Part 1
Tuesday, April 30th, 2030

Chapter 1: Laura

The boys and the girls live in separate worlds. The boys in their universe and we in ours. My brothers for example. They’ve got plenty to say to me and Nenny inside the house. But outside they can’t be seen talking to girls.

Someday I will have a best friend all my own. One I can tell my secrets to. One who will understand my jokes without my having to explain them. Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor.

Laura bit her lip as the chapter ended, sighing uncomfortably as she fiddled with the worn cover, before casting the book aside. She had read The House on Mango Street before, but this time Esperanza was frustrating her, and as Laura glanced around the darkened bedroom, she couldn’t help but feel restless. Era tarde. She hadn’t even realized it until she looked up and noticed that the last of the light had left the sky. Not that that was so bothersome. She never used a reading light—she didn’t need one—and besides, she usually liked the dark. The colors were so much deeper, the bright orange and purple of her curtains now a burnt russet and a hazy indigo. The typically colorful spines of the books that were crammed onto the two shelves on the far wall looked different, too, their titles now only quiet murmurs. Usually, these things were a comfort to her, the dark itself a quiet friend. It was like a blanket, she thought, comfortable and as snug as the stacks of spare bedding carefully placed in the chest near the foot of her bed, ready to use, just in case. But as Laura had read the last few lines of the chapter, the dark felt heavier than usual.

Laura exhaled steadily, her thoughts drifting. All else was quiet inside the la casa del lago, even the murmurings of Marie and Papa’s voices having long since faded. Even though they had turned the loft of the house into Laura’s bedroom, trying to offer her space, she could still hear their conversations downstairs sometimes, if she was actively listening. She tried not to, respecting their intimidad as much as she could, but she couldn’t seem to help instinctively checking in on her padre, especially in the early hours of the morning, often listening to the sound of her papa’s breathing. Right now: in and out. Not ragged, not abused. Even and steady. Safe.

Someday I will have a best friend all my own. One I can tell my secrets to.

Laura didn’t have a best friend, and not for the first time she wondered what that would feel like. To share secrets with. There was Rictor, yes, but he was now living in Ontario, placed with a new family and a chance at a normal life, and even though Laura missed him, only random bits of texting held their friendship together now. Cole, too, at school, but much like her book had suggested, Cole didn’t like to be seen with Laura in between classes. They talked a lot online, and Laura usually sat at the fringe of their lunch table, but that wasn’t the same thing as a best friend that Esperanza was talking about. Not even close.

And then there was Papa. Papa knew many of her secrets, and Marie had learned a few too, although neither one of them knew them all. And, even though she was happy for him, the truth was that Papa now had Marie in a way that Laura had nobody. Once more, Laura felt a stab of jealousy. Amor.

Laura sighed, grabbing her phone off the nightstand. She ignored the blinking battery symbol meaning her phone was almost dead and instead scrolled through the last of her text messages. The latest from Rictor:

“¿Estas bien?” he had written. You doing ok?

“He estado major.” Been better.

“¿Tu papa?” Your dad?

“Sí. Y hay mierda en la escuela,” she had texted back. Yeah. Plus shit at school.

“Cuéntame sobre eso.” Tell me about it.

Tell me about it. She hadn’t responded back to that one, and it had been three days since. Laura stared blankly at the phone once more, before falling exasperatedly back onto the pillows. Amor. Secrets. A best friend. How did it all work? Not for the first time, her thoughts flew to her madre. It wasn’t that Laura didn’t like Marie. Marie was strong and kind and smart, and she wasn’t scared of Laura. Marie was teaching her to cook, had taught her how to braid her hair, had even sparred with her a few times, working through Laura’s kata alongside her with ease. Laura savored Marie’s thoughtful and purposeful attention, but the simple truth was Marie wasn’t her madre. She couldn’t be.

But no one ever talked about her real madre, and Laura assumed it was because the woman’s story must be a sad one. But Laura still couldn’t help but wonder about her. Had her madre ever fallen in love? Ever had a chance to? Had she cared for someone like the way Marie cared for Papa?

Laura also wondered about her madre because she knew, deep down, not everything inside of her was simply her padre. He had given her plenty, that was for certain, but, still, Laura was not exactly everything he was. The stories Laura enjoyed, the delights she took in pretty things, how her heart cried at the sadness of the world, those were qualities, Laura assumed, that came from the other, quiet part of her. From la latina.

Without even thinking about it, Laura found herself unsheathing her claws, the blooming feeling of blood dripping, the pain springing to life. Open wounds. She wasn’t supposed to do this, her papa had told her as such, but sometimes she did it anyway. She stared at the warm metal blankly, a small frown forming on her lips.

Would a boy ever learn to love her the way Marie loved her padre? Love for them…was it even really possible? There were parts of them both Marie could never understand. El animal didn’t exist for Marie, even with Papa in her head. Not like it did for Laura and Logan. Was it easier, then, to pretend? To escape into stories, to retreat to that part of life that felt safer, less desperate than the rest?

The feeling of restlessness grew, and she breathed out steadily, sheathing the claws, but not bothering about the blood leftover on her knuckles and flopping down once more on the bed. Papa was sick. Some of the older boys were giving her shit at school. It was a feeling of helplessness, of frustración. She could feel it growing, welling up inside her. Things would be easier if she could just…. but no. Papa had said no. Instead, listen!

The sounds. The pine trees rustling, drafts changing on the wind. The hum of the forest, the sound of the water quietly lapping at the shore of the lake. Even the night birds, the mourning doves, quietly returning, making nests, finding homes, the world slowly crawling out of its deep hibernation. And then, those sounds closer to her, the ones more intimate. The fan kicking the air about, her clock on the far wall ticking, the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the quick thrum of her own heart, wild and deliberate, and then the slower, steady thud of her papa’s heart, and then…oh no. There it was, the telltale sound, the disruption. Her papa waking up once more, coughing violently, and Marie’s soothing hush. And then their voices, hers a panicked whisper and his rough in the darkness.

“Just breathe, sugar.” Her gentle murmur.

“I can’t do this anymore.” His tone more of a frustrated growl than a real voice as his cough once more released its hold on him.

“Yes, you can. You have to.” Her desperate, wavering assurance back to him.

Laura bit her lip, closing her eyes and clutching her dying phone to her more tightly. Maybe they were all escaping into stories, one way or another. Maybe they were all red balloons, desperate to drift. But the fact was that Laura couldn’t escape the wild part inside of her. Te necesitan más que nunca. Debes ser fuerte. They need you more than ever. You must be strong. Her anchor, whispering the harsh truth in her ear.

“Meirde,” Laura muttered tiredly, to nothing more than an empty, darkened room.

--

The morning sunlight drifted through the bay windows lazily from where Laura sat tiredly eating Corn Flakes on a stool at the kitchen island. In the late hours of the night she had finally drifted off into a restless sleep. She had somehow managed to keep most of the pesadillas at bay, but her dreams were still wide with worry, awkward and strange. By the time the morning had greeted her, she was already awake again and Laura finally had resolved to shower and get dressed. She had put her hair up, brushing it out of her face and up into a ponytail, like Marie had showed her. After coming downstairs, she had found no one in the kitchen, had decided on making coffee for los adultos and then had helped herself to some breakfast. It wasn’t a completely out-of-the-ordinary scenario, although Laura was spoiled in the fact that usually she came downstairs to the smells of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs, a hot breakfast waiting for her, another gift from Marie’s newly added presence in both of their lives.

Today was different though. Laura watched as, several minutes later, Marie groggily slipped out of the downstairs bedroom in a robe and flannel pajamas, hair messy and in a bun, obviously sleep-deprived. Laura frowned a little as she stared at the woman, even as Marie offered Laura a weary smile.

“You sleep ok, Laura?” she asked quietly. Laura nodded, and if Marie suspected it was a lie, she didn’t say anything. Marie looked down at Laura’s soggy cereal and frowned slightly.

“I’m sorry, mi amada,” Marie said quietly, before just barely glancing to the cracked doorway once more, then adding, “Rough night.” Laura frowned once more at Marie’s words, because, even if Laura knew how much her papa had struggled last night, la verdad fue dolorosa. Laura watched as Marie stalked over to find the coffee already brewed, and then the older woman was smiling at Laura again.

“Bless you,” Marie murmured. Laura watched as Marie’s graceful hands plucked a mug from the cabinet and went to pour the coffee, the tilt of her grip easing as the liquid steadily flowed into the mug. Laura loved watching Marie use her hands, especially in the kitchen. It was part of the equilibrio about Marie, and once again Laura felt mildly envious of Marie’s maturity and poise. Marie was undoubtedly un mujer. A woman. After a few moments, however, Marie seemed to catch Laura studying her, because, through her steaming mug of coffee, Marie arched an eyebrow in Laura’s direction, giving the girl her full attention once more.

“Science project?” Marie dutifully asked.

“Due Friday,” Laura murmured through a small sigh. She didn’t want to do that one. Laura liked science, but painting fake Styrofoam balls to make them look like planets was not exactly Laura’s idea of quality educación.

“Social studies test?” Marie then asked.

“Today,” Laura murmured.

“Did you study?” Marie followed up.

“Sí,” Laura partially lied. She had studied a little, but she had held off, remembering that her papa had promised to help with flash cards, but the promise had been lost in the jumble of last night. At the thought, Laura frowned a little once more, glancing back to the partially cracked door of the downstairs bedroom. Marie frowned as well, following Laura’s gaze.

“He’s up and awake, if you wanna say hi,” Marie murmured, through a small smile. “Might do him some good,” she added, and then as she glanced at the kitchen oven she mumbled, “Shit. Is that the time? Looks like I’m taking you in house slippers again. I’ll grab my coat.”

As Marie set down her mug and rushed down the hallway to the back part of the house, Laura felt her feet pulling her body to the cracked door of the bedroom. Marie hadn’t needed saying anything about Papa being awake. As soon as Marie had first left the room Laura knew he was, had heard him cough lightly, heard his heartbeat grow a little faster, heard the pads of his feet make contact with the dark wooden floorboards. Laura gently pushed open the door to see that she was right. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, a hand in his greying hair. He was barefoot, but adorned in sweatpants, and he had been blankly staring at the wall in front of him. At the noise, however, he looked up to her, offering her a tired smile.

“Hey kid,” he murmured.

“Solo para despedirme, daddy,” she whispered from the doorway. Just saying bye.

“Social studies test today.” It wasn’t a question. Papa likely heard them talking, but, like Marie, Papa seemed to intuitively or inherently know most of what Laura was up to at school anyway, even though he, like Marie, rarely hovered or pressed her. But Laura secretly loved that Papa merely checked in every so often, sort of like Laura did when she listened to her Papa’s breathing at night sometimes. Todos dependían uno del otro.

“Sí,” she responded.

“Sorry I didn’t help you study,” he muttered.

“No te preocupes,” she said back. No worries.

“You’re gonna ace it, hija,” he said quietly, through a small grin.

“Gracias, papa,” she murmured, before there was a bit of silence. Laura exhaled, then determinedly walked further into the room, slipping her hand through his, gripping it tightly. He squeezed it back, and for a moment they simply stood there like that, the morning sounds dancing all around them. Their chorus.

“You’re gonna be late kid. And if you are, Marie’s gonna give me hell for it,” he finally said.

“Sí,” she murmured, before releasing her grip. “See you tonight.”

“Catch you later,” he muttered. Laura started reluctantly walking back toward the hall, before he added a “Laura… te amo.” Laura smiled once more at him, murmuring “Tú también, padre” and then turned to walk out of the door only to find Marie just hovering beyond the threshold, smiling quietly at Laura before handing the girl the hunter green backpack, keys in hand.

--

A few minutes later Marie sat behind the large wheel of the Bronco, pulling the monster up to the school. Laura had grinned slightly at Marie’s cursing on the way here. Laura knew that Marie hated driving the Bronco, mainly because it was antiguo and ruidoso. But at Marie’s subtle suggestion maybe they replace the car both Laura and Logan had rudely objected louder than when the Bronco did when it tried to make its way up steep hills, and, realizing she was outnumbered, Marie had given up the fight. At least, for now.

As Marie turned off the engine, they both simply sat in the parking lot momentarily, even though Laura knew she only had a couple of minutes to get to class on time. It was a tradicion they had started, Marie driving Laura and the two talking outside of school. Laura had her own language with her papa, and Papa seemed to have his own language with Marie, but Laura realized both the woman and the girl were still developing their own language, requiring both more words and time alone. This morning, though, one look from Marie seemed enough. Laura peered at Marie carefully, already knowing what she was likely to say. It always went the same way after noches ásperas. Rough nights.

“Laura,” Marie began, but then stopped, biting her lip as she stared at the girl. Laura looked up at the woman, taking in Marie’s hair escaping its bun, her creamy robe, the red pattern of the flannel underneath. The flecks of tiny age spots on her hands. The barely-there feet of crows gracing the corners of her eyes. The worried frown.

“Pay attention today,” Marie settled with, offering her a sharp look. “Got it? And don’t let those stupid boys rile you up.”

“Si, Marie,” she muttered. Laura’s hand was already on the handle before Marie spoke again.

“It’s gonna be ok, mi amada,” Marie murmured. Laura frowned a bit at this, but still nodded dutifully, before opening up the Bronco door and hopping out of the car. And as she did so, Laura didn’t need to look back to know Marie had dropped her head to one hand out of quiet despair, and Laura certainly didn’t struggle to understand that the last words Marie had murmured had not been so much for la niña as they were for la mujer.


--

Laura watched the way they moved, hollow bones and feathers darting upward, letting the draft take them for a long while before shifting their bodies to fly into the wind. Black, winged creatures diving, swooping for the same bit of food across an now-overcast sky. Laura sat staring out of the classroom window, watching the ravens and trying to find focus once more. Like with her kata, balance. She had kept one ear on the math lesson while her other senses wandered, a habit Laura had adopted this year in class when she was bored with the lesson. Math was math. It didn’t change. That’s what her father had always said, at least. The right answers easily made themselves known, the numbers illuminating, the formulas dutifully lifting themselves up in the air and rearranging into the right combinations. Math came easy to Laura, most subjects did, at least, when Laura was paying attention. But sometimes, well, most of the time, el animal would get restless from sitting in the same spot for too long, and this practice of focusing on the sounds and smells outside helped ground el animal. Escucha, she would tell it. Allí afuera! Naturaleza! Usually, it helped. And if that didn’t, tracing the tip of a spare pencil along the wood of her desk to keep her hands moving and occasionally swinging her leg just low enough so the sole of her Chuck Taylors just barely scuffed the tiled floor, too quiet for anyone else to hear, did the trick. Today though, nada. All of it, useless.

“And the value of X then, Miss Howlett?” Laura whipped her head back to stare at the frumpy mustache of Mr. Strobel, the math teacher.

“Setenta y dos,” Laura grumbled, and when un niño named Connor behind her snickered, Laura slowly turned to leer at him. The redhead frowned, even as Laura heard Mr. Strobel chastising her use of Spanish at the front of the room.

“English, Laura,” he was saying.

“Seventy-two,” she muttered, still keeping a predatory eye on Connor for several more seconds before turning around, forgetting him then and purposefully becoming lost once more in her senses as Mr. Strobel moved his attention off of Laura and back to the pre-algebra lesson.

The smack of someone chewing gum, the grating of a pencil between teeth. And then, the uptick in a heartbeat, from una chica named Mia that sat in the row to Laura’s right. Laura couldn’t help but glance over her, even Mr. Strobel droned on and on. Mia was in the habit of looking older than the rest of them, especially as the school year dragged on, with carefully straightened hair and new pechos that los niños couldn’t shut up about lately. She was clutching a pink envelope and Laura watched as she carefully extended a hand to gently tap the shoulder of the boy sitting in front of her. The boy, Liam, was popular but quiet, with dark, curly hair that Laura liked, and something inside of Laura twisted as Mia murmured a quiet “hey” to him. Then, as he turned, the corners of his lips tugged upward into a slight smile as she handed him the pink envelope. Nothing about this interaction should have been strange; sometimes kids passed notes, even in the age of smartphones, but Laura could practically feel the heat from the girl’s cheeks and now Laura was fixated on the way Mia’s heart was beating, how their fingers barely grazed one another’s as the mysterious pink envelope made its way to a new owner. Laura couldn’t help but stare at Mia still, even after Mia had finished the task of giving it to Liam, withdrawing her hand and blushing as he offered her one more knowing, coy smile. Amor.

Then Mia was noticing Laura was still staring at her and she threw Laura a strange look. To Mia, Laura was the quiet, petite girl who couldn’t be much in the way of competition because Laura most of the boys were scared of her, and, more importantly, Laura still looked like she was nine even though she was almost twelve. But then Laura realized it was not her but something on Laura’s desk Mia was staring at, and as Laura followed her gaze, Laura noticed that the pencil she had been idly running across the desk had cracked in half in her hand, the lower part of it deeply embedded into the wood from all her “light tracing.”

Joder! Or, as papa would put it: Fuck. In a moment of restless confusion, Laura had forgotten to mask her strength. Yet another mistake. Laura yanked the pencil out of the wood quickly, chucking the two pieces of it into her open bag by her desk, but Mia was still staring at the hole in Laura’s desk where the pencil had been, confusion and disgust fighting for center stage on her features. She must have also gasped in surprise, because Mr. Strobel was now rounding on them both.

“Something you would like to add to our conversations about place value, ladies?” Mr. Strobel was saying to them.

“No,” Laura snapped, sliding down once more into her chair. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. Was it all that hard? All she had to do was keep her cool. Marie and Papa had said, just make nice. Pretend a little. But, what they didn’t realize is, to do that, she had to hide from el animal.

Hide, hide, hide.

Buena suerte con eso, the animal hissed in her ear. Good luck with that.



