

Was this the artwork that was now sitting on her bathroom vanity waiting for her to open her eyes? Figuring she should open her eyes and find out, she did.

She worked out the orientation of the image before she determined what it was showing. It was a perspective shot, Logan’s view over her shoulder, the curve of her shoulder, and her cheek an almost profile of her face. Further down into her arms, where a bundle of soft blankets parted to reveal an enchanting sleeping face. A baby. Their baby. Fast asleep, sucking on its tiny clenched fist, as it was securely cocooned in its parents arms.

Smiling softly, longingly at the image, Marie felt the first tears overflow her lashes. It was the first time Logan had drawn a child, he had drawn her pregnant but never continued that image to fruition before. She wished she could give him that, with her mutation though, she just couldn’t fathom a way to achieve it.

Feeling her contented mood slip away, to be replaced by an old familiar depression, she set the image back down. Just as she was about to turn and flee the room, flee the mansion for a while, she spied a little strip of plastic sitting at the ready; she hadn’t noticed it waiting patiently beside the drawing.

Picking up the pregnancy test she wondered... did Logan know something she didn’t? Had he finally brought his desire to fruition because the first step had already been put into motion?

She must have stood in silence for a good ten minutes before deciding to undertake the test. She knew how they worked, even if she had never had need of one before, and in short order the test was started and set aside. Butterflies had taken flight in her gut and she knew she wouldn’t be able to sit still while she waited for the necessary chemical reactions to take place. Hurriedly she dressed, and decided to head downstairs to breakfast to distract herself.

It was an hour before she could bring herself to go back to her room, to see her fate. God she hoped it was positive! At the same time, she dare not hope; how unbelievable would that be.

She didn’t know how long she had been sitting on the closed toilet, just staring at her hands, or more specifically, what was clutched in her hands. The near silent thud of Logan’s heavy boots had her raising her eyes to the doorway. She took a moment to take him in in silence, from the top of his scruffy haired head, to the tips of his scuffed boots.

“How did you know?” she murmured softly, wonder in her eyes.

She watched his face, as his eyes softened, pure joy taking over as the predominant emotion, as a smile turned up his lips, and softened the frown lines of his brow. His smile faltered for a moment before he replied.

“I don’t know, I’ve been having these amazing dreams though... I saw the most beautiful little girl, and she was all ours,” Logan rumbled softly, almost purring the words out. “Is that okay- is that what you want?” he asked suddenly; and now she knew what the worry in his eyes was for.

Marie smiled. “Yes, oh yes, it’s amazing, and perfect, I just... I don’t know how and—”

“Jesus Marie, you know where babies come from,” Logan interrupted with a chuckle.

“Okay, I know “how”, I just don’t know “how”, I mean we’ve always used condoms, my skin... and what is that going to mean for this baby? Will I be able to carry it, what if my mutation doesn’t let me, what if I can’t give birth, what if I can’t hold my own child, feed my own child, what if—” She was almost hyperventilating by the time Logan made it across the room to kneel before her. He took her hands in his own before he began to speak.

“Marie, you ever heard the saying about not borrowing trouble from tomorrow, we don’t need to worry about the what ifs, what happens will happen, and whatever happens we’ll work with, work through, and no matter what we’ll do it together, you hear me,” Logan reassured her. Turning his eyes to the pregnancy test still clutched in their now joined hands, turning it slightly so he could confirm the positive result. “Marie, we’re having a baby,” he murmured contentedly.

“We’re having a baby,” Marie replied, her own smile starting to grow, banishing the shadow of worry like the sun burning off a morning fog. “We’re having a baby!” she repeated louder, throwing her arms around his neck as she laughed in delight.

Marie, aka Rogue, part time teacher, part time superhero, full time mommy, made her way into the silent apartment she shared with her husband of almost five years, and their two year old daughter. The apartment was unusually quiet, even considering it was after Rosalie’s bedtime.

Quietly tiptoeing through the apartment, in search of her family, Marie caught a flash of white out of the corner of her eye.

On the side table by the door was a piece of art paper. Turning it over, eager to see what Logan had left for her, she saw a sketch of little Rosalie. Her bottom was wedged into the waste paper basket, that usually sat by the desk. Her chubby little legs were sticking out from under her chubby little arms, and it was all topped off with an impish grin on her chubby little face. Daddy’s keys were clutched in one of her hands, except the one that was in her mouth...

Trying not to giggle at the adorable image, Marie placed it back on the side table and continued her search.

On the little kitchen table, tucked into the tiny kitchenette in the corner of the room, was another picture. Rosalie in her highchair, drawing finger patterns in a pile of semi solid food that was dumped out on the table in front of her. Her bowl was upside-down on her head, little bits of food clinging to her curly hair, and her spoon was being waved around wildly. All while the tot laughed gleefully.

That must have been a fun mess to clean up, she thought to herself, as she set the sketch aside.

On the coffee table there was another piece of paper. This one showing Rosalie sitting on said coffee table, building a tower of blocks. She was pointing at the tower, as if showing it off. The picture capturing the moment her finger had hit the tower and it had started to topple.

In one corner there was a second face drawn. The expression of surprise little Rosalie’s face held in that image must have been her reaction when her tower collapsed.

On the floor beside Rosalie’s beanbag was another picture. In this one the tot was lying on daddy’s chest, pointing at the words on the page of the storybook he was holding aloft as he was obviously reading to her. Rosalie loved nothing more than to help ‘tell the stories’.

As she passed the bathroom, Marie stuck her head in the door, grinning when she spotted another page on the vanity counter.

“Oh dear,” Marie murmured with a giggle, as she took in the image of Rosalie, her mouth a tiny ‘o’ of surprise as Marie could hear in her head the little girls adorable ‘uh oh’. Her little dress was pulled up to her chin as she looked down... at the puddle she was standing in. It looked like toilet training was still definitely a work in progress.

The next room on her search was the nursery, the most likely place to find Rosalie at this time of night. It however was empty. Except for another page, laid in Rosalie’s empty crib.

Marie almost lost her composure when she spotted the look on her daughter’s gorgeous face. She was dressed in her little pyjamas, her tiny bare foot on prominent display, where her leg was flung over the side of her crib. She had been caught, in the act of climbing out of her crib; a trick she had just picked up in the last week.

‘Time for someone to get a big girl bed... or a cage’, Logan had scrawled in the corner.

And that left only one room for Marie to look now, in her search for her adventurous little child. Mommy and daddy’s room.

She pulled out her phone, opening her camera as she let herself into the silent room. She couldn’t draw like Logan could but the image before her was too adorable to miss.

Marie’s pillow was in the middle of the bed, Rosalie hugging it from one side, her face resting directly across from Logan’s, as he hugged both the pillow and Rosalie from the other side. Both were fast asleep, a sight so serene Marie wasn’t even bothered by the fact Rosalie was drooling on her pillow.

Logan stirred when Marie knelt on the bed behind him. She leaned forward to place a kiss on his shoulder, before he turned his head and kissed her square on the lips.

“How was daddy and Rosalie’s first weekend without mommy?” she whispered, as she rearranged herself to cuddle up to Logan on the bed.

“We had a few minor hiccups, and temper tantrums at bedtime because of no mommy hugs, but all in all, not too bad,” Logan replied, relinquishing his hold on the pillow in favour of its owner. “How was your mission?” he queried.

“Mm, mission was fine, but boy am I glad to be home, I missed you both so much,” she whispered.

“Missed you too,” Logan replied softly, even as Marie quickly drifted off to an exhausted sleep.

Marie stirred when she felt the hand she had been desperately clutching for the last three hours twitch, tightening its returning grip on hers. Her eyes flew open as she lifted her head from where it was resting on the strong shoulder of the man laid out before her. She watched, heart in her throat, as he tried to take a breath around the breathing tube. Calling for Jean as she saw his eyes pop open, in shocked surprise when he struggled, Marie tried to calm him.

Jean appeared immediately, and quickly removed the tube while Marie kept Logan still. Jean then offered him a drink, once he had stopped coughing at the offensive feeling of the tube evacuating, before she did a quick vitals check.

Logan almost cringed as he watched Jean walk away, catching the furious look Marie was now glaring at him. With a sigh, he turned to his fate.

“Have I ever told you, you’re gorgeous when you’re mad, darlin,” he quipped, aiming for the angelic smirk that always got his daughter out of trouble.

Marie’s stubborn silence continued, her glare still trained on him.

“It was an accident baby, thank you for being here when I woke up,” he tried.

“Don’t bullshit me Logan!” Marie declared forcefully. “I watched the videos, you were free and clear, and everyone else was out of danger too, and you went back to engage them for shits and fucking giggles... meanwhile I’m stuck here, the size of a fucking whale, unable to even see my own feet, worrying over what stupid stunt you’re pulling now, then having to... to see the state you come in in,” she stuttered as she swallowed a sob.

“It’s not fair Logan... I know shit happens and sometimes it’s unavoidable but I should be able to trust that you aren’t going to intentionally go looking to put that ‘til death do us part’ portion of our vows to the test,” she muttered angrily.

With that she flung his wedding ring at him - he never wore it on missions, it didn’t agree with his claws and he didn’t want to lose it - then she stormed out of the room, leaving him still too weak to leap from the bed and run after her.

It took him another hour to convince Jean to release him from the med lab. He tried to make a break for it secretly but she locked him in telekinetically, ignoring him when he snarled menacingly in response. When she finally let him go she told him, under no uncertain terms, he was on doctor ordered R&R until further notice, and off the team roster for at least the next month. Still no amount of raging would change her position – damn he was losing his touch!

Heading for their apartment, intent on tracking down Marie, he paused on shutting the apartment door when Rosalie glanced up at him from where she was seated at the kitchen table. She was five years old now but boy was she precocious, a perfect mix of the worst traits of both her parents, topped off with a smile sweet enough to melt the hardest of hearts. Right now, she was shooting him his own cocked eyebrow as she regarded him coolly.

“You fucked up,” she stated, in a tone that made him want to simultaneously chuckle at how cute she sounded, and wash her potty mouth out with soap.

“Is that so?” Logan returned, refusing to back down from a blatant challenge, from his own damn offspring.

“Uh huh, you done this big mess up,” she added, stretching her arms out as wide as they would go.

Logan cringed, even as he grinned at her. “Mommy still mad at me?” he clarified.

“You made her cry,” Rosalie replied sadly, almost looking like she wanted to cry herself; she hated it when either of her parents were upset, especially when they were upset with each other. Thankfully that didn’t happen often.

“Wow, I did mess up, huh,” Logan said, moving over to her and wrapping her in a hug. “Should I go try to say sorry again?” he asked.

Rosalie nodded adamantly. “And you got to give her kissies, and feed her chocolates, and rub her feets,” she instructed.

“Alright, I’ll go do that now shall I?” Logan replied, following Rosalie’s directions to where he had hidden some of Marie’s favourite chocolates; and how did she know where he had hidden those... Dropping a kiss on her dark-haired head, Logan left Rosalie amusing herself with her homework as he slipped into the master bedroom.

“I bring a peace offering,” Logan offered, as he tentatively approached his scowling wife.

“I don’t want chocolate, I want to not have to spend three hours sitting at my husbands bedside watching his body trying to put itself back together,” she responded, turning her attention back to her book.

“Marie... I’m sorry darling, yes, I took a risk, I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry I worried you... there’s got to be something I can do to make it up to you Marie,” he desperately offered, the more she ignored him the more worried he became. He had never seen Marie this mad, ever, she was even more upset than that time she caught Remy cheating on her.

“The only thing you could possibly do is finally get it through your thick skull how I feel, but I don’t know how to make you see that,” Marie replied, finally turning her scowl back on him.

“I think I’m starting to get the idea,” he murmured uncomfortably.

“No, I don’t think you are,” Marie responded. Suddenly she began to pregnant belly shuffle – as she called it – trying to stand up from the bed, Logan quickly moving to her side to help her.

Once she was up, Marie moved to the dressing table, and picked up a folder.