---

A couple of hours later, Laura flopped down at the only empty table on the fringes of the bustling cafeteria, lunch bag, book and phone unceremoniously dumped on the table beside her. The cafeteria was small, and it always smelled like frying oil and spoiled milk. The yellow lighting made her skin look sallow, and her shoes always squeaked on the fading blue and red linoleum tiling. Laura sighed, pulling the tie out and letting her hair fall freely down her back, before casting a glance over at Cole’s table. Laura hadn’t been helping them with their game for the past month or so, and last week the boys who Laura only barely liked had banished her from their table because of it. At the time, Laura had been relieved to go. I’m bored with your stupid game anyway. It’s the same sequences and scenarios over and over again. But when she had shot Cole a look Laura noticed that he had a frown on his face, before offering her a meek shrug. Cole obviously had been overruled in this decision-making process, which was a shame, because Cole was the only one at the table whose company she enjoyed. He was kind and thoughtful, smart too, smarter than he let on, but as he sat there, helpless to his friends, Laura had offered up a low growl in response. Weak, weak. Won’t stand up for what he wants.

Esperanza’s words had again been in her head that day—I am one who leaves the table like a man, without putting back the chair or picking up the plate—as Laura’s face became one of pride and bravery as she quietly stood and stalked off to a different table. Now, here she sat, still mostly relieved but now a bit lonely. She could have sat with some of the niñas if she played nice, sometimes even choosing to do so, but her encounter with Mia today might have changed that for good. And as if on cue, Laura’s glance over to Mia’s table revealed them staring at her through hushed whispers and barely-contained giggling.

Laura sighed frustratingly, pulling the lunchbox closer to her chest for a moment, before releasing it and snagging her phone off the table, and she realized it flashed the telltale alerts of new text messages. Two new messages, one from Marie: Hope your day’s going well. Thinking of taking dinner down to the lake tonight. Laura smiled, quickly texting back: Great. Another from Rictor. No te he enterado en mucho tiempo. Esta bien? Haven’t heard from you in a while. You ok? Laura frowned slightly, scrolling upward to once more read his messages from earlier.

Cuéntame sobre eso. Tell me about it.

Again, Laura stared blankly at the phone. What did Rictor even want? Why was he even still texting her? The boys and the girls live in separate worlds. But men and women didn’t. Papa and Marie didn’t. Maybe Mia and Liam didn’t, either. She bit her lip, frowning at the phone, before putting it down, still not responding to Rictor, instead resolving on opening up her lunchbox. It was insulated, complete with water bottle and icepack. And inside, roasted chicken, a green bean salad, carrots and a homemade dressing, and sea-salted chocolate, perfectly crafted and thoughtful. Marie’s handiwork. It looked delicious, particularly with Laura always feeling on the verge, if not full-on hungry, but Laura found herself still frowning slightly at the carefully placed Tupperware and collapsible fork. Her papa didn’t pack her lunch like this. Papa rarely made lunch for her at all anymore. Suddenly, an image of the man from this morning filled her mind, absent eyes staring at the muted grey of the wall.

In Spanish my name means hope, Esperanza had said. In English it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting.

Sadness. Waiting. Este era su padre. Pero ella también se describió a sí misma. She and her papa, forever the same.

--

The test hadn’t gone well. By the early afternoon, Laura found herself listless, uncaring as the questions flowed over the page. Why did the year matter? Why did the people matter? They were all white men, stupidly and hopelessly searching for India only to reach dead ends. During the test the clock had been ticking so loudly on the wall, the melting snow steadily dripping so insistently in her ears she could barely stand it. Fill in the bubbles, scratch an answer down. Cooped up, caged inside. How was she going to make things alright? How was she going to help her papa? How was she going to find a best friend, someone who might love her? How was she going to fix it? How, how, how? El animal grappled with the same questions too, but its answer was always the same. Take what you want and don’t look back.

And then, finally, recess. The school grounds were still soggy and soft, but the soccer game commenced anyway. The girls had hung back, Laura the only one among them to join the boys, desperate to be outside and to start the game. The sky was still overcast, the ground was mud, the sweat poured, but it didn’t matter. Fresh air. Life.

In the game, Laura was favored. In the game, everyone who was on her team championed her and whoever was sorry enough to be on the opposing side hated her. It was all too easy. She always received the passes, she was always open for a shot. Sometimes, she would slow down just to hide her agility a little, but, today, she couldn’t be bothered to care.

Her sneakers sunk into the muddy grass as she ran. Her team powered down the field, Laura quicker than all of the rest, but just as she was to be passed the ball the redhead boy from earlier, Connor, came up alongside Laura, whipping out a leg, tripping her and finishing the job by shoving her crudely to the ground. Meirde. She knew it was going to happen, but she had been powerless to stop it. Sometimes the boys played dirty like this, knowing they were outmatched against her and resorting to more insidious tactics to try to keep up. She had even seen him brace for the hit, but the mud was too deep and she had slipped, hitting the ground hard, shoulder radiating with pain. She was back on her feet in half a second, though, and as she saw Connor trying to kick the ball back down the field, she growled wildly, easily catching up with him, shoving the kid roughly to the ground, but not as rough as he had shoved her. She then was pivoting on the spot and driving the ball up with her foot, effortlessly tossing it into the goal from halfway down, all with whistles, protests and jeers humming in the background. The game unraveled as their gym coach serving as referee finally reach the field, some of the kids making their way up from the sidelines.

Connor had been helped up, but the boy was still seething. “You’re a fucking cheat!” he yelled, even as the gym coach had started to pull he and Laura apart.

“Now, now, come on, guys,” the middle-aged coach was saying, but then he was interrupted by Connor, who had stopped struggling and was instead now openly gaping at Laura. The coach followed Connor’s stare, and his eyes and about a dozen others watched as what should have been a nasty welt Laura’s shoulder quickly disappear, the cuts on her face stitching themselves up too. The coach only blinked at what he had seen, but Connor had locked eyes once more with Laura, sneering.

“Freak,” he spat, and she swore she heard the murmurings of the word “mutant” from some of the older kids on the wind. Laura’s face contorted into a growl as el animal snarled, thrashing its head in protest. She whipped her head back to the coach, only to see the man backing up a couple of paces from her. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. Betrayal.

Maybe the world was hopeless. Maybe the world was sad. But it was also alive, vibrant and ruthless as its pulse beat loudly, practically begging for Laura to wrap her jaw around it. If her papa was waiting, she would not. She would take what she wanted, when she wanted, right now. Esperanza’s words were now clear and loud in her head. I have begun my own quiet war. Simple. Sure. Laura would start her own war, but it would be far from quiet.

“Go back to fucking Mexico,” Connor heckled.

Laura snarled loudly, quickly stalking forward to the boy, summoning all of her strength as she threw the first punch.

Chapter 2: Rogue


It was quiet in the house, the morning light falling softly onto the canvas as Marie softly dipped the brush into the glass of water. The room was small, more of an alcove than anything, but it had been a little place that Logan had purposefully remodeled for Marie. It had a small window, a sitting chair, but most importantly an easel and a little writer’s desk, mason jars filled with paintbrushes and fountain pens. Classic ink-drawn National Geographic sketches of egrets and octopi and Spartina grass were framed on the walls. A bookshelf, of course, with some of Marie’s favorite titles she had begun collecting secondhand once more for herself, most of them from Kay’s antique shop, although there was still a decent little used bookstore in town Marie occasionally perused for newer titles. In the end though, it was a space meant for her, in a house that was otherwise full of markings of the two others in her life.

It was a habit they had developed. Logan woke to see Laura off or to take her if he was feeling up to it, and then he would often sleep the morning away. It was a deep, heavy sleep too, sleep he wasn’t getting in the middle of the night. Something about the ease of morning helped, Marie thought. She sometimes would lay down beside him, but lately, she was feeling antsy during the mornings, and that, she assumed, was what had led to this.

She didn’t come by painting naturally. She had no terms for the techniques or the mediums she had chosen, and she was only able to summon the most colloquial words like “watercolor” and “pastels” when she had purchased the materials. But she hadn’t felt compelled to read lately. The last book she had read, The Year of Magical Thinking, had been about grief and it had deeply disturbed her, and she felt no inclination to pick up another anytime soon. Of course, there had been a lot of cooking, cleaning, helping finish the lake house, but it still wasn’t enough. Perhaps what she needed was to simply create. Make something out of nothing. Creation was a form of control, and control was something Marie was in short supply of these days. Painting helped.

Running the wet bristles in the dry black, the paint began pooling at the tip of her brush. Marie then drew the brush carefully and deliberately across the blank surface, a dark grey line centered horizontally across the white canvas. One large, sooty stroke. She stared at it for a moment, blinking. Why had she done that? She had had no plan in mind, no real intention other than to be abstract, but a black line? Was she trying to depict a horizon? A plateau? A division of some kind? Shoreline. Timeline. Lifeline. Flatlined. She shook that last thought from her head. No, not that.

It was the hitch in his breath before the cough that had woken her. She had been sleeping by his side for five months now after almost three years apart, but it had taken her a significant amount of time to subconsciously inventory every type of strangled breath, every hint and sign of trauma. The sharp inhale, he gasping for oxygen that just wasn’t there, and she was startled awake before she even realized fully what was happening. Then he was coughing violently, sitting up as his muscles convulsed and shuddered throughout his beautiful body in the dark, and she could do nothing during the worst of it but rest a quiet hand on his arm. I’m here, she told him silently. You’re safe. Logan hated it when she made a big fuss, and it wasn’t likely to do any good anyway. This time though, it was worse, so much worse, and she couldn’t help but suck in a breath as she witnessed his claws spring free involuntarily. That reflex was typically reserved for the worst kind of pain he could feel.

Finally, the fit slowly dissolved, each cough lasting a little less, and she willed herself to move once more, walking quietly to the bathroom and running a washcloth under warm water before coming back over to him. His lungs still struggled to work. On his face, a weariness typically reminiscent of the dead. She was silent as she sat back down on the bed next to him, before gently running the dampened washcloth over his forehead and then down lightly to his mouth, wiping away the spatter of blood that just barely graced his bottom lip. His eyes were closed as he shuddered, wincing in pain as she gently brought the washcloth down to his hands, his poor hands, where the claws had once again done their damage. Whenever they met air now, for however short of a time they were out, the wounds they left behind would take half a day to heal. The pain, she realized, must be excruciating.

“Just breathe, sugar,” she finally murmured.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she heard him gruffly whisper in the dark, and she realized he was tightly holding her wrist that clutched the washcloth. She blinked once, keeping tears at bay, and willed her voice not to shake.

“Yes, you can. You have to,” she said, and suddenly he was angry, practically growling as he shoved the washcloth aside, brushing past her and stumbling into the bathroom, flicking on the light and the tap to run water over his battered hands before bringing them up to run them over his face.

“Sugar,” she could barely breathe as she instinctively stood.

“Just…. stop Marie,” he snarled. Not for the first time, when he got like this he reminded her of a wounded animal that found himself ensnared in a trap. Confused and hurt and mad as hell, so much so he might snap at you, even if you were only trying to help him free.

She still didn’t back down. She approached more gently, coming to quietly stand beside him, as he indignantly stared into the mirror, either hand resting on the bathroom counter. She glanced up at their reflections and found both of them, slightly weathered and much more tired, staring back.

It was only then that she touched him again, moving to place a soft hand on his broad, strong back, and she felt him practically flinch under her caress, tensing up.

“Stop,” she said, voice quiet but firm.

“Stop what?” he growled.

“Stop pulling back from me,” she said carefully, and again she ran a hand deliberately down his arm. He only grumbled a bit stubbornly in response this time, but now let her lean her head on his chest as she still cradled his hand.

She stayed there for a long time, listening to the steady thud of his chest, even while she brought the washcloth back up to his palm, gently cleaning his wounds methodically, and after applying antibiotic ointment, slowly and lightly soothing the numbing balm into his knuckles. He was already on antibiotics to fight off infections that might make their way into his blood stream, but this practice was a ritual now, once he had finally let her do it. You’re hurt, you’re mourning, and I acknowledge that. I still love you. At least, that was what she hoped she was saying.

“Sunseeker,” he barely murmured after a bit of time.

“What?” she asked quietly.

“Charles’ last words,” he said, as she finished drying his hands lightly from the balm and he took a step back looking at her before gently stroking a strand of platinum hair. “I was trying to buy a boat. To get him away from people. His last words were about the boat.”

Marie blinked once, and this time she couldn’t help the hot tear that fell down her cheek.

“You did all you could,” she murmured, but she could see his vision unfocus, and he was lost somewhere in his own memories, a distance cropping up once more between them. It was times like this that were the worst. What had Laura called them? Malas Noches. Bad nights.

Marie frowned slightly as her memories from last night subsided, considering the painting once more. Before she even realized what she was doing, she moved to add a deep blue to the grey line, settling on making it water. Peaceful, cool, steady water, maybe the surface of the lake. Better. Much better. Marie bit her lip as she took in her handiwork, suddenly compelled to add a tiny sailboat, just balancing on the line between dark and light. The surface. The division between reality and not. Between her life and his. Bracing for the storm? Alone…or together? Somehow in between? Her thoughts drifted as she added tendrils, webs forming underneath the surface, deep and down and sinking…

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard him clear his throat intentionally. She swiveled back around in her chair to look at him. He had showered, and he smelled clean and looked clean and seemed so different from the lost man she had caught a glimpse of in the middle of the night. Jeans. A wifebeater. A blue button down, still unbuttoned. His chest, forever muscular on display through it. Knuckles finally healed again too, she noticed as he reached up to take a sip of coffee from the I’d Rather Be in Canada mug he held in his hand. He’d always sport the scars, but open wounds on Logan had begun to scare Marie, especially after reading Didion’s book. Terms like full body infection from its pages were now stamped across her mind. Terms suggesting illnesses that he didn’t have, but could eventually get. Terms she was beginning to fear. Once more, she shook her head, willing herself back to the present. Back to the here and the now.

“How long have you been watching me?” she asked, summoning a small smile onto her face as he quietly padded over in her direction, studying the painting behind her. As she noticed his gaze settling on the thick, black line, now with the slightest hint of blue, she couldn’t help but blush a bit as she turned to look at it too.

“It’s not very good. And it’s not done yet,” she muttered.

“It’s beautiful… but a little lonely, eh?” he asked, through another sip of coffee. She knew he had noticed the boat, both of them maybe understanding that its presence on the canvas after their conversation last night about Charles’s final words was no coincidence.

“Perhaps,” Marie murmured, before turning back to him.

“Thinking about taking a couple small jobs today,” he said into his mug. Marie looked up to him sharply once more, but knew now to hold her tongue before she protested. It was delicate, this dance. There were only so many things they could admit, own up to at once. They were always honest with each other, always would be, but some topics came with a heftier price tag than others lately. Marie’s anxiety over Logan’s ability to keep his physically demanding job was one of them. Sure, in the daylight he didn’t seem all that different, and beyond the telltale limp he could sand, drill, saw and patch like the rest of them. But she knew, just how the malas noches went sometimes, that it took a toll.

“What sort of jobs?” she asked carefully.

“The kind that pay,” he said flatly, intentionally avoiding her question. He had taken up a spot in the arm chair now, only a few feet across from her. Marie bit her lip slightly, considering this. He didn’t really have a point. They didn’t have endless amounts of money, that was for certain, but the profits from almost every job she had taken over the last few years since she had lost him after Westchester had been put into a private savings account, and she had spent practically nothing in that time, drifting from place to place as she had. Combined with what Logan had saved, it had been enough to afford this house, plus enough for them to live off of fairly comfortably for the next couple of years, if they played their cards right.

“Besides, this town needs all the help it can get,” he said through a mild grin, trying to trend to the lighter side of conversation once more. Marie offered another small smile back in his direction.

“I love you baby but I think it still probably somehow managed before you showed up,” she teased, and Logan snorted a bit in response.

“Yeah, maybe. Still a lot of shit that needs fixin’ though,” he said. Marie sighed. Fixing things that were broken. Another type of control. She let it go then, turning around to look at the picture once more before setting the brush in the water with finality. The rest could wait.

“I’m thinking of going into town too. To see Kay,” she said, before peeling off the still-dry oversized sweatshirt she had been wearing as a smock and hanging it on the hook by the door. Now she was only in a sheer tank top, underwear, and wool socks.

“Yeah?” he murmured, eyes all over her.

“Yeah,” she said, turning back around to face him, a coy smile on her mouth as she studied him once more. The grey in his beard, still shaved into his signature look. Hair just a tad bit too long, looking a bit more like the Logan she had met so long ago, the smug, immortal man in the leather jacket, swinging his leg off the bike casually in front of the mansion after she had run out there like a sorry, desperate sap to greet him.

Hey, kid.

Quit calling me that. I’m nineteen years old. I’m not a kid.

Yeah, right.

It must have been the look on her face, because something in his eyes had moved from playful to predatory.

“C’mere,” he practically growled, setting down his coffee on the end table as he did so. She smirked, taking her time as she walked the handful of paces to where he sat and sultrily moved over him, simply straddling his waist for a moment. She finally began running a hand through his hair as he intuitively leaned his head into her touch.

“You want me to drop you off?” he was lazily murmuring, practically purring as her fingers idly stroked his temple. Then her lips were gently pressing kisses down the side of his face, working their way down his jaw, the hair coarser there, the feeling of it rough and good on her lips. Meanwhile, she could feel his hands on her waist, lingering possessively on either side of her ribs, just barely grazing her breasts.

“I think I wanna walk,” she mumbled, as his thumbs lazily traveled over her nipples through her shirt. At her comment, though, he stiffened a bit, pulling away a little and frowning.

“By yourself?” he asked. Suddenly, Marie was frowning a little too. She knew he didn’t like when she walked alone. It was a couple of miles in good weather. The snow was melting but it wasn’t gone yet and the path was tricky to manage, even if you knew where you were headed.

“You forget that’s how I spent nearly the last three years of my life,” she murmured, tossing a bit of dark humor his way. “And if you’re gonna work anyway and I have to be alone, I’d rather do something with myself. Clear my head,” she said through a light smile. She felt his grip on her tighten.

“You know not to wander off too far, right? And take a god damn cell phone with you this time,” he grumbled. Then she was smirking again, adoring the worried little look on the hardened man’s face.

“Don’t wander off?” she joked, before leaning in again, lips hovering just beyond his ear. “So responsible and straight-laced nowadays, aren’t we, cowboy?” she joked, before kissing his neck then sucking on his earlobe slightly. She could feel him balking at her teasing before growling gently, grabbing her ass just for good measure as she reached for his chest, snaking her hands underneath his button-down.

“Yer askin’ for it,” he grumbled.

“I thought you were going to work,” she teased, before he pulled her in for a rough and savage kiss.


--

Walking into town, Marie was grateful for the sun on her face and the last of the lingering snow melting under her hiking boots. It was a gorgeous afternoon, the sky a brilliant, wild blue, the asphalt roads wet and gleaming black. She breathed deeply, the cold air biting, but not impossible like it had been for the past few months. Her bottom lip was stinging in that good sort of hurt, still tender from where his teeth had nipped it, her skin still flushed from the way his hands had held her down, her veins still praising the song of him within her.

Rising up and down on him, she slick and wet and dripping as she moved.

They always found their way back to each other after rough nights, and usually then the sex was slower, but none the gentler. Slower, and yet somehow more intense.

Her arching up off of him as she came, the low growl in his voice. Then him easily taking them both to the floor, the new wooden floorboards hard and cold underneath her naked back as he drove into her, hard and deep, so entirely desperate to show her something…what?

She knew he was apologizing for last night. He always did even if he didn’t need to. But it was more than that. What had it been?

Pulling out right before he came, urgently needing to see him on her, the pearly white of his seed painting her torso, shimmering brightly in the late morning light. These were white, clean lines instead of the sooty black she had painted onto the canvas. After he was through he lazily ran his hands over her, rubbing it in to her skin of her belly, even lapping up the taste of himself here and there, before idly running a finger along her navel, offering her the taste of him.

She remembered the twinkle in his clear hazel eyes as she took his finger into her warm, hot mouth, all of him man and not the slightest hint of animal, as he paid the closest attention to her care. And he hadn’t even been done with her yet…

In the shower, her hands scrambled for purchase, screamed his name as he had her up against the tiled wall. She had remembered that tile, remembered picking out the color: eggshell. The name of the color was in her mind as he deliberately and roughly shoved his entire length into her once more, the warm, steady water beating down on them both. It had been take all of me baby and god I’m gonna come sugar and let me watch you darlin’ and more! and fuck! and god! and oh!

As Marie turned the last corner of the drive and made her way onto one of the fringe streets of town, her face was now burning hot, and she found herself unzipping her coat, shedding it and tying it around her waist, grinning. They weren’t young anymore, not by a long shot, but god how good it still felt to lose herself in him. It felt right, sturdy, even as her legs throbbed and her head felt dizzy. He had barely made it into his truck without her attacking him once more, and as he set out she had waved a small goodbye, a goofy smirk on his face, the night before, the awful, awful night before, almost forgotten.

Meanwhile, smaller houses and buildings began populating the side of the street as she walked her way into the north side of town. Hay River was sleepy today, the lunch crowd having died down and the streets practically empty. As she caught a glimpse of the telltale building of Kay’s shop, and the apartment still above it, Marie’s heart thudded a bit heavier with nostalgia. As much as she loved the beauty and space the lake house offered them all, part of her would always secretly adore the little snug apartment above Kay’s shop. It had been the start of a new life, a life shared. Marie’s mood was warmer now, much better with the exercise and fresh air, especially coming off the late morning of lovemaking, and she smiled brightly as she swung open the door to Kay’s antique store.

“Xahto, Kay,” Marie said, the shop bell ringing as the door swung shut once more.

“Xahto, dear,” Kay said, looking up from dusting a large oil lamp. The shop was empty—it typically was this time of day— and Marie was thankful for it. The shop was also warmer, the sunlight through the windows heating up the little place and Marie inhaled in a quiet bliss. Everything was where it should be, but Marie noticed Kay’s selection of records, books and DVDs had considerably thinned, most likely due to Logan, Marie and Laura’s recent purchases.

“We’ll have to get you some more entertainment inventory,” Marie smiled, before dutifully plucking a spare dust cloth from the box on the counter and going over to Kay to help with another lamp.

“The point, my dear, is to sell things,” she said through a smile, before briefly setting down her own cloth and placing a wrinkled hand adorned with several sterling silver rings, some of them flecked with topaz, on Marie’s own. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t expect you.” Marie smiled back, clutching Kay’s hand momentarily. Marie liked almost everything about the older woman, and they tried as much as possible to keep in contact with her, despite the ending of their lease. Logan especially seemed to be adamant on looking after Kay’s wellbeing, and even though Marie sensed Kay had no problem being alone, Logan had been trying to find ways to include her. Maybe we should, you know, have her over for dinner one night, he had said a few days ago. Marie had smiled, loving the cliché domesticity of his request. I just…she’s all alone, you know?

“Just wanted some company for a while,” Marie finally settled on as a response.

“Nághaye is working today?” Kay asked, mildly frowning at the concept.

“Yes. He insists,” Marie said waving her hand around exasperatedly in the air as the sun reflected off the dust particles, just as an electric boiler started to whistle. The older woman sighed, setting down the cloth and moving back to the counter to take the boiler off its platform.

“A stubborn one, that man,” Kay murmured as she poured the hot water into a pot. “Tea?” she added. Marie nodded as Kay began preparing two cups, pouring a little sugar into each.

“Yes, he is stubborn. Prideful too,” she said a bit tiredly, stopping her idle polishing of the lamp momentarily, lost for a moment in thought.

“And how are you, my dear?” Kay asked, the shuffle of the older woman’s house shoes, which she always wore around the shop, shuffling back over the dusty floorboards as she offered Marie the warm cup.

“Oh, you know…good,” she muttered, taking the mug from Kay and smiling politely once more, although Marie couldn’t help but find her eyes cast downward to stare a cardboard box of discarded forty-fives.

“And honestly?” Kay asked carefully, a knowing look on display through her reading glasses. Marie took a sip of the tea, savoring the taste on her tongue, as she considered this.

How did she feel this morning? Many things. Anxious over Logan’s health, worried about Laura fitting in at school, sated after the shower she had shared this morning with Logan, but also…

“Sort of bored, actually, especially now that we’re done with the house,” she went with, through a guilty grin at Kay. Kay smirked back at that.

“Oh, so you only come to see me because you’re bored?” she teased.

“Oh, no. No. It’s just…” Marie stammered, before Kay put a gentle hand to Marie’s arm once more.

“Kidding, dear. And bored…yes. That makes sense. You didn’t honestly believe that happily ever after would take up all of your time, day in and day out, did you?” Kay grinned. Marie blushed, looking up to her bashfully. Kay’s remark should have been an almost cynical quip, but Marie knew better than to read into it as such. There was an odd note of truth in Kay’s voice and maybe sadness too, and Marie realized Kay was right. Marie was happy, happier than she had been in years, but…but.

“No. I mean, I am happy though, taking care of them,” she said honestly. Kay nodded.

“They need you,” she said, as if it were a truth as plain and simple as the fact that the sun rose and set each day.

“Yes,” Marie murmured.

“But…” Kay pressed. Marie sighed.

“I like to keep busy. Like, before this. I was always…moving. It was almost a compulsion, you know? I never settled down very long in one place, constantly working, searching. It’s just… a shift…settling from that life to this,” Marie finished lamely.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about that,” Kay said sincerely through her steaming cup. And then Marie’s phone was ringing in her bag she had left by the door, and, looking up, she threw Kay an apologetic glance, and Kay only smiled as Marie went to fetch it. On the lock screen, the number Marie had saved as LAURA’S SCHOOL – PROBABLY NANCY illuminated, and Rogue bit her lip. Shit. She reluctantly pressed the button to take the call.

“Hello?” Marie asked meekly.

“Ms. D’Ancanto?” the voice asked.

“Hi Nancy,” Marie said, even as her gut tightened. Nancy was the school’s part-time secretary. And Rogue was now on a first-name basis with her.

“We tried reaching Mr. Howlett, but we think is phone is off,” Nancy said. Their guess was probably not far off the mark. Logan often turned his phone on silent when he was on a job, only checking it every thirty minutes or so, particularly if he was in the middle of an especially tricky project. Marie sighed, bracing for news like one might brace for a storm, their tiny boat once more out on the open, floating from the deep blue into the rough waters of stormy grey.

“What happened?” she asked.



--

Marie could only stare at her phone a little as she hung up, jaw hanging open a bit in shock. Soccer game. Another fistfight. Injuries that had suddenly disappeared. Mrs. Gundalson needs to speak with you immediately.

They know.

“Yes,” Kay was saying. Marie whipped her head up from her smart phone, realizing she must have spoken that last thought out loud. They know. She looked closely at Kay, and there it was, the same knowledge, maybe from all along.

“Wait, you know?!” Marie couldn’t help but blurt out, and then immediately cursed herself for opening her big mouth. Hell. Shitfire. Logan was gonna gut them both. Laura for outing herself at school and Rogue for spilling the beans to Kay. They were on fucking fire today. Meanwhile, Kay only shrugged her shoulders, as if they were discussing Laura’s favorite color or what book she liked best.

“Nághaye’s essence is wild. The sekui too. They sense the world differently. I only assumed. Yeh shughu tqit'a da,” she finished. Marie had heard Kay use this phrase before, as it was one of Kay’s favorites. One night, Marie had looked it up, and she knew roughly it translated to It’s the way it is. And then Kay was speaking quietly once more.

“You too, my dear,” she murmured knowingly into her tea cup. Marie whipped her gaze up to the older woman once more, both sets of brown eyes meeting.

“How can you possibly know that?” Marie barely whispered.

“Honestly, dear? It’s in your movements. You are careful, so careful, not to touch others when you are not thinking about it. Each touch you give is deliberate, so well thought-out. Always in your head, you are. Except for with Nághaye. With him you share the world. As Laura keeps telling me: Amor,” she said simply, through a little grin. Marie was blushing five shades of crimson now, even if Kay’s words were not meant to embarrass her. A wild anxiety was now coursing through Marie as she realized what this knowledge might mean to others.

“We’re not here to hurt anybody,” she whispered carefully, despite Kay’s continued warmth and open demeanor. Too many memories of that other time. Hell, there were too many memories from this time.

“Of course not,” Kay said softly.

“We just want peace,” Marie found herself barely murmuring. At this, Kay looked at her thoughtfully.

“And have you found it?” she asked.

“What?” Marie questioned.

“Peace, dear?” Kay asked. Marie only blinked at her, eyes wide, before her phone illuminated once more. She had texted Logan as soon as she had hung up with Nancy, and now he was texting her back. Quicker than she would have thought.

Across town. Pick you up? the text read. Quickly, she responded.

No. I’ll walk. Only two blocks. We’ll probably get there the same time. Then Marie found herself gathering her things, gently walking the cup back over to Kay’s counter before staring intently at the woman once more.

“I’m not sure what this is going to mean, but if you could keep our secret, at least for now, although I’m not sure how much a secret it even is anymore….” She trailed off hopelessly.

“Of course,” she said through a knowing smile.

“And Kay…if you’ve known from the beginning, thank you,” Marie murmured.

“For what, my dear?”

“For seeing our humanity,” Marie said simply, hand tightening around the strap of her bag. Kay only nodded knowingly, and Rogue smiled at her once more before pushing open the door to the shop and walking back out into the cold.



--

Marie walked in through the double doors of the middle school to find Logan sitting on a line of benches in the hall, waiting for her. It was an ironic place for him to take a seat, because on the more-than-few occasions Laura had gotten into scuffles at school, Marie had usually found her sitting in the same spot Logan was now, the same angered look on her face and the same brow cocked in a quiet loathing. They looked so much like each other sometimes it was practically laughable. This time, however, Laura was nowhere to be found. Something’s different. Meanwhile, upon seeing Marie, Logan immediately stood.

“They know,” she hurriedly whispered.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“What do we do?” she asked, eyes wide.

“We see what they say. We’ll pull her out of here if we have to,” he said, a little too bitterly.

“Would it even make a difference?” she had just began asking, before Nancy came out through the office door.

“Mr Howlett? Oh, and Ms. D’Ancanto,” Nancy said. On any normal day, Marie liked the secretary. She always wore apple red cardigans and had a romance novel propped open at her desk, despite the fact she worked at a middle school, whenever Marie had to come into speak with Mrs. Gundalson. Now though, Nancy seemed as nervous as they were. As the woman ushered them inside the administrative offices and to the left to the principal’s, a cynical thought passed through Marie’s head and she wondered if Nancy was nervous because she realized she was in the presence of a mutant family, but Rogue immediately banished the thought. Don’t be hateful, she could practically hear her mother lecture her in her own head.

Mrs. Gundalson, the principal, wasn’t as near as coquettish. She had a careful, even look on her features as she opened the door and invited both Marie and Logan inside. Gundalson was a stout woman, typically stern but always fair, black hair usually worn up in a tight bun. Marie wasn’t sure how anyone could run a middle school for as long as she had, even after teaching at Xavier’s all those years. For one thing, public school was different. Sure, Gundalson didn’t have to deal with mutant students potentially setting parts of the classroom on fire or mentally reading her thoughts, but at the rate they were going with unevenly matched fistfights and muddy soccer games, Marie was sure the woman’s headache was still big enough. Still though, Marie liked Mrs. Gundalson because the woman didn’t take anyone’s shit. Not from the boys who sometimes tried to bully Laura, but also not from Laura herself. She also didn’t seem to be afraid of Logan and his cagey, intimidating demeanor in the slightest, and this is what had won Marie over for good. Conversely, Marie also knew Logan often felt slightly threatened by Mrs. Gundalson’s presence. Two alphas in the same room. In many ways, they were evenly matched. Both strong, foreboding personalities. Both willing to make sacrifices where they needed to. Both fiercely protective. Gundalson wasn’t a feral mutant, as far as Marie knew, but she might as well have been.

“Please sit, Mr. Howlett. Ms. D’Acanto,” the principal said, gesturing to the two open seats on the side of her desk closet to the door. The office was clean and in ship shape, a sturdy clock on the far side and three framed degrees from the University of Calgary, a PhD among them, Rogue noticed, on the wall behind her. The walls were a nautical blue, and the bold colors suited the woman. Marie also noticed as Mrs. Gundalson closed the door behind her, still Laura was nowhere to be found. Had they let her just resume classes? That didn’t seem normal for them, especially after the knock-down, drag-out fight Nancy had described on the phone. And yet…

Marie glanced at Logan, dying to know what he was thinking. His button down sleeves were rolled up on his forearms and she could tell his muscles were tense, but that was about it. He was stone still, quiet as they came, and no matter how this thing went Marie realized she would be breaking open the decent bottle of whiskey tonight for both of them.

“So… I’m under the impression from our gym coach that Laura punched another boy,” the woman said curtly.

“Yeah, and?” Logan replied gruffly, crossing his arms as he did so. Marie knew he did this when Logan detected a threat, but was in a public space where he couldn’t do anything about it.

“And also that she didn’t start it. The boy did, and it seems Laura suffered a few nasty wounds too. That she immediately healed from.” Mrs. Gundalson said, without pretense.

“So?” Logan asked immaturely, and Marie shot Logan a look. He only offered a hmmf in response. Gundalson watched this little tête-à-tête between them, before clearing her throat, her look softening somewhat.

“Mr. Howlett, I’ll remind you I wasn’t born yesterday. And we here at Princess Alexandria take our students’ safety very seriously, and we like to consider Laura one of our own, like all the rest. So, if Laura’s a mutant, it would have been information we would have benefited from knowing at the beginning of the year.” Logan’s eyes widened, his guard dropping momentarily as he directly looked at Marie now for assistance instead of just stealing a glance her way. It wasn’t a surprising way to react. The woman’s veracity and her matter-of-factness had surprised Rogue and Logan both.

“So…she is a mutant. Yes?” Mrs. Gundalson asked. Logan glanced back over to Marie, and she gave him a defeated look and a slight shrug of her shoulders. Logan cleared his throat, turning back to the principal.

“Enrolling her as such… That didn’t feel like the safe thing to do at the time,” Logan said carefully, eyes still a bit narrow in suspicion.

“You know that we have anti-discrimination laws here. Plans in place to help genetically diverse students. All public schools in Canada do. Or did…when we needed them…” Gundalson trailed off.

“So you’re not kicking her out?” Logan asked, looking surprised.

“Excuse me? No. No. Of course not. We had dozens of mutants in our school district, back when…. Well, back when there were…”

“When there were more of us?” Marie finally spoke up, eyes focused intently on the older woman across the desk. Now, both Logan and Gundalson looked at her like she had suddenly decided to light the desk on fire, and then she could feel Logan grabbing Marie’s thigh firmly before Marie deliberately sloughed it off. Something about Kay’s acceptance perhaps, or the fact that Transigen was now finally dissembled in Canada, or perhaps just because she had witnessed so much of Laura’s fiery bravery in the past few months one of those things or all of them perhaps had given her courage for that particular quip. Rogue looked back up to Logan, staring into those same hazel eyes that, only a few hours ago had been brightly consumed with lust as he licked her body clean. They already know, so why not be honest? she hoped she was communicating to him. Meanwhile, Gundalson had regained her composure, now looking a little more knowingly and with more respect to Logan and Rogue both.

“We’re only here to help Laura,” she finally said calmly and simply. Logan still seemed tongue-tied, so Marie spoke up once more.

“Uh…Mrs. Gundalson, you mentioned there were… plans… of some sort that could be put in place?” Rogue asked, breaking the tension between the two.

“Well, an IEP for one,” the principal said.

“IEP?” Logan asked quizzically.

“Yes. Sorry. Individualized Education Plan. A personalized plan tailored to Laura’s needs.” The woman now had Marie’s full attention as she considered deeply what Gundalson was saying, The fact of the matter was that, in this area of education, both Logan and Rogue were largely ignorant. She knew they were both thinking back to Westchester, which was a private school only for mutants. Marie didn’t have the foggiest as to how public schools chose to assimilate and offer assistance to mutant children. If anything, she just assumed they didn’t or couldn’t. A privileged and altogether false assumption, if there ever was one, Marie realized quietly.

“Needs? How would you even know what she needs?” Logan was saying and Marie scowled at him once more. Logan was taking this a lot harder than Rogue was, maybe for good reason. Gundalson, too, seemed to sense this and Marie could tell she was choosing her next words very, very carefully.