“These are from the mission, and from the med lab after,” she informed him, holding the file out to him. “They’re all in black and white, so not terribly clear, I want you to draw these for me, in full detail, and full colour,” she directed.

Logan opened his mouth as if to object after he opened the folder and started leafing through the six images.

“You sleep on the couch until it’s done,” Marie threatened. From the look on her face when she said it, Logan knew better than to push back.

With a nod, he acquiesced. “Can I have a kiss before I get started?” he asked cheekily, pushing his luck even as he saw Marie’s own longing reflected back at him. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him soundly before snuggling into his chest. Just as he was starting to think he might be able to talk his way out of trouble after all, she pushed him away and towards the door.

Damn, she really was serious.

Marie stayed shut in their bedroom for the rest of the night, while Logan spent the same time working his way through the images Marie had requested he draw. As much as he wanted to rush them through half assed – even he didn’t like looking at a few of them – he knew Marie wouldn’t let him get away with that, he would just be prolonging their agony.

Morning came, and Marie left with Rosalie to take her to her classes. They didn’t return until bedtime, and Logan found himself worrying the whole time as he waited, and worked, even though he knew they were on the mansion grounds all day.

Finally he was done. Not wanting to waste another minute separated from his wife, he let himself into their room where Marie was restlessly laid out in bed, also not able to sleep.

“I uh- I finished, like you asked,” Logan murmured. “You don’t want to look at these,” he said, almost desperately, as she reached for the sheaf of papers.

“You’re right, now hand them over,” she replied, not backing down an inch. How did he end up married to such a hard-ass anyway.

Reluctantly handing the images over, he watched in shame as she leafed through them slowly. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she took in all the gory details. From the one of him being chewed almost in half by the Sentinels machine gun (a new upgrade apparently). Right through to him, bloodied and broken, being stitched back together (enough to resemble one more or less whole piece) in the med lab. Finished off with an image of Marie, crying over his mechanically assisted body in the med lab.

The stink of grief and fear hung heavy in the air, until he couldn’t help but lean toward her and wrap his arms around his wife comfortingly.

“I’m sorry darlin,” he murmured into her hair, even as she pulled herself together and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Now I need you to do one more thing,” she told him. “Take these pictures, draw them again, but this time reverse the roles,” she stated bluntly.

Logan stared at her in confusion, that fast gave way to horror when he realized what she was asking for.

“NO!” he declared, “No way in hell, shit I can’t even picture that, I don’t want to picture that,” he shuddered, his skin taking on a decidedly green hue as he shook his head in adamant refusal.

“Why? If I have to look at it in real life why shouldn’t you have to look at it, even in imagination,” she challenged.

“Marie... I just can’t Marie, I—I’m so sorry baby, I’m sorry, I swear I will never go looking for a fight again, fuck I’m tempted to throw in the towel with the X-Men to avoid even having to think... I’m so sorry darling, you don’t deserve the shit I put you through, it won’t happen again,” he declared emphatically, feeling his own tears threatening to fall as images of Marie’s hypothetically broken body flashed through his minds eye.

Marie was in tears again, as she lay down the images in question. “I’m keeping these to remind you of that promise,” she challenged him openly.

“I promise,” he murmured softly, pulling her closer, before laying them both down in bed to hold each other.

“Oliver’s so ugly!” Nine year old Rosalie declared loudly, grinning when her four year old brother began whining in response.

“Well you were,” she defended herself, still grinning evilly, “Look, your nose wasn’t even straight, and your eyes were too big, and you had no hair,” she continued pointing out all the flaws on the baby in the portrait before her.

Oliver immediately ran across the room to his parents, demanding someone defend him from his ‘meaney’ big sister.

“Well, she’s not wrong little buddy,” Logan teased, Oliver had been a pretty ugly baby after all.

“Oh stop teasing, both of you, “ Marie admonished, despite the amused twinkle in her eyes, as she picked Oliver up to give him a cuddle. The little boy immediately turned to his sister and stuck his tongue out at her as he cuddled mommy.

“Mama’s boy,” Rosalie coughed in his direction, not that Oliver took that as any kind of insult; he knew Rosie was jealous he was getting to hug mommy.

“For the record,” Marie added, “Most baby’s are ugly when they’re first born.”

“Not me, I was a cute baby,” Rosalie declared, leafing back through her daddy’s pictures until she found one of her as a baby.

“I don’t know, you had those weird ears, and what little hair you had never sat flat, there was something wrong with your tongue too, you can’t see it in the picture but Aunty Jean had to fix it so you could drink milk,” Logan replied matter of factly, if Rosalie was going to dish out critiques she had better be able to take them too.

“And you were born late which made you extra fat when you were born, Oliver was born early so he was skinnier, that’s why his eyes looked too big,” Marie informed her.

“Heh, Rosie’s fat,” Oliver told his sister, sticking his tongue out at her again. Rosalie glared in response at her brother, opening her mouth to say something else, no doubt rude, just as Logan slid his hand over her mouth.

“Alright, that’s enough, both of you, it’s not nice when people are rude to you, is it?” Logan asked his daughter pointedly, who scowled in response before she nodded. “So remember, don’t say anything you wouldn’t want said back to you, got it?” he warned her, releasing his hold as she nodded.

“You still had bug eyes,” she muttered, at Oliver, as he ran past her a moment later to go back to play with his toys. Apparently he had impeccable aim, for a four year old, as one of his toy cars smacked his sister in the back of the head a split second later.

“OW! Mom he threw it at me!” Rosalie shrieked, as she leapt down from the table – daddy’s special drawings forgotten – and took off after her brother, who, with a holler of his own, took off running.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Marie grouchily asked her husband, as she noticed him trying to slip out the door, while she was deciding if her children needed to be physically separated.

“Brain call, mission, got to go,” Logan told her, wincing when a loud crash sounded from Oliver’s room, followed by an ear piercing scream of indignation. “Have fun,” Logan added, legging it from the room before his wife could toss something at him.

“Why did we do this to ourselves!?” Marie muttered, pausing with a smile when her eye was caught by the abandoned image left open on the table. Little Rosalie, absolutely besotted with her baby brother, she had wanted to hold him and cuddle him all the time, she had absolutely adored him.

Where the hell did it all go wrong, Marie wondered, as she listened to more banging and crashing from the bedroom.

“It’s a shame kids don’t stay kids for longer,” Marie said sadly, as she watched her son and daughter running through a training simulation in the danger room.

“I don’t know about that, there were a few times I was doubtful they would survive childhood,” Logan grumbled in amusement behind her.

Marie slapped his arm playfully in response. “Sure they try your patience sometimes... but the make up for it by being so sweet, I miss having little babies,” she replied wistfully, shooting a glance at her husband out of the corner of her eye.

“No,” Logan replied, “We’re too old for having little kids again,” he tried to reason when he saw his wife’s hinting look.

“Logan, we both heal and are consequently eternally young,” she responded with a laugh. “Besides... it’s too late,” she added, reaching up to place a kiss on his lips, before she turned around and fled the room.

“Are you serious?” Logan demanded, stomping into their room several hours later; he hadn’t been able to follow her at the time because he was supposed to be running the junior teams DR session.

Marie chewed her lip nervously, as she lay her pen down, and turned away from her lesson plans.

“I did the test this morning, I started to think something was up a few days ago... is this going to be a problem? I thought we were just accepting it when it happened, we haven’t been actively trying, sure...” she started to point out.

Logan grinned suddenly. “I guess I just figured it had been so long it wasn’t going to happen again, Ollie’s nineteen after all, and we haven’t exactly been *not* trying,” he chuckled when Marie still blushed at that, he loved that she could still look so adorably innocent at times.

“So, you’re okay with it?” Marie clarified.

“I am, are you?” Logan checked.

“Yeah, yeah I am,” Marie said, just as she heard the apartment door open, Rosalie and Oliver trailing in the door deep in some animated discussion. “Should we tell them now?” Marie whispered.

“Let’s tell them at dinner,” Logan replied with a wink, before slipping out for their bedroom.

--

“Ew, dad, can you keep these ones in you and mom’s room,” Rosalie said with a giggle, as she smiled down at Logan’s tablet he had left open on the dining room table.

“What’s wrong with it?” Logan asked, almost sounding offended.

“We’re all adults here dad, it’s kind of obvious she naked under that sheet,” Rosalie pointed out, closing the tablet as she pulled a face.

“So? Like you said, you’re adults, and there’s a sheet, what exactly is the problem?” Logan grumbled.

“It’s icky,” his daughter replied.

“Weirdo, it’s no different to if she’s covered in clothes fabric,” Oliver teased his sister, as he joined the family at the table for dinner.

“Speaking of weirdos, your mother and I have been talking and we’ve decided it’s time for one of you to move out, like Rosie said, you’re both adults now... and we need one of your rooms...” Logan said, trying to hide his grin at their two children’s confused looks. “For your new brother or sister,” he explained.

“Wait... what!?” Rosalie stuttered dumbfounded. “Oh my god, are you having another baby!?” she demanded excitedly a moment later, squealing when Marie smiled and nodded.

It was a few minutes into the loud and excited discussion that followed before Logan drew attention to Oliver, who was suddenly oddly quiet.

“And you thought drawings were icky,” Oliver said to Rosalie, “You realise that means they’ve been having sex, literally feet from our rooms,” he pointed out, looking mildly disgusted.

Rosalie stared at her brother for a moment. “... Oh, ew... why would you point that out! Gross, well, I am officially moving out,” she declared. “But I will totally babysit for you,” she added, diving back into excited conversation.

“You know you don’t actually have to move out right?” Marie interjected a moment later, “Your dad was just teasing.”

“Um, actually, this is kind of good timing, you see... well, I’ve already planned to, uh, to move in with... with Nathan,” Rosalie murmured hesitantly, trying to avoid looking at her father when a deep growl rumbled from his corner of the table.

“What?” Logan demanded.

“Please don’t be mad daddy,” Rosalie almost whispered, “We’ve been together a while now, this is like... a trial run, to see if we can handle living with each other and then, maybe, you know...”

“No, I don’t know, was the limp dick little twit going to grow a pair and do any of this the right way?” Logan growled furiously, “He’s been jerking you around for years Rosie, he should know what he wants by now and be able to come and damn well ask for it, not get you to do all the behind the scenes work for him.”

“Well, if you didn’t threaten him every time he came within ten feet of you, maybe he would try and talk to you,” Rosalie shouted back.

“I have never threatened him, not once,” Logan replied adamantly.

“DADDY how can you say that! The very first time he came to take me out on a date you used your claws to dissect the coffee table following the wood grain, then that time he came to pick me up for the winter ball, senior year, you spent ten minutes shining your claws while glaring at him while you explained to would be watching him all night, then there was the time in the danger room, when he caught me after I fell, and you put him the med lab by throwing a car at him! Do I need to go on?” Rosalie demanded in response.

“She’s not wrong,” Marie murmured in agreement, studiously ignoring the glare Logan sent in her direction.

“None of that was threatening the little twerp, and the car was an accident, I already said I didn’t know he was still standing there,” Logan grumbled, visibly sulking.

“You could also try referring to him by his name occasionally, you know, try and be somewhat civil,” Rosalie suggested.

Logan didn’t reply to that, simply went back to silently eating his dinner. Eventually conversation picked up again, and the prior conversation was pushed aside, seemingly even by Logan.

Later that night, long after everyone went to bed Marie was woken by a soft sound. The bed beside her was empty and she was not at all surprised to see Logan sitting in the window, a frown of concentration furrowed his brow as he worked. Leaving him in peace to draw, hoping it wasn’t a nightmare, Marie studied him in the dim light of the moon, catching the grin and wink he shot her at one point, before she eventually fell asleep again.

The next morning, as she was getting ready for her day, she spied Logan’s tablet sitting on the desk. Checking over he shoulder that Logan was still asleep, she flipped the book open.

“Logan!” she admonished her sleeping husband when she got a look at what he had been working on the night before.