“I don’t pretend to completely understand Laura, Mr. Howlett. And your insinuations are partially right in the fact that we are rusty. We haven’t seen a mutant child in this school for several years. Just over seven, in fact. And, other than the fact that Laura can heal— if that is really the case like this afternoon suggested— you’re right that I do not know exactly what the rest of her abilities regarding her mutation are and I won’t know unless you choose to disclose them to me. But I have been watching Laura all year, and I may have an idea or two of what might help in facilitating her learning, if you allow me.”

“Like what?” Marie was surprised to find Logan asking.

“I could see a plan including…more physical space. Extra recess time, a chance be outside to let out some of her physical… frustrations.” Marie appreciated this woman more and more. She used the correct terms, not the old euphemisms or slurs most people found themselves relying on. Abilities regarding her mutation instead of gifts or powers. Gundalson was careful, clinical, and most importantly respectful. But if Marie could see inside Logan’s mind, and goodness knows she had in the past, he was probably thinking the same thing she was right now. Gundalson was one woman. And Logan and Laura and Rogue knew the school was full of people who were merely on a spectrum of tolerance, if at all, some welcoming and some not. Logan had told Rogue early on that Laura had been on the receiving end of several racist slurs in the past. How was the children’s knowledge of her mutation going to make that any better?

“Laura’s already pushed around at school though…ostracized. How is flagging her as more different going to help with that?” Rogue offered, as she felt Logan cock a brow in her direction.

“Well for one thing it’s confidential as far as the paperwork is concerned. No other child or family gets to read her file. That being said… bullying happens. We try to prevent it, but let me remind you both that it seems Laura made an intentional choice today, in some form or another, to show the other children what she could do. Maybe, in a way, she wanted someone to know. And the fact is we can’t take that back. But we can protect Laura better, if we understand what she is capable of, if you choose to let her stay here.”

It all seemed so simple, but Marie knew what memory Logan was, had to be, summoning forward right now. It was the one from before the jump, the one of Logan carrying an unconscious girl with an ugly M scrawled onto her face as he rushed down the internment camp away from hate, away from intolerance, away from them. But how much longer could they run? They weren’t young. Logan was sick. Laura needed a place to call home. And now wasn’t then. Rogue was surprised to see that Logan began speaking first, although she could tell it was taking all he had to relinquish, to come to the same acceptance of the knowledge Marie herself had just arrived at.

“She’s a feral. So, that means she… uh…”

“She has heightened senses,” Marie found herself murmuring, trying to help out.

“Uh, yeah. That’s right,” Logan said, shooting Rogue an appreciative look for her nudge as he did so, before continuing on. “She can see in the dark. She can smell, hear…everything,” Logan said through a bit of a tired exhale and closed eyes. Rogue noticed Mrs. Gundalson studied this, and then the principal was looking up at Marie, and Marie could only smile faintly. Then Logan was talking again.

“She reacts naturally, ahh I mean more instinctively, to things she feels are threats. That’s why she keeps clocking kids, I think. She’s stronger than most too, so that’s why she was able to give that kid a concussion.” Gundalson did a good job of looking impassive, and Marie was surprises to find her sighing a bit after Logan was finished.

“This explains… a lot. So much. Alright. And she can heal in seconds, from any wound?”

“Yes,” Logan said, and they watched as the principal was now taking steady, even notes on a piece of paper.

“Anything else?”

Logan looked to Marie, and Marie knew her eyes had gone wide once more. There was no way they could tell her about the adamanitum. It was the result of experimentation, obviously no sort of mutation produced that, and unless they wanted to receive a call from child protective services, forged identities or no, they had to refrain from telling the whole truth. Some things, regrettably, just couldn’t be said.

“No,” Logan lied quietly, before looking down at his boots.



--

Marie quietly trailed behind Logan as they made their way out to the parked Bronco. Marie had been right that Laura had never been pulled out of class after the skirmish, and now that school was almost over, the plan was to wait here until the proverbial bell rang and finally take Laura home. Logan slammed the car door shut behind him, sighing heavily, as Marie rubbed her eyes, the lack of sleep now finally catching up with her. She should have slept the morning away with Logan when she had the chance.

“Shit,” she finally said, now taking to blankly staring out of the Bronco’s front windshield.

“Yeah,” Logan murmured. “Cat’s out of the bag.”

“Laura’s gonna kill us for telling on her,” she said, bringing a hand to her head once more. At this, Marie was surprised to hear Logan scoff.

“Hey, she’s the one that put us in this situation. Kid had her chance. She went off testin’ those fuckers and got herself shoved to the ground, what did she think was gonna happen?” Marie sensed a new steeliness in his voice, and even though the anger wasn’t directed at her, she felt her own body tensing regardless.

“It’s not all her fault,” she began, before he interrupted her.

“—I’ve told her a thousand fucking times. She’s gotta learn to control it. Sure, she’s born with this thing inside her, but she still makes choices, Marie. And now she gets to walk around with this IEP like it’s some kind of fucking golden ticket...” he trailed off, but she could tell his anger was still rising.

“What do you mean ‘golden ticket’?” Marie asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Do you think I ever caught a break like that? Or hell, how about you? It’s just…I’m startin’ to think it’s too good to be true. ‘Genetically diverse student population’ my ass. They’ll find a reason to turn on her. They always do. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. Fuck. Shoulda left and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck on the way out while I still had the chance. The problem is I’m too old and tired for this shit,” he spat, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Marie put up with this little tantrum the best she could, letting him finish before she turned and stared at him the way she might a petulant child.

“Well just listen to yourself,” she blurted out.

“What?!” he snapped.

“You forget you made choices in there too. You heard what she had to say, and you took the bait. And you so sure she’s lying? You have to admit, baby, there wasn’t a false note in that woman’s voice. That’s why you said what you did. And you need to cut Laura a break. You’re not her. You forget you’ve got a couple centuries of experience on her,” and as Logan began spitting in defiance she quite literally snapped her fingers in the air at him, muttering a “Let me finish. Laura’s not even twelve yet. You forget she’s still a child. And at least she’s trying to fit in. From what I recall you were always at the ready to tear off on your Harley whenever you got the slightest bit uncomfortable-”

“How would you know? All you know about that is whatever the old me me was doing, darlin’. Or did you go mixin’ us up again—” he tried to say before she interrupted him.

“Oh, don’t give me that song and dance. I’ve got the old Marie in my fucking head too, so I know that particular fact about you holds true on this timeline, on that timeline, probably on every single fucking timeline, ad nauseum. You need to remember, baby, that she’s different than you. There’s a whole half of her that’s someone else we don’t even know, and, most importantly, she’s also her own person. And, to top it all off…she’s…” Marie found herself stopping, realizing better a little too late and biting her lip.

“She’s what?!” Logan snarled. Fine, Marie thought. Let him hear it.

“Well, she’s a girl.”

“So?” Logan retorted.

“So… it’s different for her. I love you baby, but mutant healing abilities or no, you get caught up in your privilege all the same. How she’s expected to be is different than what was expected of you. In some ways, she’s got it worse. I bet your bottom dollar that she feels compelled to push the wild thing inside her down even more, especially as she gets older.”

“How so?” he asked carefully, and Marie realized he had corralled his anger, so much better and more effectively than he ever would have when Marie first had met him. Rogue simply sighed in response.

“Well…with girls and women—and I say this not believing there’s much of a difference naturally or biologically speaking—but socially, there’s a currency. We’re taught not to be as physical, as rough, without reaping the consequences. She’d still scare the shit out of the other kids if she was a boy, but she’d be better respected. As a girl, some people still think she’s supposed to be inherently well…gentle. Serene. And that isn’t Laura. I’m not saying she should be that way, but because of the way it all is, even in Canada, she’ll probably always have that demon on her back,” Marie finished quietly.

Logan breathed out steadily, his anger gone as quickly as it had come, before murmuring, “Fuck. Maybe you’re right.”

“Yep,” she said.

“You think she’s doomed?” he asked gloomily.

“Doomed? What? No! Lord, baby, that timeline and those sentinels did a fucking number on you. My point was that she’s just...she might be like you in every single way sugar, and she’s growing up in a different world than you did. So… your way of getting by and her way of getting by might be… different. She’s got to find her own path, but I can say without a doubt she’s still going to need a whole lot of your help.”

“For as long as that lasts,” he muttered bitterly, and she looked up to him sharply, tears practically begging to spring from her eyes at his wounded, defeated tone. She hated when he got like this.

“Hey,” she said forcibly, and he looked up to her reluctantly.

“Listen to me, James Howlett. You need to understand that this is not about you. Last night might’ve been, and this morning you sure as hell got what you wanted-” and she watched him smirk in spite of himself, “But this afternoon, right now? This isn’t about you. It’s about her,” she finished, and she watched as he sighed as the last of the fight left him and Marie wondered if that was any better.

“Hell, kid,” he said after a little bit of time. “I know you’re right. I’m sorry I’m such a paranoid, selfish bastard. It’s…well, I just…” he stammered.

“I know,” she murmured, cutting him off and willing him to look her in the eye. He did, albeit slowly, and her heart did a flop at the pained expression she found there. “I know,” she said again. And then she heard it before it happened, the sounds of sneakers, the doors opening up, the laughter of children, and Marie barely murmured, “School’s out.”

Chapter 3: Logan

The voices bustled on the busy platform. The sound of a hiss and a jolt. Mothers grabbed small children by the arm, yanking them out of the way. Hotdog vendors. Freshly printed evening edition newspapers, still bundled with plastic. Pigeons on the wind. More noises and smells than typical, but she was still easy to pick out. Her scent was clean and pure and… there. On the quickest train headed outta town, headed north. He grabbed the handle, boots on the grated metal of the steps. And then, there she was, about halfway down the aisle, the telltale green of her winter coat against the red vinyl of the seats. He almost couldn’t help but swagger as he walked closer to her—I found her, and I found her first—but as he walked further down the aisle his bravado fell. Her notes were sadder somehow, more somber, and he could see that she was wholly inside some inner world, heavy lidded and feelin’ real sorry for herself.

“Hey kid,” he said, and the look she gave him was almost a smile, and he couldn’t help but offer a slight smirk back. But then, that frown again. Sit down. Show her you mean this. Apologize for what happened.

“I’m sorry ‘bout last night,” he finally murmured, hoping that was enough.

“Me too,” she said quietly.

“You runnin’ again?”

“I heard the professor was mad at me,” she said bashfully, and he had to stifle the urge to laugh in surprise. So fucking young. The fucking picture of innocence.

“Well who told you that?” he asked.

“A boy at school,” she said quietly. He said nothing. He wouldn’t tell her what to do. He wouldn’t tell her how to live her life. That wasn’t his fucking job.

I’m not your father, I’m your friend.

“You think I should go back,” she said simply. He could barely look at her, meet her gaze.

Yes. You out there, floatin’ on the wind. Ain’t a good look on you, kid.

“I think you should follow your instincts,” he said carefully, glancing at the vacant chair in front of him. But she still stared at him, and he knew as she bit her lip she was about to say something she couldn’t take back.

“The first boy I ever kissed ended up in a coma for three weeks. I can still feel him inside my head. And it’s the same with you.” She was crying now. Motherfucker, she was crying. He looked at her, looked at those big round eyes, and then he couldn’t anymore and he looked away. What did she mean? How was he in her head? What of him was in her head? She was still crying. She needed…what did she need? His arm moved before he willed it, instinctively pulling her in closer, and then she leaned into him, and oh god that scent. Nectar, and…mint. Holy fuck. Holy god. Say something. Make her feel better. Make her stay.

“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you’re going through. But I think this guy Xavier is one of ‘em. He seems to genuinely wanna help you, and that’s a rare thing…for people like us,” he added through a murmur.

The train, the dream, the memory, jolting, shifting, swaying and then another sort of train rumbling in the distance. Yashida’s sword trembled, the glass of water shuddered, everything disturbed in its place where the heat never yielded.

“I got a long ride for some good money, but when I get back we’re gonna get out of here. We’re gonna drive down to Yelapa, get ourselves a boat and we’re gonna live out on the ocean.”

“Will you be safe there?”

Logan looked up confusedly at Charles. The old man, tending to his little plants, wrinkled and lost. Distant and drifting. Logan blinked once, staring at him blankly.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be safe.”

A snarled gasp, as he whipped up from the bed, trying to breathe, desperate for air. Something squeezed tighter, something that felt like drowning, so very much like drowning. Like when he’d been tossed like a rag doll into the Potomac.

Air, air, air! The animal snarled, confused and lurking underneath his convulsing body. We need to breathe. We need to breathe. And then, finally, relief, slow and steady, like ridin’ a bike without the training wheels or makin’ love for the first time, and then he dragged his fevered gaze upward to see her staring at him.

She was telling him to breathe. He was murmuring that he couldn’t. She was telling him he had to. Who was this fucking woman? The girl or the woman? Which woman? A pouting red lip, a hesitation, a moment…

Ok, so, what do ya say? Give these geeks one more shot? C’mon, I’ll take care of you.

You promise?

Yeah. Yeah, I promise.

Then, the look in her eyes, her shaking hand as she clutched the washcloth. That pity. A growl from exhaustion as he bristled under her touch.

“Stop pulling back from me,” she snapped. He looked up to her quizzically, something in her voice dragging him out of his agitated stupor enough to finally understand. Marie. His Marie. Abandoned drive-ins. Her bare feet up on the Ford’s dashboard. A shining Panhead. Christmas snow.

There are some things in this world, Marie, that words don’t do a very good job explainin’.

He growled softly, finally relinquishing the hold on his stubbornness. And then it was the feeling of Marie’s hands, her beautiful hands that had folded tiny cranes and cradled hundreds of books, hands that were now painting and packing lunches, hands that had seen a lifetime of use, rubbing balm into the wounds of his knuckles underneath the harsh bathroom light.

Will you be safe there?

Those tears she tried to hide as she did so.

Yeah. Yeah. We’ll be safe.

And, later, he had kept his watch on her endless brown eyes as he had run his tongue up that beautiful creamy body, before one rough, scarred finger trailed up her skin, felt the impossible warmth and wetness of her mouth as she tasted him. Meanwhile, her painting in the background. The black line, that lonely divide, marring the canvas, hovering just beyond them as they made love on the hard wooden floor of her study. He had seen loneliness in the painting. Marie’s loneliness. Open and vast and overwhelming.

Was peace lonely?

Was this even peace?

The long lines of water had also dripped down her flawless back. She arched underneath him as he steadied his grip in the shower, as he sank deep within her, filling in the empty spaces, breath hot and airy on her neck, even as the steam billowed. Running down, rolling up, shoving her hard against the wall, her body surrounding every part of him.

“This what you wanted?” he had breathed.

“God, yes,” she moaned.

Yes.

A Phillips driving a screw into drywall. A brush drawn across a canvas. Another packed lunch, another lurch of the engine. A kiss goodnight. A hug goodbye. A flick of a light, a candle being blown out.

Yeah. Yeah, we’ll be safe.

Yeah. Yeah, I promise.





--

Logan had always secretly loved the duality of a hammer. The heaviness on one end, the smooth and firm grip on the other. The way it felt, using it. How it served two purposes, to drive in and take out. It symbolized progress and destruction, and the irony was not lost on Logan. For months, he had been for the most part preoccupied with various remodeling jobs with the house. The peeling vinyl of the bathroom floor had been replaced with tile. The electric wiring had been redone. He had installed dark granite countertops in the kitchen while Marie had painted the cabinets a stark white. Replaced flooring. Installed drywall. Converted the loft into a real bedroom for Laura.

Slowly, the projects had dwindled. Just a few small jobs were left, odds and ends here and there, and with the project finished, his skin had started to crawl once more. Especially after rough nights. Nights like last night had been happening more and more now, and the harder they got and the more often they happened, the less he felt like himself. Last night especially was a haze, drenched in the fog of a fever, but he remembered falling back asleep in the morning, after Laura had left for school. After Laura… with that distant, worried look. The same one Marie liked to give. Logan shifted his weight a bit, frowning again as he took the nail he had been holding between his teeth and positioned it carefully on the pencil mark of the wall, trying, and failing once more, to banish the murky memories from his mind.

The shower had been painful, mentally trying as he had to will the skin to heal over his hands as the hot steam beat down on his body. Eating pills like candy, chasing the bitter taste of them down with cheap liquor he kept stowed underneath the bathroom sink after the shower. The liquor Marie knew was there, but never commented on. And then, afterward, he had accidentally caught his fucking reflection in the mirror. A goddamn ghost. He fucking hated the mirror, because it served as an ever-loyal catalyst. It was a one-way ticket to self-loathing and desperation, to further stepping away from parts of his old self into something deep and floating, something lost.

The painting was straight. Had been for five whole minutes. The picture was a framed reprint of two boys whitewashing a fence, and for a moment Logan simply blinked at it, before he hopped back off the stool, giving it a final once over and then finally turning back to the elderly woman who had been watching him from the breakfast nook, a mug of decaffeinated coffee between her wrinkled hands.

“That look about right, Mrs. Roberts?” he asked.

“Fine job, my dear boy,” she said. Logan smirked a bit at the nickname, but didn’t comment on it as he moved to the kitchen to put the tools back inside the duffle he had brought with him. Hanging pictures for elderly women. A far cry from a whirl around the globe in the X-Jet, even if it did give him something to do.

“That’s a Norman Rockwell, you know,” she said lifting one red-painted nail up to the picture behind him. Logan turned around to stare at it once more. “Rockwell was commissioned to do a whole series of them for the book,” she added.

“Tom Sawyer?” he asked, looking back at the woman again.

“Well done. You know your literature,” she praised.

“No. I just have a wife who does,” he said, before mentally stopping in his tracks as he realized the words he had just uttered. Wife. Wife?! Where the hell did that come from? Meanwhile, Mrs. Roberts was still talking.

“I grew up in Hannibal, you know. Lived there for most of my life, before the country fell to pieces. When we moved to Canada, and I wanted to live in a remote place just like it. Hannibal was a river town too. Although it had the tourism going for it too. Twain’s boyhood home. Caves and the like. They have the originals there, you know,” she said.

“Originals?” Logan asked.

“The Rockwells. The paintings,” she clarified. Logan blinked once, and the old woman smiled. “You tell that wife of yours to come ‘round here and we’ll talk about old Tom sometime.”

“Uh, yes ma’am,” was all he could say.

“How much do I owe you, son?” she was asking, frail, shaking hands reaching for the checkbook on the table, fountain pen already in hand. The words no charge were already summoned in his mind, when he heard the shrill vibration from his duffle bag.

“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” Logan awkwardly said, the conversation about Twain or perhaps the woman’s age encouraging Logan to fall back on a more antiquated dialect lodged in the recesses of his brain as he stared down at the phone and reality once more summoned him forward.

Laura. Fights. Laura. In trouble. Laura. Outed. Laura. Mutant.

They know.

Logan sighed, gripping the phone more tightly.

“No charge,” he said solemnly, before looking up once at the old woman. “But I’ll see if I can get Marie to come ‘round and chat with you about Huck Finn.”

“Tom Sawyer, my son. Tom Sawyer. Huck Finn’s another matter entirely,” she said through a knowing smile.

“Right,” Logan said still clutching the phone, which was alerting him to the news once more. “Right.”



--

“Shit,” Logan murmured, slowly looking up to see kids starting to flit here and there. The random shouts, the slamming of lockers from inside the school. And the adults, too, some of them now glancing over to the Bronco, and some not. He was trying his best to drown it all out, but it was obvious the news was spreading like wild fire.

“Everyone’s talkin’ about her,” he grumbled to Marie, who raised her eyebrows in response. And then there she was, walking slowly out of the school, eyes cast downward, hands clutching the straps of her backpack. Logan studied her for a moment, before shooting a nervous glance up to Marie, unsure of what to do.

“Is the talk really bad?” Marie was asking. Logan sighed quietly for a moment, sharpening his focus and listening in.

Mutant. Mutant. Mom, Laura definitely is. Mom, I saw what happened. You think her dad is too? He has to be, right? He’s so scary. I thought you said they were all extinct.

Logan would have chuckled if it weren’t all hitting so close to home. After a few more minutes, he muttered, “Harmless enough. But probably enough to drive the little one nuts.”

Marie bit her lip in response before murmuring, “Go to her. I’ll drive.” And his hand was already opening up the door of the Bronco and he was stepping out, as dozens of pairs of eyes settled on him.

He ran his palm instinctively over the hood of the Bronco as he walked in front of it, the metal of the hood from where it had sat idling warm underneath his palm as he passed. He locked eyes with Laura then. The look on her face was crestfallen and muted, as the conversation and gossip swirled around them both.

I bet she has super strength. I bet she can fly.

He covered the three or four paces of distance between them quickly, placing a hand on her shoulder, muttering a “It’ll be ok, kid,” as he did so. He could tell, for a brief moment, she was instinctively leaning into his protective gesture, until the conversation got louder.

Are mutants even human, mom? Is she human?

Laura looked up to Logan momentarily, and there were tears in her eyes, before her frown became sharper and then Laura was shoving his hand off her shoulder, growling quietly as she walked more quickly to the Bronco. Logan frowned a bit, a little crestfallen himself now, as he felt his anger burgeon in response to all the fucking gossip around him, at all the ignorance and morbid curiosity and impolite stares, but still he tried to keep a hold of it, even as he watched Laura dejectedly climb in the back of the Bronco. Logan trailed behind her slowly, before moving to put the seat back up, climbing in and closing the passenger door firmly behind him.

No one said anything for a moment, as they all sat in the idling Bronco, the crowds of children slowly dispersing, the sun already beginning its slow slide downward into the horizon.

“They know,” Laura finally said, simply. Rogue shot a look to Logan and he frowned once more.

“We know they know,” Logan grumbled. “Gundalson called us in to talk.” At this, Laura perked up a bit. It was obvious by her movements that she hadn’t been told that particular detail.

“Que? Why?”

“They wanted us to confirm it,” Logan murmured, turning back to look Laura in the eye.

“Did you?” she asked.

“You didn’t leave us much of a choice, hija,” Logan grumbled through an exasperated sigh. Marie was biting her lip and gripping the leather of the steering wheel tightly, even though she hadn’t moved the car out of park.

“If it’s any condolence, Marie let it slip to Gundalson we both were too,” he grumbled. Marie turned to glare at him. He only offered her a half-hearted shrug of the shoulders in response. It was the truth. Best to be honest.

“Que?!” Laura was saying, the notes of betrayal and flourishing paranoia evident in her features as she cast her stare at Rogue. Marie turned to her, making sure to shoot a nasty look at Logan once more as she did so, before addressing the girl.

“Sorry, Laura. It sorta slipped out,” she said quietly.

“Kay knows too,” she added through a mumble.

“What?!” Logan blurted out before he could stop himself. “Ya failed to mention that particular fact this afternoon,” he added through a growl.

“There was no time. And besides, at least on Kay’s end, it seems like she’s known for a long while. Maybe since the beginning. Hell, I think she even knows we were X-Men.”

At this, Laura’s eyebrows shot up and Logan could practically hear her salivate at the word. Despite her misfortunes, despite any situation that might have befallen her, Laura was always inherently desperate for any news or stories about Logan and Marie’s former lives, almost to the point of obsession. Logan rarely indulged her. Marie was slightly more generous, but not by much. Some wounds ran too deep.

“You better do some explain’ as to how darlin,” Logan was grumbling.

“She calls you Naghaye, baby. You ever think to look that up?” Marie was asking. Logan just continued to stare at her blankly.

“Me neither. But I sure as hell googled it on my walk over to the school today after our little conversation. One guess as to what that means,” Marie unceremoniously offered.

“Wolverine,” Laura whispered under her breath. Logan once more threw Laura a sharp, accusatory stare.

“That’s enough of that,” he growled, rounding on the younger girl. “Just because I’m now pissed at Rogue too and I feel a little bad about the kids gossipin’ about ya, doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You’re still in a shit load of trouble for beating up that kid.”

“Is she in trouble?” Marie was asking Logan just as Laura was murmuring, “Rogue and Wolverine.”

Logan gave Laura a face, as he turned back to Marie.

“I don’t know. Shouldn’t she be? Conner’s out for two weeks because of her little stunt.”

“How do you think Kay knew—” Laura was saying.

“—she needs to learn to control it—” Logan kept talking.

“—do you think she has super powers?—”

“-there’s a difference between defending yourself and—”

“—or do you think she knows I’m a mutant?—”

“—kid needs to keep that feral shit to a minimum or there’s gonna be hell to pay—”

“Everybody, just…shut up,” Marie growled, slamming a hand down on the steering wheel as she did so. “People are staring at us.” Logan looked up to realize people were still ogling them, but most of them from afar. The Bronco was still idling in the school parking lot after all, not having gone anywhere.

“Laura…can you tell us what happened?” Marie asked softly. Logan had always been impressed with how careful Marie was to not overstep whatever boundaries they had in their relationship, which he knew couldn’t be easy, the role of both friend and parental figure always deftly balanced in Marie’s hands.

“We were playing soccer. Connor tripped me, shoved me to the ground. I didn’t mean to get hurt…” Laura trailed off. Logan noticed Marie looking at him, wanting him now to contribute in some way.

“But you didn’t hold back when you socked him eh?” he added, unable to contain a random swell of irrational pride. Marie only glared at him.

“No,” Laura said, helpless to a devilish grin of her own.

“Laura,” Marie sighed, throwing Logan a look once more before turning to the younger mutant. “Like we were saying, Mrs. Gundaloson brought us in. We’re gonna start you with an IEP,” she added.

“What?!” Laura protested from the back seat, sitting up once more as a new anxiety overcame her.

“What’s wrong with that?” Logan mumbled.

“It’s for…well… it’s for estudiantes con discapacidades,” Laura murmured. Logan squirmed. He had figured an IEP was typically used as such, but the way Laura said the word had him cringing.

“What?” Marie asked, looking to Logan for clarification.

“Students with….disabilities,” Logan practically hissed. Marie sighed.

“Look, Laura, not in your case, ok? Not that there’s anything wrong with students with disabilities,” she chastised both of them. “But being a mutant is not an illness or a disability, and no one who’s setting this IEP up for you thinks that either. It’s just that Gundalson thinks you could benefit from a few…accommodations…to help you learn,” Rogue chose her words carefully.

But now Laura had her head in her hands and was shaking it back and forth dramatically, muttering in Spanish. “Nadie me pedirá que vaya al baile ahora.” Muffled as her words were and with how limited his Spanish still was, Logan’s mind struggled to understand what she was saying.

El baile? What the fuck?

“What does it mean?” Marie was asking Logan, even as he was already shrugging his shoulders in response.

“It means I’m fucked,” Laura said rudely from the back seat, and now both adults were whipping around to face her, although Marie’s face was tempered and Logan was straight-up snarling at Laura’s new-found insubordination.

“Que? Papa says it constantemente,” she growled moodily.

“He’s an adult,” Marie was saying, her words sharper now as the ever-patient woman’s anger grew, even as she turned to move the car out of park, backing the Bronco out of the spot to finally leave the school behind.

“You means he’s un hombre,” Laura nastily shot back.

“Man. Adult. Doesn’t fucking matter,” Logan rounded on Laura. “Look at me, hija,” he growled out a warning, but Laura moodily and willfully kept her eyes cast downward.

“Look at me,” he snarled, and she deliberately took a few moments to ignore him before moving her gaze upward, glaring at Logan through fiery brown eyes. “I won’t have you talkin’ to Marie that way. You understand me? And don’t you dare go forgettin’ the fact that you went and started this thing, kid. Because you’re gonna sure as hell help us fix it. Yer gonna do as we say. Play by our rules. Or did you forget the deal we made?”

“Deal?” Marie asked quietly.

“Before I dragged her sorry self up north,” he growled, and then Laura was once more throwing daggers at him. It was another nonverbal, feral look, a look that threatened, a look that verged on a little too wild. Logan easily responded in kind.

“You better stop while yer ahead with those threats” he grumbled.

“No dije nada,” she growled back.

“You didn’t need to, kid. I heard ya loud and clear,” he threatened.

“Qué? No tengo permitido hablar? No tengo permitido mirar? Bien entonces! No lo hare!” Laura practically shouted, before slumping down in her seat once more, whipping out her phone as she did so. Logan felt the anger he was trying so desperately hard to control begin to rise once more at her petulance, as Laura began incessantly tapping on the phone. That goddamn phone. Gone were the days of Laura’s innocent outdated iPod, Laura having sweetly conned Logan into a phone for Christmas. Ever since, it seemed that she was constantly on it, constantly typing, constantly vacant. It numbed her senses, Logan thought, drowned everything out.

“Who are you talking to?” Logan groused, knowing a smarter man would have given up the fight for now, as Laura reticently retreated into herself, but still he found himself unwilling to.

“No one,” Laura barked.

“Let’s all just calm down…” Marie was warning.

“Laura, who is it?” he rounded on her, moving to completely turn around in his seat as he did so.

“Baby…let it go. None of this is helping,” Marie harshly whispered.

“Rictor,” Laura practically spat.

“What? That kid from Transigen again? Why the hell would you still be talking to him?” Logan was asking. Meanwhile, Marie was offering him a practically poisonous look at his inanity, even if her hands were still on the wheel.

“What are you telling him?” Logan pressed.

“Stuff,” Laura taunted and then that was the last straw as Logan growled, reaching backward, trying to pluck the phone out of her hand as Laura began shouting protests in Spanish.

“Real mature, baby,” Marie mumbled.

“Parar! Solo porque estés enfermo no significa que puedas tenerlo todo!” Laura yelled.

“Laura! What…the…fuck?” he grumbled, as he tried to swipe for the phone while holding on to only every other word she was firing at him in Spanish.

“Tal vez si te tomas un poco de tiempo, preocúpate más por lo que hago en lugar de solo hablar con Marie. Amor! Amor para todos! Todos menos yo!”

“What the fuck are you saying?” he demanded, even as he managed a few more half-hearted grasps for the device, starting to realize how fucking ridiculous it all was.

“Déjame en paz!” she shouted.

And then Laura and Logan both flung forward a bit, as the breaks of the Bronco squealed, and Logan barely had time to whip out a forearm to steady himself against the dashboard to keep from flying through the windshield. Meanwhile, Laura was practically in the front seat and would have been had she not instinctively grabbed the passenger headrest for support.

“Rogue.. the fuck?” he looked at her like she’d lost it as the Bronco settled into a halt.

“Out,” Marie growled.

“Excuse me?” Logan asked.

“You’re walking the rest of the way back. Both of you,” she said.

“Por que?” Laura whined.

“Two reasons,” Marie snapped. “If I’ve told you once I’ve told you both a hundred times to wear your goddamn seatbelts. If you’re not going to be safe in the car, you don’t get to ride in the car.” Logan glanced backed at Laura, a look of pure guilt plaguing her features now.

“And two, you both need to figure your shit out. Figure your shit out, and then maybe you’ll have something to eat for dinner. Maybe. And if you don’t, feel free to go hunt down something or whatever you two are capable of. Meanwhile, I’ll be indulging in a generous glass of Merlot, two aspirin and a significant portion of Coq au vin I planned on making for dinner, probably by myself,” she muttered.

“But Coq au vin’s my favorite,” Laura practically moaned.

“I know,” Marie said curtly. “Out.” Logan hadn’t thought she was serious until she looked at him directly in the eye, where he found the world on fire.

“Marie -” he tried again.

“-If you are a feral mutant, you need to exit the vehicle!!!” Marie practically shouted. He then couldn’t help the small upturn of his lips, a smirk forming on his face at that particular quip. Rogue only glared at him.

Logan glanced back at Laura, and he noticed that Laura’s anger was fading as well, although she was still frowning deeply, obviously uncomfortable with Marie’s disapproval.

“Better do what she says,” he mumbled. He gave Marie another smirk, now thoroughly amused, and Rogue offered up a snarl in response. It seemed both of their mannerisms were rubbing off on her.

“Out.”



--

Logan couldn’t help but still watch amusedly as the wheels of the Bronco tore off, Marie deliberately leaving Logan and Laura on the side of the road, making good on her threats. The sun had sunken down in the sky, and around them the pines stood tall, while the temperature steadily dropped. It would have seemed a desolate and cruel punishment, if Logan and Laura hadn’t known they actually didn’t have that far to walk. Half a mile at most, although Logan realized that it was largely an up-hill climb.

“We really pissed her off that time,” Logan muttered, finally looking down at his daughter. Laura only growled a little, crossing her thin arms over her body.

“So you’re still mad?” he said, through a raised eyebrow. She looked up to him with a small frown. He exhaled slowly, leaving her to her sullen mood as he started up the gravel drive, and, despite her anger, she silently followed him. Above, the sky had grown orange and russet, and a gentle wind blew, tousling their hair and gently biting at their skin. After about ten minutes of walking, she finally spoke. It was quiet and curt, but honestly-meant as her words hit the air.

“Lo siento,” she murmured. Logan turned back to her and offered her a small smile, before murmuring a, “Me too, kid.” For a while, no one spoke again, the dark of the twilight now completely enveloping them. Soon enough, the distinct white of the lake house in the distance. Logan could make out the parked Bronco in the drive, and, inside, he could already hear Miles Davis on the record player, the sizzle of butter in a pan, Marie’s off-key singing gentle and quiet and interrupted occasionally through a sip of what was probably red wine. Logan smiled to himself, and as he turned to Laura he realized she had stopped short of the steps leading up to the deck. It was obvious she didn’t want to go inside yet. She had things she wanted to still say.

He turned back to her knowingly, before moving to take a seat on the bottom step, intently keeping his eyes on her.

“What is it, hija?” he asked. Laura stalled momentarily, arms still crossed as she kicked one of the rocks nestled in the gravel with her sneaker, awkwardly standing a couple paces in front of him, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable in her own skin.

“Did I do the right thing?” she quietly asked, before looking up to him meekly.

“What do ya mean, kid?” Logan asked.

“It’s just… it seems sometimes what feels right and what is right are... no es siempre lo mismo,” she finished. Not always the same. Logan sighed, taking to resting an elbow on his knee as he did so.

“That’s because they ain’t,” Logan grumbled, and he found Laura looking up to him, eyes full of dread.

“Look, I don’t know how to explain it to you,” Logan began, running a hand through his too-long hair, “But what is right is a hard thing to know. It changes on ya, you see? Flips over, turns around. Some people— hell a lot of people—might think they know what is right, but that doesn’t mean it’s the way it really is,” he finished. Laura only continued to stand there uncomfortably, biting her lip

“But what about el animal?” she finally murmured.

“What do ya mean, kid?” he asked, eyes narrowing in knowing concern.

“They have a saying here… ‘go with your gut.’ When they talk about instinct, are they talking about el animal?” she asked. Logan considered this carefully. The truth was, he had no idea what other people, mutants or otherwise, knew of their gut instinct. Just how loud or clear was that inner voice? He had tried asking Marie about it a few times, but he had never seemed to be able to summon the correct words to really get to the heart of the matter. He looked up to Laura then and he saw how desperately she was searching for an answer to the question that had plagued them both, the question she really wanted to ask, but couldn’t: Just how different are we from them?

“Honestly, kid, I’m not sure. When they say that, I mean…yeah. Maybe. We all have instincts. At least to an extent…” he trailed off, realizing what he was saying wasn’t enough, couldn’t be enough.

“But not like us,” Laura said sadly, and the words bit at him.

“No. You know, hija. That’s…a bit different,” he finished lamely.

More silence. The light had almost left the sky, and now the warmth of the house beckoned, but still he didn’t move a muscle. Laura had taken up to pacing in front of him now, mind still alive and swimming with questions.

“Can we…” she trailed off, turning on her heel in the gravel, finishing another round of pacing before she added, “Can we trust it?”

“Why you asking kid?” he questioned. She stalled then, stopping and crossing her arms once more.

“Because…sometimes…it scares me. It feels malvado,” she muttered. An involuntary chill shot down Logan’s spine at Laura’s words of cold truth, and he struggled to keep his composure. All he wanted was, right now, to lift Laura up out of everything bad, everything malo he had unknowingly given her, pluck that little girl right out from underneath that dark cloud, and forever shelter her from anything else like it. Logan struggled for his words as he was unable to stifle a low, protective growl in response.

“It can…it can feel like that. But it’s not always. It’ll save your life sometimes, you know that, right?”

“How?” she asked.