“Not sorry,” Logan mumbled from the bed, even as Marie shook her head in amusement. She closed the book on the image, of her husband standing menacingly over their daughters sort-of boyfriend, as the weedy little twerp sat, beat up and cowering, in a puddle that she assumed was not water.

“Just don’t let Rosie see it,” she murmured a moment later, as she left to head for her first class. Logan wasn’t wrong, Rosalie definitely could do better than Scott and Jean Summers son, but sometimes, like in their own case, love was blind, and the odd pairings sometimes did work out. Who was she to dictate who her daughter could fall I love with.

Marie tried to settle the fussing toddler in her arms, trying not to wrinkle her pretty dress too much. She had tried to hand almost three year old Audra off to Jessie, Rosalie’s bridesmaid, so she could go take her seat but the stubborn little girl just refused to sit still. She wanted to go throw her flower petals like she had been told she was going to but no one would let her yet... because Rosalie still wasn’t ready.

“I’m going to go check on her,” Marie finally declared. The rest of the wedding party had been sent downstairs by Rosie, who had said she wanted a few minutes to herself. That was almost ten minutes ago.

Just as Marie reached the door of the family suite, where Rosalie had been getting ready, she heard voices from within.

“Am I doing the right thing daddy?” Rosalie murmured tearfully.

“Don’t ask me that kid, I’m biased, of course I’m going to say no, you’re my little girl, and I hate the geeks balls for finally manning up and coming and asking for you,” Logan’s deep sullen voice rumbled in return.

“You could have said no,” Rosie pointed out with a giggle.

“What? And have you and your mother make my life miserable for the next decade,” Logan snorted in amusement. “Hell, me and you both know you’d have married him anyway, just to stick it to me... you’re as stubborn as your momma, and almost as pretty,” he teased.

“Almost?” Rosalie replied in mock indignation.

“Yeah, almost, unfortunately for you, you got a few traits from me,” was the response.

For a moment the pair were silent, after chuckling in amusement, before Rosalie returned to her previous topic.

“But what if I’m just... letting my stupid heart cloud my judgment... what if the dumb things he does really do bother me and I’m just not thinking clearly... what if this is a mistake?” she asked, almost desperately.

“Kiddo, there is only one way to figure out if this is a mistake, and that’s to go down there, do it, and see what happens, you two have been together for years though, the honeymoon phase should have worn off by now. Besides, there’s always going to be things about another individual that annoy you on some level, even your mom and I annoy the hell out of each other at times,” Logan told her with chuckle; and if he wasn’t picturing how he had woken her up at three o’clock just that morning coming in from Nate’s stag party, after she had told him to sleep on the couch if he was late or drunk, and then proceeded to keep her up the rest of the morning snoring, she would have to be sure to remind him, again.

“Here, I was going to give this to you after, with the rest of the presents, but I think it’ll mean more now,” Marie heard Logan suddenly interject. The rustle of paper a moment later told her a gift was being unwrapped.

“Oh daddy, they’re beautiful,” Rosalie exclaimed softly.

“One for every year of your life,” Logan said, as Marie recalled the album he had put together for their eldest daughter on her wedding day. “So you can see what a beautiful, strong, intelligent, courageous woman you’ve grown into... even if you did pick the dorkiest moron in the mansion to marry,” he added with a growl... that quickly dissolved into a chuckle to match Rosalie’s giggle.

“Come on, you ready to go make that dweeb the second luckiest man in the building?” Logan announced suddenly.

“Second?” Rosalie asked curiously, “Who would be the first?”

“Me of course, gorgeous wife who’s way too good for me, two beautiful daughters, son who’s growing up to take after his old man... no one could beat that!” he declared, as they stepped up to the door, and pulled it open.

“You two ready?” Marie asked, making it look like she had just arrived.

“Yeah, I’m ready... don’t know about him though,” Rosalie grinned, nudging Logan who hugged her again as he lead the party back downstairs.

--

Three days later Marie smiled when she saw the newest addition to Logan’s collection.

Rosalie and Nathan, dancing at their wedding. Though truthfully they hadn’t been doing much more than standing on the dancefloor holding each other. Matching looks of total adoration on each face.

“I still think he’s a jackass,” Logan muttered, as he passed the doorway.

“Daddy, what you drawing?” seven year old Audra asked, appearing suddenly over his shoulder.

“Haven’t decided yet, what do you think I should draw?” Logan murmured in return.

“I think you should draw... me, being a ballerina,” his daughter announced, rolling over the back of the couch to land upside down beside him.

“You want to be a ballerina now?” Logan asked with a chuckle. The little girl had spent the last month trying to convince him to teach her how to drive, so she could be a race car driver.

“Nah uh, I’m going to be a superhero, like mommy,” Audra replied.

“What about like me, I’m a superhero too,” Logan pouted exaggeratedly.

“But you’re a boy, I can’t be a boy, so I have to be a girl superhero, like mommy,” Audra explained, with a roll of her eyes and an impatient sigh.

“Alright, fair enough, I’ll give you that one,” Logan replied with a chuckle. “So, if you’re a ballerina superhero, what powers will you have?” he asked, as he placed pencil to paper.

As Audra chattered away happily, Logan drew, weaving together a fictitious reality to entertain the youngster. When it was finally finished Audra giggled happily, before running off to show mommy the tutu-clad superhero, flying through a battle-scape, with claws, and sprinkling fairy dust that ignited into fire, that now adorned the page.

Logan had just settled back, enjoying the few moments peace he was now surrounded by, when Oliver stormed into the room, looking furious.

“What’s up?” Logan asked worriedly, as his sons bone claws erupted from his closed fists.

Ollie didn’t reply with words, instead he punched the now closed door as hard as he could, as he roared. Though the claws disappeared before they could make contact with the wood, his fist still left a sizable dent in the surface. Oliver didn’t seem to notice though, as he slumped against the door. A moment later Logan, who was watching his sons outburst in mild amusement as he wondered who had so epically pissed him off, noticed a shudder in his shoulders, before he slid to the ground and began to sob.