“When you… hell. There might be times, kid, when you get tired. When you don’t always wanna… go on. It’s those times that it’ll pick ya back up, set ya on your feet.” Laura gave Logan a dark, serious look, before she exhaled tiredly, finally dropping to sit on the step next to Logan.

“I scare them all,” Laura said flatly.

“I know,” Logan muttered.

“And now I’m really going to scare them,” she mumbled.

“Well…” Logan trailed off.

“What?” Laura asked.

“We told ‘em about the healing and such, but the claws… we didn’t disclose,” Logan said quietly. Laura looked up to him then, seemingly surprised by this answer.

“Por que?” she asked.

“It’s complicated, but…you know, the claws…they ain’t natural, kid, right? It’s the part they gave you. Medical experimentation. And…well, Marie and I could lose you if enough people found out about ‘em.”

“Más secretos, entonces?” she asked flatly.

“Hardly, kid. You ever find a reason to use them at school? I mean, even at your maddest, a real reason?” Logan asked.

“No,” Laura answered simply.

“Then that’s not pretending. And, later, things will change. You can make your own choices when you’re grown.”

“What kinds of choices?” she asked.

“To use ‘em, or, hell, even tell people about ‘em or not. Like if you were ever to get...uh, you know, close to someone eventually, that could be news you choose to share,” Logan finished awkwardly.

“Close to someone?” she asked quietly. “Like amor?”

“Umm, yeah,” Logan mumbled, realizing that he had just fucking backed himself up against a wall once more. There was that word again. Amor. Love. Laura had been saying it a lot lately. He had assumed, maybe falsely so, that it was because Marie was now in their lives. Logan and Marie had never quite outwardly stated the extent or nature of their relationship to Laura, because it always seemed like Laura inherently understood. Although… as Logan considered this, there was a lot Laura still didn’t know. The part about losing Marie more than just the once, for example. Hell, the news about the alternative timeline itself, everything before the jump. At the time he had abstained telling Laura because he hadn’t thought she was old enough to understand, but now the girl that was growing up quickly before his eyes was trying to change his mind.

“You know…like me and Marie,” he finally added. At this Laura’s face truly fell, and she slumped against the railing of the deck stairs.

“You have Marie. I have no one,” she muttered, and Logan raised a brow at her newfound melancholy. Logan had been incredibly careful to still try and offer Laura as much of his time and attention as he had before Marie had come into their lives, and Marie’s presence seemed to have never bothered Laura before.

“Hey, enough of that. You know Marie is here for you too.”

“That’s not the same,” Laura muttered, and alarm bells started ringing in his ears as he realized what she really meant.

“Hell, kid. You might be reading too many stories. Why you thinking about this right now? You’re eleven. You got all the time in the world for that shit. Hell, you’ll have more time than most,” he found himself saying. He had eluded on several occasions that her lifespan might be longer than the other people around her, but he doubted Laura could fully comprehend yet what it meant. Maybe it was simply something she wouldn’t be able to, until it happened.

“I ain’t gonna lie to you, kid. That’s the other part of this thing. You understand? You could live a very, very long time. Even if you meet someone you wanna… settle down with. If you meet that person earlier on, there’s a chance you might outlive him…or her.”

“Papa,” Laura murmured, blushing five shades of red as she took his meaning.

“Whatever. It’s the truth. So. There’s no use rushing into things, ya hear me?” he said seriously. Laura nodded, but still seemed disturbed, somehow unconvinced.

“Settling down…when you love someone very much. Yes?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Logan murmured.

“Well, then what about the rest of the times?” she asked, and Logan nearly swallowed his tongue.

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” Laura was mumbling, and he suspected this was harder for her to ask than for him to listen to, even if he was drowning in a newfound alarm and anxiety. “… el fisico. Lujuria.” The physical. Lust.

Fuck. He thought he had wormed his way outta that conversation.

“You don’t… you ain’t feeling anything like that yet, are ya?” he stammered. Another blush from Laura, and then a sigh.

“No. Well, I don’t know. Kids at school, maybe,” she said.

“At school? Aren’t you all a little young for that?” he wildly asked, and Laura only shrugged her shoulders in response.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he swore, but when she looked at him dejectedly, he added, “I didn’t mean…fuck. Laura, you’re just a kid.”

“I’m almost twelve,” she said. Logan became quickly entangled in thought then as he considered this, so much so that Laura had started to look at him with fresh concern.

“Daddy, esta bien?” she asked quietly.

“Uhh, yeah, I just …it’s something Marie said today. About the differences between you and me.”

“Differences?” she asked.

“You know. You bein’ a girl and all,” he murmured. He realized her eyes were dark as the night around them now, as she began to understand what he was saying.

“You think it’s different?” she whispered.

“Hell if I know, hija. If you had any real motherin’, maybe, I’d know more. But…” he said through a sigh, before looking back over to her.

“Look, Marie can walk you through the, uhh, girl stuff, if you need clarification or a refresher course, hija. And thank god we have her around to help with that. But as far as the rest…”

“El animal,” Laura mumbled.

Logan swallowed hard.

“It’s like anything else. You might have… needs. Some that might… go beyond convention,” he muttered. Fuck. What the hell was he saying? “You gotta do your best to control them. Not stifle ‘em, mind you. Control. And consent. That’s important. Whenever you’re ready for that, hopefully a long fucking ass time from now, whatever yer feeling, the other person’s gotta be feeling too. You understand?”

“Si,” she murmured.

“There ain’t nothing wrong with…being with someone that way. But you gotta be ready for it, yeah?” he asked.

“Si,” she said again, with a little more confidence.

“Control. Balance. Just like with the rest of your life. Like you’ve been practicin’ with your kata, yeah?”

“Balance,” Laura murmured.

“Right. And maybe…this is why the kids at school knowin’ about your healin’ and extra senses is a good thing. A little less pressure off you, and maybe a little more on them. They gotta part too, you know? They have to learn how to accept you, to be tolerant, as much as you gotta learn to stop kicking the shit out of them,” he said through a quiet smile.

“Maybe you’re right,” she murmure, and it was then she leaned into his shoulder. He hesitated slightly, before moving an arm around her. They were rarely snuggly people, but the feel of her warm head leaning on his chest made him hum in parental content. She was his. And he’d go to whatever fucking lengths he needed to to protect her, even if that meant offering up what was left of his sorry, sad life.

They sat like that for a long while, listening to the quiet around them, fluent now in that language that wasn’t entirely human, but wholly their own. Instinctive, feral even, but real. You’re my father. You’ll protect me. You’re my daughter. I’ll protect you. After a bit more time passed, Laura was finally using real words again under her breath, although she stayed right by him still.

“You think Marie is still mad at us? For losing our cool?” Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at Laura’s use of a Marie-colloquialism, and gave Laura’s shoulder another squeeze.

“Probably. But we’ll win her back.”

“How?”

“The old-fashioned way. Apologize,” he said, as Laura straightened.

“Papa… I didn’t mean. What I said earlier. I’m glad Marie is here,” she said, awkwardly tripping over her words as she stood up.

“I know, hija,” he said, moving to stand himself. “And kid,” he added, stopping her from beginning to walk up the steps.

“Eventually,” he murmured quietly, the raw emotion strange and a bit foreign on his tongue as he spoke, “You’ll find your Marie. Whoever that person is. But first, find out who you are, huh?”

She smiled at him then, before murmuring a, “Si papa.”

“Bien,” he said, and then he moved to follow Laura up the stairs to the deck and inside the warm hum of the lake house.





--

The smell was intoxicating. It was all butter and garlic and spice, and as they made their way inside, the heat encompassed them both, a welcomed respite from the cool spring night air. A jazz record was still playing, and Marie was in the kitchen, pouring over a cookbook. Her hair was done up the way he liked it, and she wore an apron as she cradled a wine glass in one hand, before absently taking a sip. And there, perched low on her perfect nose, were a pair of his readers. A wild grin gripped Logan as he appreciated the sight. From her languid movements alone, he knew Marie was two glasses of wine in, maybe three. Marie buzzed on wine while cooking was one of the most beautiful things on god’s green earth. And the glasses, fuck. It was perfection.

Laura was also watching her, and smiled mischievously at the sight of Marie in Logan’s glasses before Logan realized they had once more been guilty of entering the house in their typical fashion, completely silent. It was something she was always getting on them about—you scare the living daylights out of me when you sneak up on me like that!— and, also in her typical fashion, Marie hadn’t yet noticed their appearance.

“Ya know, I have absolutely no qualms about you wearin’ mine, but we could always get you your own pair, if you need ‘em…” Logan teased, finally announcing his presence.

She brought her head up quickly from where she had been perusing the cookbook, a surprised look in her eyes and a blush spreading across her already wine-flushed cheeks, before she whipped them off her face.

“I would if I needed them,” she muttered. Laura once more grinned at Logan, before they both looked back at Marie. There was a covered pan simmering on the back burner, and Logan noticed three plates had already been set out on the table that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living room, candles already lit.

“Smells good,” Logan murmured, padding over to the kitchen predatorily to linger, simply standing behind her for a moment and breathing in her scent, before planting a warm kiss on the faint scar on her neck, the one he had given her that first night they had found themselves in Hay River. His mark. The one she had asked for.

“What help do you need?” He hummed the question into her ear.

“Mmm,” she couldn’t help but murmur. Realizing, however, Laura was still sneaking glances at them, she added, “Dinner’s almost done, so… Laura, would you mind grabbing some silverware and adding them to the place settings on the table?” Laura nodded through another small grin, before moving to the farthest drawer to collect the forks and knives.

“And you,” Marie said, turning around, taking a brief moment to drink in him with her eyes, “That bottle of Blanton’s. Mind getting it down from the top cupboard and cracking it open?” Logan raised his eyebrows in surprise. It wasn’t a bottle from Xavier’s private stock, but it was still the best bottle of whiskey in the house.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked playfully.

“I outed us,” she said through a quiet laugh. “Might as well… celebrate.” Logan snorted a little, even as he faithfully moved to fetch the bottle and Rocks glasses.

Ten minutes later they were eating, the music still quietly humming in the background. Laura, in her typical fashion, was eating like it was the first meal or the last meal she was going to receive in a long while. As Laura inhaled her food, Marie fiddled with her fork. Logan nursed the whiskey, the taste of it smooth and warm and good on his perpetually sore throat.

“So…” Marie finally murmured. “You two seem better.”

“Yeah,” Laura acknowledged through a wide smile between bites.

“You clear the air, then?” she asked Logan.

“More or less,” he smiled, setting down his glass.

“I’m sorry I kicked you guys out of the car,” she said.

“It’s ok, Marie. We weren’t being very maduro, especially Papa,” Laura said. Logan smiled faintly, before offering a “heh” as a gruff reply.

“Well that’s the truth,” Marie said, and then, thoughtfully biting her lip she added, “Laura?”

“Si?” she asked, putting down her fork to truly look at the woman in front of her.

“I’m sorry about earlier. About spilling the beans. It just…in the moment it seemed like the right thing to do.” Marie glanced up at Logan as she said this last bit, their eyes meeting carefully, and then she deliberately looked away and back at Laura as she added, “It’s hard pretending, you know?”

Laura dramatically sighed, adding an, “Oh, I know. It’s so tiring. We shouldn’t have to do it all the time.”

“That’s right,” she said, and once more her eyes lingered on Logan through another long and slow sip of her drink.



--

After dinner, It’s a Wonderful Life had come on television, despite the fact it was the last day in April. Logan already knew that Marie loved the movie. It was one of those few remnants of her childhood she kept as a tradition, despite the falling out with her parents so long ago, --we used to watch this every Christmas eve—and Laura had never seen it, so Jimmy Stewart was now dancing with Donna Reed in black and white on the screen in front of them all. Laura had been snacking on popcorn, choosing deliberately to sit next to Marie on the large sectional, but had discarded the bowl as the movie progressed, eyes now wide with wonder.

You know, if it wasn't me talking I'd say you were the prettiest girl in town.

Well, why don't you say it?

I don't know. Maybe I will.

Meanwhile, Logan watched them watching the movie quietly from the opposite side of the couch for a long while. Marie’s sketching was forgotten beside her as she also steadily became entranced by the film. He noticed, too, Laura had leaned into Marie a bit more, and now the woman was squeezing the girl closer to her. Every once in a while Marie would steal a subtle glance at Logan, but, for the most part, Laura had Marie’s full and apt attention as they watched the movie together.

What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey, that's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary.

Eventually, Laura’s eyes had drooped as she had found her way of laying between them on the sectional, her head in Marie’s lap and her feet in Logan’s. As George Bailey took in what the world would have been like without him, Logan realized Laura had fallen asleep. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was later than they all had intended, but still, no one moved, letting the movie play out its final act.

Good idea, Ernie. A toast…to my big brother, George. The richest man in town!

Remember no man is a failure who has friends.

Attaboy, Clarence.

Logan watched as Marie smiled slightly as the black and white bells rang as Auld Lang Syne played into the credits. Only after the final chorus gave out did she bring her gaze up to Logan, stifling a yawn herself as she looked down to Laura once more.

“She’s out,” Marie murmured through a smile, the soft pad of her thumb tracing Laura’s cheek. “I know she texts and can’t keep her mind off boys and she totally beat the shit out of a kid today, but right now she looks like she’s five. Such a baby.”

Some silence passed as he watched Marie watching Laura, before he resigned himself to sit up, muttering a “I’ll get her.”

“You sure?” Marie asked.

“Yeah,” he murmured, and, quietly, he carefully picked up the sleeping girl, just as he had that night so long ago outside the farmhouse.

Yeah. Yeah, we’ll be safe.

Logan frowned a little as he carried her upstairs, but still Laura barely stirred. She had to be tired. Logan knew sometimes she stayed up at night, listening for him. He also knew she forgot occasionally that he could hear her as well as she could hear him. He moved to lay her down on the bed gently, before pulling a quilt up over her. Logan lingered for a moment then, pausing to move a strand of her hair from her face, before standing.

Meanwhile, the twinkle lights in her window glittered, making the orange and purple dance across the room. On the bedside table, her phone where Marie must have plugged it in to charge. On the other table, a propped open copy of The House on Mango Street.



--

Logan tiredly walked back downstairs to find that the table had been cleared apart from the whiskey and a few glasses, and now Marie had taken to sketching on the couch again. He picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey from the table on his way and took a moment to replenish a glass of the amber liquid before setting it down beside her, taking a moment to study the sketch Marie was working on.

“Wow,” he murmured quietly, and he felt Marie blush. “That’s just about damn perfect.” The sketch book contained the impeccable detail of something now only part of a memory. Their old bedroom from Westchester, from the perspective of her side of the bed, expertly captured, down to how the light was hitting the floor in the afternoon sun.

“Thanks. I guess I just…sometimes it feels good to recall it, you know?” she said, eyes on him as he took a seat next to her on the sectional.

“That’s always how you handled things,” Logan murmured through a sip of whiskey. His lungs had not put up much of a fight today at all, a fact that he was incredibly grateful for, considering how fucking eventful the day had ended up being.

“All’s well that ends well,” he finally said. Marie sighed a bit, switching out her sketch pad for the glass of whiskey as she turned to face him on the couch, tucking her feet up under her as she did so.

“Things are gonna change,” she murmured.

“You think they’re gonna be worse to her?” he asked carefully, turning to look at the woman beside him. Marie offered him a thoughtful look, as she considered what he had said.

“You know… I’ve been wondering about it. And I’m starting to think maybe…not. We were both so wrapped up in Westchester, sort of sheltered from it all, but people idolized mutants out in the world in this timeline. I mean…until Transigen started secretly wiping us out,” she added bleakly, before taking another generous gulp of whiskey.

“You mean like with the shit about the comics?” he added through a raised brow. Marie grinned at that.

“Yeah…those are good,” she said playfully.

“You read ‘em?” Logan asked, honestly a bit surprised.

“Might’ve peeped at Laura’s a few times,” she said through a breathy laugh. “I’m quite the looker.” Logan growled in agreement.

“That’s damn straight,” he said, reaching to gently smack her ass. “In ink and in the flesh,” he added. She smiled as she playfully socked him in the shoulder, before he grabbed her hand, unwilling to relinquish it, squeezing it gently under his own.

“You know,” she said through a hazy murmur, “They never put us together in the comics though.” Logan smiled faintly and amusedly at this.

“Well, we weren’t back then, were we?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she said through a tired sigh.

“You know, darlin’, I wanted to be though,” he added. At this, Marie’s lips tugged up into a playful smile, a fresh spark in her eyes.

“Really now?” she asked.

“You all doe-eyed, not knowin’ which way was up and which was down, trying to throw me a bit of sass, the fucking picture of innocence…” he trailed off, and suddenly an image of Rogue sitting on a red vinyl seat of a train filled his mind, and he mentally chastised himself. Wrong timeline.

“Great ass I bet too,” Marie was muttering a bit cynically. At this, though, Logan only grinned once more.

“Hey, you still got a great ass,” he said through a devilish smirk. “Some things just don’t change, woman…. Although,” he stopped, hesitating slightly through a small fall of his grin. “There’s not a day goes by that I… don’t regret…” he stammered unable to put what he wanted into words.

“Hey, stop that. We’re together now,” Marie murmured.

“Right,” he said quietly.

“And thank god life doesn’t really imitate art,” she said, raising her glass slightly. He smiled slightly once more, dutifully clinking the edge of his whiskey with hers, as he muttered a “Thank god,” in return. A few moments passed as they stared at each other quietly as they polished off their whiskey, his thumb now rubbing the top of her hand idly, before he added, “She asked about us, though.”

“Laura?” Marie questioned.

“Yeah,” he said.

“In what way?” she asked, setting down her mostly-empty glass on the table and then offering to take his to do the same.

“Well, she didn’t quite ask so much as comment. She said… hell I’m gonna fuck it up…she said something like, ‘You have Marie and I have nobody.’” Marie’s face fell at that, and she brought the hand Logan wasn’t holding to her mouth.

“Oh. That’s the saddest and most dramatic thing I’ve ever heard. What did you say?” she asked. Logan shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“I said you would always be there for her. Tried to throw her that bone. She wasn’t biting.” Marie glanced down at the floor for a moment, seemingly deep in thought over this news.