“What happened?” Logan demanded, suddenly realizing this was worse than just a bust up among friends.

It took Oliver several minutes before he could raise his now tears stained face to look at him, his emotion clogged voice coming out in barely a whisper.

“She killed it...” was all he said.

“What!?” Logan demanded, immediate dread settling in the pit of his stomach as his brain refused to make the connection between Ollie’s statement now, and his ecstatic, though unexpected, news the week before.

“She said the time wasn’t right... so she had an abortion,” Oliver stated flatly. “She didn’t even ask me, she just killed my fucking kid, because it wasn’t convenient... how could she do that!?” he demanded, sorrow and anger warring for dominant position in his tone.

“Shit... I’m so sorry kid,” Logan murmured, sitting down next to his son, hugging him when he threw himself at him and sobbed. That was how Marie and Audra found them an hour later.

Later that night, after Oliver had retreated to his old bedroom, refusing to return to the room he shared with his girlfriend, Logan stared down at the incomplete drawing in his book. With a sigh, he removed the page. He couldn’t complete it, the child it was drawn for, his grandchild, was no more. He couldn’t throw it away though, he couldn’t abandon the memory of the child that could have been. Tucking it away with the rest, Logan closed the box in resignation, before heading to bed himself.

“Fight! Fight!” Audra was screaming at the television, when Marie walked into the room. The nine year old was glued to the TV, and had been for weeks now that the NHL season was on full swing.

“I thought you were going to record that for her to watch later?” Marie murmured to her husband, where he was getting more snacks and another beer from the kitchen.

“She wouldn’t go to sleep,” he replied with a shrug, kissing her as he passed by her. “How’d it go?” he asked, as he settled back down beside his youngest daughter.

“It was—” Marie began, only to be almost immediately cut off by hissing.

“Shh, it’s started again!” Audra hollered, still sitting on the edge of her seat, watching the tiny black rubber puck being flung around the ice.

“He’s open, he’s open! PASS IT!!” she screamed at the screen. “You deserved that you dumbass!” she added sullenly, slouching back in her seat when the play ended after the player in question got slammed into the rink wall, the puck getting lost in the ensuing commotion.

“Daddy, I want to play hockey,” Audra announced suddenly.

“Sure sweetheart, the pond should be frozen over enough by now, we can play tomorrow,” Logan replied, managing to snag Marie’s hand as she walked past, and tugging her into his lap.

“No daddy, I want to play for real, on a team,” was the response, followed up by the perfect pout to get exactly what she wanted.

“Uh... I don’t know if there are any teams taking new players mid season kiddo,” Logan offered, caught between his daughters begging eyes, and his wife’s stern warning shake of the head.

“If there are can I play?” Audra demanded, ignoring her mother.

“I mean... there isn’t any harm in trying out, right?” Logan passed the enquiry on to Marie.

“Logan, you know damn well that won’t work, she’s not a team player, she’s got too much of you in her,” Marie replied, trying to smother her grin. She had no doubt any stint her daughter spent on a team would end quickly, and quite possibly badly.

“So, it wouldn’t hurt for her to try out then,” Logan pushed, as Audra tugged on his sleeve, her bottom lip almost fully folded over on itself as she begged.

“... You are such a pushover,” Marie said with a sigh. “Fine, if you find a team, she can try out, but one mess up and that’s it, it’s back to one-on-one with dad,” Marie told her sternly.

A month later the whole family went along to watch Audra’s first actual game. She was so excited when the coach said she would actually get to play this time, that she demanded all the family had to come and see.

It was a co-ed game, as there weren’t enough little girls and boys to have separate teams, but Audra hadn’t had any trouble keeping up with the boys so far in practice. Logan had been pleasantly surprised too when she had, so far, made good on her promise to Marie to not get involved in fights. It was too good to last though, he thought as he watched his daughter wriggling into the middle of a bust up late in third period. Thankfully she was pushing, not punching, and acting purely defensively.

“I said I can’t fight, or my mom will make me stop playing,” Logan overheard Audra hissing at one of the boys, one of the first friends she had made on the team, as she knelt on the ice next to him as time was called, and the referees sent various kids to literal time outs. “Are you okay?” she was asking a moment later.

“There’s blood!” One of the kids shrieked, pointing to where blood was rubbing off the kids arm, where he had fallen over and been hit by the sharp blade of a skate.

“It’s okay, he’s fine,” Audra announced, grabbing Austin, her friends, arm and inspecting the wound.

Logan watched as Audra put her hand over the wound, before asking the coach for a plaster. By the time the kid was carried to the box, and a first aid kit produced, Audra had been holding the kids arm for a good while, a funny look on her face. Logan began to get an uneasy feeling, as he watched the coach pause as he went to bandage the kids arm, before simply wiping it down and changing the kids shirt.

Audra and Austin sat the rest of the game out, not that either seemed to mind. After the game the coach called Austin’s parents, who had just arrived to pick him up, aside, gesturing for Logan and Marie to join them.

“So, um, Austin’s uniform got a little bloody, he got cut on a skate but when I went to bandage him up, there’s no cut... a cut like that should have needed stitches, I don’t know what happened, all I know is Audra saw the wound and covered it up so the other kids couldn’t see it, and by the time I got to it, it was gone,” the coach told them, looking confused.

“Aussie, what happened?” the kids loud mouthed, stereotypical New Yorker father demanded loudly.

“I don’t know,” Austin said with a shrug, “My arm was stinging like a paper cut, then Audra put her hand on it, and it felt warm, and then it didn’t hurt any more.” All in all, the kid didn’t seem the slightest bit phased by whatever had happened.

“So she did something to him,” the dad immediately declared, overly aggressively for no apparent reason.

“What happened Auddie?” Logan asked his own child.

“I don’t know,” Audra replied, parroting Austin but looking simultaneously scared and uncertain, “I put my hand on the cut and... it got warm, and I just knew it was fixing up, and then it was all gone,” she said with a shrug.

“Ha, sucks to be you buddy, your kid’s a fucking freak, you let freaks on this team?” Austin’s loudmouth father demanded of the coach.