“Ya might… “ Logan added quietly, “Have a chat with her about that some time,” he finished a bit lamely.

“What? About romance? Sex?” she asked.

“Naw, well maybe. Just about all of it. I think some kids at school, might be tryin’ stuff. I don’t know what kinda stuff, and I’m not sure I want to know, but… yeah."

“Hmmm,” Marie said gently.

“She asked about some of it, and I tried, fuck, I tried saying my peace. On our end of things, you know. As she puts it, el animal, and all that.” At this Marie’s brow lifted in surprise.

“You talked about that with her?”

“Sorta,” he grumbled. Marie’s smile was strange and a bit wider now.

“Hell, I would’ve paid money to see that,” she said.

“Well, all you had to do was not kick us out of the car,” he replied, moving to tuck a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear.

“It wouldn’t have happened then, and you know it,” she said softly, and he realized, of course, she was right. He growled approvingly as he pulled the hand he had been keeping as his closer to him, and she smirked as she settled into his hold.

“I was thinking about it all tonight while cooking,” she lazily murmured, practically to herself.

“What’s that, darlin’?” he found himself asking.

“How we all pretend a little bit,” she said. He stiffened slightly around her at that. He couldn’t pretend that some of what she had said at dinner hadn’t irked him, if only because she was getting a little too close to the truth of it all.

“We pretend around Laura a little,” she murmured.

“Yeah?” he asked idly.

“Yep. I mean. We’re honest, but we have to put on brave faces, you know? Not lie, but show her the best version of things. Sometimes, I swear to God baby, sometimes being strong for Laura requires more courage than anything I faced back east.”

“Suppose you’re right,” he muttered. A beat, and then Marie added, “We pretend with each other a little, too. You pretend to feel better than you do.” At that, he stiffened a bit more under her.

“Marie-” he started, before she cut him off. “But I do it too,” she said quietly.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, stealing these for one,” she said through a laugh, as she gently slid the spare pair of readers off his face. “I can’t see close up for shit nowadays. Soon enough I’ll be worse off than you,” she added as she set the glasses aside. He chuckled a bit, despite himself, squeezing her arm once more.

“Hell darlin’. No one’s blaming you for that,” he said as he moved over her playfully and then she was laying down on the couch, him hovering just above her.

“I know,” she said thoughtfully, before adding, “But there are other things, too.” He was only partially listening though, as he ran a hand down her body, cupping a breast momentarily before he nosed the hem of her shirt, hoping to distract her. Something about her tone had him worried, and he vaguely wished that she would just let it go.

She kept on.

“We think we’re helping the ones we love from the little wounds, you know? Life’s little aches. That pretending makes it all… more bearable. But now, I’m not so sure,” she said coldly. He truly paused then, lifting his head back up to look her in the eye. Below them, her midriff was exposed, white skin darker in the firelight, the telltale red of her scars marking her body here and there. Angrier than his mark on her neck, but just as much a part of her. He drew a finger over one, frowning as he did so.

“Tumor,” she barely whispered. He froze at the words for a few moments, before he quickly sat back.

“What?” he asked.

“You know,” she said. She meant the scars. What had she called it? Laparoscopic hysterectomy.

“Marie,” he murmured, his voice deep and gruff as he willed her to stop.

“It was ovarian, but they took it all,” she said carefully. His eyes traveled over her, staring at her body openly, unable to believe this news, even as an image of her under the harsh lights of a surgical room filled his mind. He must have looked spooked, because Marie softened slightly as she quietly lifted a hand out to touch his. He couldn’t help but flinch.

“Baby. It’s all better now,” she soothed, but still he didn’t move to return her touch. At his hesitance, she sighed, obviously feeling a bit dejected as she moved to cradle her legs instead.

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” she said flatly. No one said anything for a considerable length of time, and the only sounds were the ticking of the clock on the wall and Laura’s steady and even breathing from upstairs.

“I wasn’t there,” he murmured. She finally glanced back in his direction at this.

“Don’t you see? It wouldn’t have mattered, baby. None of it worked anyway,” she said a bit bitterly. He softened a little at this, eyes sliding up her once more.

“No,” he murmured quietly, sadly.

“And it would’ve happened anyway,” she added.

“Now there you’re wrong,” he growled slightly. “I could’ve healed you, kid.” At this she looked up to him sharply, eyes wide and on fire once more.

“Really, baby? Haven’t you saved my life enough with that little hat trick?” she asked, her voice volatile and wary now. He cocked his head, confused by her anger, even as she plodded on.

“Even if I come out of remission, which I’ve been reassured I won’t, I wouldn’t let you. You’re not giving me any more of your healing ever again. You understand me? Not for sex, not for the small aches or pains, not to…to feel closer. Nothing,” she ended forcibly.

Something about her obstinate tone, or the way she was rejecting one of the few things he had left to offer her suddenly had him angry. Tired and angry, so much so that an involuntary snarl escaped from his lips.

“What? Does that make you mad?” she asked sharply. He gave her a look, before immediately standing, turned off by her taunts.

“You sure as hell are tempting me, woman,” he barked.

“Good,” Marie said darkly. “Get mad. Because you should be. Because this fucking sucks, baby. Cancer sucks. Adamantium poisoning sucks. Laura looking at us like we ruined her whole world today sucks. And, besides, mad’s better than depressed,” she added coldly, her eyes narrowing at him. He stopped then, staring widely at this woman who seemed suddenly so intent on hurting him tonight, before he growled, rounding on her once more.

“Depressed ain’t the half of it, darlin’. Having you back…havin’ Laura…you both scare the shit out of me. You know how much easier, how much fucking easier it would have been had you just let me…” he stopped suddenly, unable, or perhaps just unwilling to finish the sentence.

“Say it,” she said, through tears.

“God, Marie,” he snarled, before ripping his gaze off her, staring instead at the dying fire in the hearth.

“Say it,” she growled again. He looked quietly back to her, before dropping down to sit on the couch once more, his head partially hanging in his hands.

“What? You thought this was going to be easy?” she asked bitterly, moving over to him, lifting his head up with her hand, bringing his eyes to meet hers. “Life never is. So…maybe we need to stop pretending. Stop all the little white lies, all the bitten lips and unsaid things. So here’s the truth,” she added, through silent, fresh tears.

“I know you’re dying,” she said blankly. “And I’m fucking terrified.”

At her words he snarled, and then his hands were clutching her waist hard as he pulled her impossibly close to him.

“You listen to me, woman,” he said, as he breathed into her neck. “You listenin’? I’m not sure what you’re playing at tonight, but I think you’re forgettin’ I lost you twice, Marie. Twice. You think I’m keen on losing you again? You don’t think I fucking know what’s happening to me? That I’m not fucking fighting like hell to hold onto the two of you?”

She was openly crying now, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared at him.

“You know, it wasn’t you, not the you here, but I once told ya all the same that I’d take care of you. I made the same promise to Charles. And guess what? I fucking failed you both. You, starin’ at me through that portal, that poison pumping through you ‘cause of me and my stupidity…and then Charles in the back of that fucking truck, bleedin’ out, starin’ at me as his eyes went dark. Dark as dead stars.”

His hands were gripping her arms hard enough to leave bruises.

“And it’s not gonna happen again. At least, not yet,” he said bitterly. “Just because I have a fucking bad night or two. So take that mounting fear, that paranoia you have about me and shove it,” he growled, and then her eyes were wide as she stared at him unbelievingly for a moment, before he kissed her roughly and she was leaning into him, breathing him in, as he sharply bit her bottom lip in response.

“Fuck, Logan,” she breathed, as he easily lifted her up, standing as she straddled his waist.

“Where?” he asked gruffly, putting both strong hands on her ass to bring her even closer.

“Table,” she exhaled, and he was already swinging her around to the dining room, setting her body down on the hard surface, a couple of the mostly-empty glasses toppling over as he did so, uncaring as he tore her jeans off her. He growled, before sinking into her easily, unwilling and uninterested in readying her, preparing for the always impossibly tight fit of him inside her. It was punishment, perhaps. He knew why she had chosen the table, because now the large, floor length mirror on the far wall of the dining room threw their reflections back at them. He snarled as she gasped, closing her eyes in a mixture of pain and pleasure as she moaned hungrily and he clutched her wrists above her.

“You wanted to watch, then fucking watch,” he growled, as he moved to run his mouth over the fragile skin of her neck, forcing her head to the left, before yanking her sweater up over her body, running his thumbs over her nipples, pinching them hard, the touch of it bordering on abusive as he shoved into her deeper, her now-wet, tight heat cradling him completely.

“This enough for you?” he taunted from above.

“No,” she said sharply.

“You need more?” his tone was dark and rough.

“Yes,” she moaned.

“Selfish thing,” he breathed, after a particularly savage thrust inside her.

“The worst,” she exhaled. He rose to drink her in again, biting her lip roughly once more, this time making it bleed, and she growled approvingly in response.

“Like that,” she murmured, even as a hot tear rolled down her cheek. “Make it hurt.” And then he had a hand threaded in her hair, growling low in his throat as he pulled.

All the while, the mirror taunted them as Marie’s eyes locked with their reflection, even as their slick bodies met again and again as he rocked inside her, Marie whispering a steady stream of murmurs, pleading with him for something, nothing, everything. He held out as long as he could, but quickly he felt the pressure building within him.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he muttered. Heat. Need. All involuntary now, the pulse. Throbbing. Shaking. A hiss. A jolt. A sway. Cursing and bucking as he came violently and she took him in, took him all, her legs harboring him, sheltering him, her body, her sex, her heart, home.

Part 2

Monday, May 20th, 2030



Chapter 4: Laura

It was always one sturdy knock on the door. There was no real pattern, and it wasn’t every morning or even many mornings. But when it did happen, it was always early, before dawn. One brisk knock, and Laura’s eyes would fly open, her lips turning upward into a grin. Sparring. She would hop out of bed, brush her hair out of her eyes, change. And then, as she swung open the door, her Papa would be standing in the hallway, arms crossed, giving her a brief tilt of his head, clearly communicating Let’s go kid. Sparring typically happened on the first floor of the house, a walk-out basement that had been turned into a catch-all room of sorts, and in one corner, a few karate mats where they typically worked. Laura loved sparring with him. Sparring was physical. Sparring meant a way to expend some of her energy. And, most importantly, sparring meant her papa was having un buen dia.

Papa usually went fairly easy on her, even if he was not cómo solía ser. Laura could barely get her hands up in time, even though she was más rápido and encendedor on her feet, but her father simply knew more. Laura always struggled to read him closely for tells, for signs. Sometimes he would let her see what he was going to do, offering her up a knowing secret. She knew he was doing this deliberately, however, and sometimes her frustration grew with the knowledge that she was never truly getting anywhere in discovering papa’s misterios.

Today though, her padre was putting up a fight. He was pushing. He gave nothing away. They were barefoot—they always were— as they moved through the complicated karate sequence.

They were both sweating now as they traded hits and blocks on the mat. Papa’s pace kept quickening; he was making her work and being less lenient. Laura found herself growling more, skulking around him, trying to find a chink in the armor. He could always anticipate every move though, every attempt— El podía leer las mentes—and today he wasn’t giving her a chance. Papa had also taken to barking orders at her in Japanese, a language she struggled to even begin to understand. English still got a bit jumbled in her head sometimes. Japanese was…well insoportablemente duro. Laura moved up into a quick high kick only for it to be easily swatted away, and she barely caught her balance.

“Motto hayaku!” he yelled. At least Laura knew that one. More quickly!

Seething, she surged forward, ready to fake right to lean left, before he easily caught a hold of her wrist and brought her to the floor.

“You’re sloppy today,” he growled, before he barked out a “Tsuite iku!” Keep up! She snarled, throwing her body upward and back onto her feet and leaning into him before he once more had her in a lock. She relentlessly struggled against him, breathing hard, and Papa seemed to sense this, muttering a low growl that clearly meant patience. He had her in an arm lock, and she was unable to break free of the hold, and then she was summoning all her strength, using the core of her body to propel all her force upward and Logan stumbled back, planting his feet on the floor to keep from tripping. They both stood there for a second, breathing heavily.

“Fuck kid, you’re getting stronger,” he muttered. Laura wiped the sweat from her face, exhaling deeply from exhilaration. Her angered had flared, and now she couldn’t help but glare at him.

“Por qué me presionas? Why are you being so hard on me today?” she demanded.

“You need it,” Logan muttered.

“Why?” Laura practically growled. Logan only stared at her for a moment, before he intentionally broke eye contact with her, stepping off the mat to fetch water for them both that he had set in the basement window sill.

“You need an outlet, better control,” he said under his breath, as he threw her the spare bottle. Laura caught it easily, popping off the lid and drinking heavily, before wiping her mouth and frowning once more at her father.

“But…school…” Laura murmured. Logan snorted, shaking his head slightly as he did so.

“You think a few counseling sessions, a little meditation and running a pacer are gonna be enough?” he asked. Laura raised an eyebrow at him. Today, Papa was full of contradictions. He wanted her to control herself at school, but also keep up her training. No tenía sentido.

“But I thought you wanted me to be normal,” she muttered under her breath. Logan stopped then, the muscles in his body suddenly rippled with tension.

“Kid, I just want you to survive,” he murmured, turning around to face her. Laura furrowed her brow at that.

“But…papa…there’s nobody left to fight. Everyone here…they accept us,” she murmured to her feet. She could feel her papa’s frown, as he set down his water and stalked back over to her.

“Hell kid, you read enough of those comics to know that things can change on a dime. Right?”

“But…” Laura started, before stopping, rocking on the balls of her feet

“But what?” he asked, crossing his arms as he did so.

“I thought los comics weren’t real. Like you said… no es la vida real.” Logan sighed, coughing just slightly as he did so.

“Look, it’s not that...hell. Some of it, yeah, was real,” the older mutant paused, seemingly torn. Laura’s ears perked as she realized he was on the brink of telling her something about the X-Men, something important.

“Humans didn’t always champion us. You know that kid, right?”

“Like, you mean what happened with the food and with Transigen?” Laura asked softly.

“Worse,” he muttered.

“How was it worse?” Laura asked. A troubled look crept up onto Papa’s features, his jaw taught. For a moment, Laura wondered if he would speak at all, but then he was choosing his words carefully, his voice low and rough.

“When you’re different, people wanna have control over ya. Particularly if they don’t understand you, yeah? You’ve learned about the holocaust, right?”

“Si,” she murmured quietly. The truth was the news of el Holocausto terrified her. Images of thin, starving bodies, mutilations. After a history lesson this past winter, Laura had googled it, and then she wished she hadn’t. She had ended the lives of many people, but something about las imágenes gráficas had moved her to feelings of desperation. She knew many people were bad. She hadn’t known they could be completamente sin alma.

“Well, at one point, that happened with mutants too,” Logan muttered. Laura’s eyes widened. That wasn’t a story she had ever heard. Nothing that Papa or Marie ever talked about.

“Were you...were you there for it?” she found herself asking quietly. Logan shifted his weight under his bare feet, the mat moving underneath him as he did so.

“Yes. I was. I was... con lo que quedaba de los X-Men,” he muttered.

“Qué quedó?” Laura asked. What was left of the X-Men? It didn’t make sense. Laura knew about the Westchester incident now. But, up until that point, the school had continued on as it always had, operating in relative peace.

“It was…in a different time,” Logan muttered. Laura thoughtfully considered this, not quite taking his meaning.

“Was Marie there too?” Laura asked quietly, and instantly she knew it was the wrong question to ask. At this, something in Papa’s eyes darkened, and his body grew tense as a small frown formed on his lips.

“Yes. Yeah, kid,” he murmured. “Look, that’s all for now. I’ll tell ya more of it later.”

“Cuando?” she asked.

“Cuando estés listo,” he muttered, taking the water bottle from her hands and then placing it back on the sill alongside his own. As he turned to face her, however, he frowned again, even as he joined her once more on the mat.

“Look. In the end...I want ya to have all those normal things. The things most people take for granted. But you can’t get soft, either. You can’t forget how to fight. Things...they always go south. And when they do…” he paused, bringing his eyes to meet Laura’s own, “You’ll need to protect Marie."

“Daddy…” she trailed off. Something strong within her wanted her to cup her hands to her ears. For once to not listen. She knew this already. She knew what he was inferring, and she didn’t want to hear it. She wanted him to stop talking. She wanted him to take it back.

“She’s getting older, kid. She’s gonna need you, especially if the weather changes,” he said, before clasping a heavy hand on her thin shoulder.

“Papa…” Laura trailed off.

“Finish the sequence,” he grumbled, taking a step back from her and drawing himself up to his full height once more. “Shīkensu o shūryō suru.”

“But Papa-” she stammered.

“Finish it,” he growled. Laura looked up to him sharply, frowning, before finally relinquishing into a full, traditional Japanese bow.

“Domo arigato sensei,” she mumbled.

“Do itashi mashite.” As he also bowed, he lowered his head to her, but his eyes never left hers.



--

George and Mary had danced something called “the Charleston.” Laura had googled it. Her lap top screen had been filled with images of people in antiquated clothing moving quickly around each other. Laura had grinned, finding the clip, too, of George and Mary dancing before they had fallen into the pull underneath the gym floor. She loved that part, right before they fell. Something about how they had moved together, how he had held her in his arms and had smiled. It was fascinante. Her whole life, she hadn’t known what dancing was. She hadn’t known that two people could move like that together. She had been embarrassed that she hadn’t known, though, and she didn’t want to ask Papa and Marie about it during the movie. Laura had certainly never seen them dance.

After sparring, Logan and Laura sat at the kitchen island stools as Marie fussed over breakfast. Papa rarely ate in the mornings, and Laura would have been fine with cereal, but Marie often found herself cooking regardless, and now the smell of sizzling bacon was making Laura’s stomach grumble in anticipation. Papa sat reading the paper, looking relaxed and hair still partially wet from a shower after their sparring, glasses low on his nose. Un beun dia still, then. Laura meanwhile was fumbling with her homework, putting everything in her backpack to be ready for the day, before she had caught a glimpse of the purple and blue flyer once more. Outta This World End of School Dance! Laura blushed, before shoving it further down in her bag and doing up the flap.