“She’s not a freak, she’s my friend, and she made my arm better,” Austin announced, sticking up for his buddy.

“Shut up, go get in the car, I’ll sort this out,” the father replied, smacking the kid in the back of the head as he shoved him toward his mother and the door.

“Well, this a team for freaks is it? You going to let these little mutie scumbags in to take spots from our kids,” the other man began to loudly demand.

The coach looked perplexed, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Meanwhile Logan noticed other parents beginning to take notice of the conversation, and pulling their kids away, casting sidelong glances at Audra.

“Listen here asshole, yeah, my daughter’s probably a mutant, both her parents are mutants, and her two older siblings are, instead of being an insufferable prick maybe you should thank her, she just saved you a hospital bill,” Logan pointed out, hoping to end this interaction somewhat positively; I.e. douche canoe taking a hike.

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you freak, you like to be all superior huh, all your kind should be locked up, away from decent folks, away from our kids!” the aggro man began spewing. “Either you kick this dirty little mutant bitch out of the team or I take my kid out, and I’m not the only one by the look of it,” he threatened the coach, gesturing to the surrounding parents.

The coach was still speechless, not seeming to be able to form a coherent thought. Logan could tell by the look on his face he didn’t want to tell Audra to go, but he also couldn’t justify losing half his team if all the other parents chose to walk.

“It’s okay, we understand,” Logan assured the coach, taking the pressure off the coach, even though it pained him to do so.

“I’m sorry, I’ll refund your season fees,” the coach promised, even as Austin’s father began ranting about how he should get his fees back too, compensation for his son being ‘subjected’ to ‘the freak’.

“But daddy, I want to play,” Audra murmured, tears in her eyes as Logan turned back to her.

“I know sweetheart, I’m sorry,” Logan soothed her, picking her up as she started to tear up. He carried her out of the rink as she sadly waved goodbye to her friends, some if whom waved back, despite their parents reservations.

“Did I do something wrong?” Audra finally asked, as Logan settled her down in her seat in the car.

“No sweetheart, using your powers to help people is never wrong, you hear me, you’re a superhero kiddo, ” Logan told her with a grin, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He watched Audra smile sadly, even as she waved out the window to Austin and his mother as they left.

The next morning Audra woke to a picture of Super-Audra, kneeling next to a fallen friend, healing his battle wounds. She was a superhero, immortalized in one of her daddy’s portraits.

“Well, thank fuck Marie wasn’t on this one,” Logan grumbled, as he gave up trying to claw his way through the wall of rubble that cut him, and one of his teammates, off from the rest of the team. Glancing grudgingly toward the teammate he was currently trapped with, he grumbled some more under his breath; it had to be her...

Since Oliver and Caitlin had broken up after the abortion debacle three years before, Scott had been very careful to split the relevant parties up. Wolverine and Rogue were Beta team. Oliver, codename Fenrir, had been transferred to Alpha, now working alongside Rosalie, who went by the codename Eyra, and Nathan, whose codename was Shaman. Caitlin, codename Nox, was still on Gamma. For this mission however, due in part to several of the female members of various teams being on maternity leave, including both Marie and Rosalie, all three teams were merged, and somehow, through either coincidence or poor planning, he had ended up partnered with the living shadow that was Nox.

To top it off, she was injured, badly. He had made her as comfortable as he could, before he started trying to hack his way out, but he wasn’t sure if it would do much good. Part of him felt bad for the dark thoughts that drifted through his mind; she deserved it, he should just leave her, he should finish her off... Those thoughts hurt doubly because he really liked Caitlin, loved her even, as another daughter, he had taken under his wing when she had joined their family.

The whole situation was so fucked up, and he didn’t like that he was being forced to face it. Trapped in dusty darkness, the scent of blood thick in the air... and tears... Glancing back toward Caitlin, he noted she was watching him, sorrow in her eyes.

“I’m sorry you hate me,” Caitlin stated suddenly.

“I don’t hate you,” Logan replied gruffly.

“Yeah, you do,” she argued. God damn kid, stubborn to the very end.

“No, I don’t hate you, I hate what you did, you hurt so many people, you took a child away from a family, you took a lover away from my son, worse yet, you kept his heart... he loved you, probably more than you will ever know, and I don’t think he will ever love anyone fully, ever again,” Logan murmured. He wasn’t trying to make the girl feel like shit but he really needed to get this off his chest, just in case the team couldn’t get to them in time.

They sat in silence for several more minutes until Caitlin broke the silence again.

“I didn’t do it,” she barely whispered, so quietly Logan had to get her to repeat herself.

“Do what?” he asked in confusion.

“I didn’t have an abortion...” she clarified, tears falling freely. “I miscarried... at thirteen weeks, I started having cramps, I went to see the maternity doctor, and she couldn’t find the heartbeat...”

Logan stared at Caitlin in disbelief, trying to reconcile what she was saying. Had three years of anger and anguish been entirely misplaced.

“Why- why did you tell him you did, why did you let us think that?” he demanded.

“I let you all think it, maybe I was trying to convince myself... that it had been my choice... but it wasn’t,” Caitlin said as she began to sob, “I didn’t correct anyone... I felt like I deserved it, I deserved the hate... our baby died, inside of me, I was supposed to protect it, care for it, keep it healthy and strong... and I failed... if it was intentional I didn’t have to feel bad about it, but if it wasn’t... I would have to admit it was my fault.”

Logan moved closer to her, carefully gathering her fragile body in his arms. “Sweetheart, it was nobody’s fault, least of all yours... you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone, you should have told him, so you could mourn together... you should tell him, promise me- promise me, when we get back to base, you’ll tell him, you’ll take down the wall that’s been put up between you both,” he murmured softly, as he cradled the sobbing young woman.

He felt her shake her head, before she sadly replied, “I’m not making it out of here, I know it, you know it—”

“I know no such thing,” Logan interrupted forcefully. “You are going to make it, and I’m going to do everything in my power to see to that, don’t you dare give up on me, you hear, you don’t give up, you’ll get out of here, and you’ll tell him, you will.”

“Just in case I don’t,” Caitlin added, “Promise me you’ll tell him... I never stopped loving him, not even for a moment, he was my one and only, and I would never have been able to love anyone else either.”

“I’ll carve it on your damn tombstone if you fucking die on me kid,” Logan snapped irritably, before he settled the young woman down as comfortably as he could. After double and triple checking he had tended to her injuries as best he could, he went back to trying to hack through the rubble.

Mere minutes later the rubble began to give way, a hole opening, and rapidly getting bigger. The first face he saw was Oliver’s, tears had run tracks through the dust that clung to his skin, as he explained the coms had been working but only one way. He had heard it all. He demanded to know if Caitlin was alright, as he continued to make the opening larger.

“She’s asleep, just resting,” Logan assured him. Hurriedly helping ease her through the hole as soon as it was large enough for her, watching with a contented smile as Oliver carried his love toward the jet quickly, hopefully in time.

Four days later Logan let himself into the med lab. Oliver hadn’t left since they had returned, standing outside the theatre while the doctors frantically operated on Caitlin, before he took up residence at her bedside waiting for her to wake. She had finally awoken earlier that morning, and Marie had been down to check in with the on again couple while Logan had been on a pick up.

Logan smiled at the pair lying side by side on the narrow hospital bed, holding each other close as they slept. He didn’t plan to wake them, so he took a seat to wait; he didn’t have to wait long.

“So, all is well again?” he asked, watching the serious, though tender, look that passed between the two.

“We’re getting there,” Oliver supplied, gently wiping tears from Caitlin’s eyes, before he placed a kiss on her forehead.

“I thought you two should have this, it might help,” Logan offered, handing over the picture he had spent the last few days completing.

In the white plaster frame, patterned with down feathers, lay the image of a child. It was an image he had set aside unfinished three years earlier, but now it was complete. Sleeping peacefully, wrapped in downy angel wings, their child slept.

“Thank you,” Caitlin murmured softly, fresh tears falling as she tenderly stroked the sleeping face.

“So many people loved that baby, it felt wrong not memorialize it,” Logan replied. “Now you can remember, together,” he hinted, hoping it was enough to reunite the two lovers.

He had set up a full easel for one of the few times he had created an image. Usually things were drawn spur of the moment, inspiration hit, and he drew. This image had been extensively planned, in fact, he had already been working on it for a couple of days, in advance of the whole family being together for Christmas Day.

Recent events had thrown everyone for a bit of a loop, and had reminded Logan that he had never done a portrait of the whole family. Though, with the size of their ‘family’ now, this was being done in landscape.

He still shuddered as he recalled the sound of twisting metal, the smell of over heated flesh, and blood, that signalled the almost loss of one of their family members. Sure it was an extension he wouldn’t have personally cared about losing... if not for the fact of having to listen to Rosalie’s heart wrenching sobs. His oldest baby, now a momma herself, had cried almost non-stop for three weeks, until Nathan had finally woken from his semi-induced coma.

As Logan drew in each member of his family, starting with the huddle of children on the floor squealing over presents, he grumbled half heartedly as Rosie fussed over and waited on her husband. Sure, he was still mostly cast up, and reliant on a wheelchair for most of his moving around, but it was his job to wait on his wife, not the other way around. A moment later a fresh beer was placed on the side table beside him, as his wife leaned in close and kissed his whiskered cheek affectionately.

“It’s nice to be waited on sometimes, isn’t it?” she posed, knowingly, as he took a swing from his bottle. Logan just growled grumpily in response, to which she replied with a giggle.

After he had drawn Audra, he and Marie’s new youngest child, Clara, now two, and their little nephew, Noah, Rosalie and Nathan’s child, also two, Logan moved on to add Oliver and Caitlin. The pair had rebuilt their fractured relationship, and done it so well three month old twins, Theo and Penny, now rounded out the ranks of the children where they snoozed in their parents arms.

Rosalie and Nathan were drawn next, though Logan, almost grudgingly, opted to draw Nathan ‘whole’ as he had been before the fateful mission, rather than with his new accessories.

“Thank you daddy,” Rosalie whispered to him, as she pecked him on his whiskered cheek, much like her mommy had done earlier, when she saw this addition.

He still had to make clear the kid was an incompetent pansy though... so the bruises stayed.

Finally, in pride of place, it was time for his own beautiful bride, and the reason most of the people in the photo existed; his gorgeous Marie. He couldn’t draw her alone though. So, in the cosy armchair, where she was currently sitting watching the children excitedly fawn over their presents, he drew himself. Patriarch of their little family, and cocooned protectively in his arms, he drew her.

Still as young, radiant, sexy, and just plain beautiful as she had been the first time he laid eyes on her.

Marie.

Forever the love of his life.

Sometimes he couldn’t believe it had been forty years since he first laid eyes on her. Some of their original friends from the mansion, most notably the Professor, had passed on. Scott had finally given in to Jean’s nagging and retired from actively participating in X-Men missions, he was the last of the original team to do so. Children, and grandchildren of mutants abounded in the halls of the mansion. The schools roles were now primarily filled by children whose families placed them voluntarily, less and less runaways needed picking up every year. Slowly, the Professor’s dream was becoming a reality. Not that Logan really cared, he had his family, and at the end of the day that was all that mattered.

“You finished Michelangelo?” Marie teased, as he slid into the seat some time later, sliding her onto his lap as he did, exactly how his picture depicted.

“I prefer da Vinci personally, with my beautiful Mona Lisa,” he teased in return. “The other one always makes me think of that stupid turtle,” he added, just because he enjoyed hearing her laugh.

“I will never be done,” he murmured softly into her hair moments later, “You my beautiful muse, I shall draw until we are both old and grey.”

“I’m starting to think that’s never going to happen,” Marie returned wistfully, though she didn’t sound upset about that.

“I know, guess we better make room for a lot more pictures then,” Logan replied with a grin, even as little Clara toddled up and threw herself into their laps requesting cuddles.

And thus life went on, brightened by the beauty around them, and the beauty that was captured in the pages left as the legacy of life lived to its fullest.