Everyone was talking about it. It was this weekend, and it was going to be hosted in the school gym, just like in Bedford Falls. Laura bit her lip, toying with the flap of the backpack, throwing a sidelong glance at Papa who was still immersed in the paper, before turning back to the woman cooking just beyond the kitchen island.

“Marie?” Laura asked.

“Yeah?” Marie murmured idly, although her attention was still focused on the gas stove in front of her.

“How do people….dance?” she asked, before she could stop herself. That did it. Marie looked up from the skillet, and Laura noticed, too, that Papa had looked up from his paper and was now arching an eyebrow in Laura’s direction as well.

“Dance?” Marie asked, crossing her arms, even though she still held a spatula in one hand.

“Yeah. Like George and Mary…but how they do it now…” Laura mumbled, fiddling with the cuffs of her jean jacket.

“George and Mary?” Marie asked.

“From la película,” Laura whispered. The movie.

“Are you asking because of the middle school dance coming up?” Marie questioned, as she walked a plate of bacon over to the kitchen island, setting it down on the counter between father and daughter. Meanwhile, Laura’s cheeks felt hot, and, at the term middle school dance, Papa had whipped the paper down to the counter once more, and openly stared at them both.

“What ‘middle school dance’?” Logan asked.

“How did you know about that?” Laura grumbled to Marie, ignoring Logan. Marie blinked at both of them, raising her hands up in the air defensively as she did so. “What? Am I the only one who reads the school emails?” she asked. Papa only gave a low growl in response, before turning to his daughter once more.

“What kinda dance are we talking about, hija?” he asked, turning to Laura.

“I dunno. And I’m not going Papa. I was just…curious,” she muttered to her backpack, before snagging a slice of bacon from the plate and biting a piece in half, mouth now conveniently full of food.

“Why aren’t you going?” Laura found Marie still asking. Laura chewed slowly, and only shrugged her shoulders in response.

“Why are sixth graders going to dances anyway?” Logan asked, still staring at the other two in disbelief.

“I think it’s a pretty typical thing, baby. You’re just thinking of Xavier’s. We didn’t do them there,” Marie said. Logan shot another look at them both, before shaking his head slightly and taking a deep swallow of coffee.

“You didn’t?” Laura asked, frowning once more. Marie sighed, untying her apron as she did so.

“To answer your question Laura, at your age, dancing is probably a lot of awkward swaying,” Marie said. Papa coughed into his mug, before setting it down haphazardly.

“Swaying?” Laura asked. Marie bit her lip, setting the apron down on the counter, before checking her watch quickly, realizing they still had time before Laura needed to go to school.

“Uhh, yeah. Logan, stand up, sugar,” Marie said, and she was already walking around to their side of the island.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered.

“Stand up, or no breakfast,” Marie said, sliding the plate away from where he had been grasping for a slice of bacon. Laura caught him glancing back to his daughter, and then he was grumbling as he stood.

“They used to do it like this, like in the movie. Logan, take my waist,” Marie said through a smirk. She was taking Papa’s hands and positioning one at her waist while one of hers clasped his shoulder. “Your father should remember. He was around for the Charleston,” Marie said through a wicked grin and a wink. Papa only growled a little, but his hand instinctively tightened around Marie’s slender waist still, while Marie moved to hold his other hand between them in the air.

“See?” she said, smiling. Laura’s eyes had gone wide, but now the younger mutant giggled.

“You look ridiculous. Especially you, daddy,” Laura said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered, before dropping the hand he had been holding Marie’s in, although Laura noticed he hadn’t taken his eyes off Marie and the other still lingered on her waist.

“But you’d probably get made fun of if you did it that way now. So… like this…” Marie murmured, before she once more moved Papa’s other hand to the other side of her waist, and then she slunk her hands around his neck. Seeing how close they were, how different it was than what she had seen in the movie, Laura gulped.

“With a….with a boy?” she finally stammered. Marie sighed as she dropped her hands and Logan turned to look at Laura once more.

“But you’ve decided you ain’t going, right? So no problem,” he grumbled, as he stalked back over to the counter, finally snagging a piece of bacon. Marie frowned a bit before picking up her cup of coffee off the kitchen counter. “So you don’t want to go, Laura?”

“No.” she said, moving to grab her backpack and hopping off the stool. “I was just…asking. Curious."

“Alright then,” Marie said through an intentional smile. “Good to know.”





--

The hallway was bustling in that sort of way that was filled with tense excitement. Laura could hear the various heartbeats, the pulses quickening over the course of the semester, and now that the warmer weather was finally here, it seemed to put everything into overdrive. Banners for the Outta This World! Dance were everywhere, painted rocket ships blasting across black skies surrounded by painted stars. It was also spirit week, and now balloons and reams of colored paper filled the hallways, most of it space-themed advertising intergalactic travel and honeymoons on the moon. Laura had rolled her eyes at most of the spirit week stuff—why would anyone want to wear their shirt backwards? What was the point of that?— and had tried, as hard as she could, to focus on her classes and school work. Finals were also on their way, and that’s where she had put most of her attention. She wasn’t going to wear her shirt backwards or dress up like her favorite athlete, mainly because she didn’t have one, but still.

The dance, however… As Laura tore through the combination on the dial to her locker, not needing to memorize the numbers and listening for that reliable click of the mechanism, Laura’s thoughts flew once more to the way Papa had put his hand around Marie’s waist. Instinctively. Intuitively. Like it belonged there. He loved her so. Laura clutched her books tightly to her chest for a moment, before finally relinquishing them and putting them inside her locker.

Ever since they had learned she was a mutant, Laura did have a few more friends. She was exotic to many, an oddity to a few. Cole’s friends, especially, had once more gladly accepted her back into the fold, mainly because they had never met a mutant before and because she had discovered several of them read the X-Men comics. To them, it was like she was a real life character that had jumped right out of the panes of the story. Laura had bitten her lip, and of course had abstained from saying something like No that’s actually the rest of my family but sometimes… all of it got on her nerves. She was still herself after all; ella era más que su mutación. Even if they didn’t see that yet.

“Laura! Hey Laura, wait up!” she heard a voice call, and suddenly a gangly blonde boy with freckles and glasses was meandering over to her locker. Mitch. Mitch was one of Cole’s friends, prone to asking her a myriad of questions related to mutants and the X-Men. It was true that Laura knew the intricacies of most of the X-Men comics, along with a few precious real-life details from Logan and Marie, sometimes Mitch made her feel like a walking search engine.

“Hi Mitch,” Laura said.

“So Alex and I were talking last night, and are you like, for certain, the Brotherhood would have come into power in the early eighties?”

“No, Mitch, the sixties. You’re thinking of Mystique’s revival.”

“But in issue 199…” Laura rolled her eyes as Mitch blabbed on, as they made their way to the lunchroom from the emptying hall. The funny thing was Laura wasn’t the only one who had seen a turnaround in what people thought about her since they had been outed. Papa had been right—word got around in towns like this— and both adults, too, had seen an influx of interest from the community. They already knew about Laura, but the word of gossip on everyone’s tongue was that they all might be mutants. A welcome basket had shown up on their front porch one day, even though they had moved into la casa del lago months ago. Marie had been invited to the Baptist and the Methodist churches’ ladies’ social clubs—much to Papas amusement—which Marie had politely declined. Papa had seen a steady uptick in his work to the point where he was turning projects down. Want to serve on the PTA? Want to join us at town hall meetings? We wouldn’t mind the mutant perspective; we haven’t had one in a while. Help us organize a community night!

Laura was happy to see that the couple of initiatives Marie had actually been interested in involved the rights of the indigenous peoples of Hay River, and Marie had even attended one of the local tribal council meetings, at their invitation. That night Marie had come home talking animatedly about how they were trying to solve the problems of discrimination in their community, and Laura had clung to every word.

They sound like they know what it feels like to be a mutant, Laura had said to Marie.

I think you’re right, Marie had said back through a smile. Papa had only offered a humph in response, even though Laura knew he agreed. Papa was a sucker for justicia, and he loathed discrimination. One of the many things that, under his gruff exterior, made him un buen hombre.

Meanwhile, Laura dealt with the attention at school, often having to field morbid questions from Mitch and the others, particularly about her healing factor.

So would you heal if your leg got sliced off? What if you were in a plane and it crashed over the Pacific ocean? Can you even drown? What if you were struck by lighting? Bit by a poisonous snake? What about if you’re in the middle of a nuclear blast? What if you were stung by ten thousand jellyfish at once?

Laura was fairly amused and simultaneously a little disturbed at the scenarios they dreamed up for her, although often a prideful and mischievous grin would infect her features when she’d offered them a slight nod her head to the chorus of the other boys shouting “that’s so cool!” Sometimes, though, she actually wasn’t sure if she could survive the situations they invented for her, and once or twice she made the mistake of going back home and asking her papa for clarification.

A leg sliced off? What the fuck, Laura? Sure, yeah. Regenerative capability. Let’s not test out that fucking theory though, ok?

“But you have to take in the fact that Toad’s brotherhood was by far the most iconic…” Mitch was still saying.

“Mitch, I said I’m right. And I am,” Laura grumbled, as they both sat down at the table. Laura had taken to eating hot lunch more lately, waiting in line with her friends. Laura noticed that Cole was two seats down now, and he looked twitchy, staring down at his uneaten mashed potatoes every so often as Mitch prattled on about the Brotherhood.

Cole had been probably one of the only ones who hadn’t bombarded her questions about being a mutant. Their friendship had continued in that camino fácil it always had. A little awkward, always a bit stumbling, but mostly bien. It had been Cole’s mom that had invited Marie to the tribal meeting, and there was something about this Laura liked. Cole never talked about his heritage, but a few times he had taught her some Chipewyan words and she had returned the favor by teaching him some Español. Lately though, Cole was quiet, and sometimes, like today, Laura easily noticed that he had taken up to staring at her for long periods of time, which would often set Laura on edge. What was he looking at?

The conversation was still happening around her, and only when Mitch repeated the question the second time did Laura look up from her tray.

“Laura, I said, do you think, like, you’re the only one left?” Mitch asked.

“The only what?” Laura asked absently, finally picking up her fork from the table.

“The only mutant?” Mitch asked. Laura rolled her eyes at this, stabbing a dollop of mashed potatoes.

“I know I’m not the only one,” she said. Mitch’s eyes went wide, and as the air stiffened around her and the scent of fear and anticipation filled the room, she realized that she had commanded the attention of the entire table all of the sudden.

Realizing what she had just admitted to, Laura bit her lip. Mierda. She wasn’t supposed to talk about what happened at the lab. But some parts maybe she could leave out? “I grew up with a couple. Childhood friends.”

“When you lived in Mexico?” Laura looked up to realize that Cole had asked that question. She glanced at him for a moment, fiddling now with the fork in her hand.

“Sí,” she muttered.

“Where are they now?” Mitch asked, giving her his rapt attention.

“Well,” Laura stammered, thinking hard about how much to say. “The boy, Rictor, lives in Ontario, but we still text,” she finished. She realized that once more Cole shot her a weird look that Laura didn’t quite know what to do with.

“What could he do?” Mitch asked.

“Uh, he could generate vibrations. Energía sísmica,” she finished. There was an impressed gasp from more than a couple of the boys, one murmuring a “that’s so freaking awesome”, but Laura noticed that, at this, Cole looked disturbed and now was intent on staring at the fruit medley on the tray in front of him.

Lunch continued on, but, like Cole, Laura had fallen silent for most of the rest of it. Monday was always a source of a little more tension, especially recently, because directly following lunch Laura was now supposed to make her way to the administrative offices, and even though she wasn’t in trouble, Laura had been in there enough to always feel like she was.

This had been part of Laura’s IEP, el plan. Ms. Gundalson had made it a point for Laura to talk to Mrs. Greer, the school counselor, at least twice a month, especially regarding any frustración Laura was feeling at school. Laura knew, in part, this was simply to protect the other kids as much as herself; they didn’t want her to sock anybody again. They had reassured Papa and Marie that it wasn’t something everybody was calling therapy, but Laura wasn’t always sure what to say, or what to do, during these appointments. She walked into the woman’s office hesitantly, even though Mrs. Greer had warmly invited her in, and now she found herself fiddling with the jean jacket she was now holding, staring at the silver frames of happy children between her and the older woman. So far at these appointments most of her responses to the counselor’s endless questions had resulted in one or two word answers, while she squirmed in her chair and listened to the steady ticking of the clock on the far wall.

The hardest part about it all was that Mrs. Greer was una mujer amable, dark-skinned and good natured. She seemed to genuinely want to offer ayuda where she could, but Laura was starting to suspect that the problem was that the woman didn’t, couldn’t know the whole story. The half-lies Laura was forced to tell were difícil to keep up with at times, and sometimes Laura had to focus on her breathing to not become overwhelmed by it all. Mrs. Greer was good at getting to the truth, though, and often Laura found el animal inside her pacing, feeling threatened.

“So…are you excited about spirit week this week? About the dance?” Mrs. Greer was asking.

“Uh, I guess,” Laura mumbled.

“Are you going? To the dance, that is?” she asked carefully.

“Probably not,” Laura muttered. At this, the older woman’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Will your parents not let you?” she asked. “Because I know some families view it as a little…premature.”

“Ah, no. They probably would,” Laura said. “I just…I don’t feel like going.” At this, the older woman sat back a bit in her seat, and Laura knew she was changing tactics. She knew habilidad táctica when she saw it.

“How is your father doing?” Mrs. Greer asked.

Mierda, Laura cursed to herself. She had let it slip at the last session a couple of weeks ago that her papa hadn’t been feeling as well and that was why she was stressed. Of course this woman seemed to remember that. But her father’s salud was the last thing Laura wanted to talk about.

“Good. Much better,” she murmured. It was, again, a partial lie. Today had been a good day, esto era cierto, but on bad days… The trembling in his hands. How he wouldn’t always eat. Drinking too much. At these thoughts, Laura could only shift in her seat.

“Really?” Mrs. Greer asked, a look of mild suspicion playing on her features.

“Si,” Laura muttered, and then after another moment, she added. “Can we talk about something else?” The older woman offered her a small, polite smile, before folding her wrinkled hands on the table in front of her. Laura noticed the thick, sterling rings, several on each finger, and she settled down a bit. Laura liked jewelry, mainly because she had never gotten to wear it in Mexico, and Mrs. Greer’s choices were bonita y calmante. Seeing the rings wink in the light somehow helped.

“Your essay over The Color of Water in honors English…Mrs. Finn said it was exceptional.”

“Gracias.”

“You like to read a lot, huh?”

“Sí,” she murmured. At this, Mrs. Greer leaned forward a bit in her seat.

“Have you thought about what you want to do yet, when you grow up?”

Laura couldn’t help the hairs on her arm stand up as a new level of discomfort descended on her. Laura wasn’t often keen on thinking so much about the future.

“I know that’s a big question…” she continued on. “But It’s something you should be thinking about, even in middle school.”

“Why?” Laura asked.

“Well,” Mrs. Greer paused, before calmly gesturing with an open palm around her. “It’s the rest of your life.”

Laura frowned. The rest of your life. But how long was that going to be? How many decades? More than one century? Why hurry off to school, focus on a career, when she had time to finish school several times over? And besides, she hadn’t forgotten what Papa had said this morning.

You’ll need to protect Marie. She’s gonna need you.

A shiver went down Laura’s spine, as the counselor kept talking.

“You’re a good critical thinker…when you focus,” the woman was saying. Laura blushed a little.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Laura…” she added, leaning forward on the desk once more.

“Yeah?”

“A lot of kids in towns like this don’t consider it. But I want you to think about college, ok?"

“Sí, señora,” Laura said quietly, before looking down at the scuffs on her sneakers, happy to focus on something other than what was in front of her. Meanwhile, Esperanza’s voice still in her ear: I looked at my feet in their white socks and ugly round shoes. They seemed far away. They didn't seem to be my feet anymore. And the garden that had been such a good place to play didn't seem mine either.



--

Kids were darting this way and that through the hall as the bell rang. Even from the windows, she could tell everything was lighter outside, the sun higher than it used to be. The days were slowly getting longer, and everyone was grateful for it. Laura had taken to walking home, had insisted doing so because the weather was better now and the two-mile walk often helped clear her head. Today though had her begrudging the upcoming journey, the appointment with the counselor still fresh in her mind.

Laura was like her papa in many ways, this she already knew. Sometimes not thinking about something was the easiest option, the one that made the most sense for both of them. It seemed more helpful, more appropriate, most of the time to live in the moment, to face each problem as it unraveled in front of her, but she also realized on more than one occasion this had gotten her into trouble. Perhaps some problems shouldn’t be handled like the sparring sessions with her papa. There were other types of problems that couldn’t be dealt with the physical instincts of her body. Roundhouse kicks and uppercuts would be no use for navigating the sequences of much more mundane, but still very real, problems. She had to start anticipating the most likely scenarios. She needed to start using her mind. And she needed to be ready.

She had just walked through the metal doors, pack in hand, when she heard it. The telltale sputtering of an idling engine. He had come to get her. Como en los viejos tiempos. A wide, long grin broke out on her face as she saw the Bronco, but just as she started walking more determinedly over to it, she heard someone shout out her name.

“Laura!” She turned to see Cole practically jogging behind her, breathing heavily his phone in hand. Laura tried to withhold a physical growl from escaping her throat, feeling frustrated and obviously perturbed as she turned back around, muscles tense.

“What is it, Cole?” she grumbled, as she threw a nervous glance back over to the car, but still feeling the need to clench her jaw to not look too annoyed. Cole didn’t know her papa was having a good day. Cole didn't know there wasn’t a moment of a good day she wanted to miss.

“Sorry. It’s just…Do… I heard you say that your parents let you text?” he was asking her.

“Yeah?” she asked. Cole lifted up the phone in his hand and waved it in front of her.

“Listen. My mom finally let me get a phone. It’s not great, but I can text. Can I…can I have your number? To talk to you? Just about…uhh…stuff?” he asked, and Laura noticed he wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“Stuff?” she asked.

“Yeah. X-Men stuff. School stuff. Math questions,” he floundered.

“Uh, sure. Hold on a second,” she said, throwing off her pack and fumbling in her backpack for her phone. He mumbled the number as Laura typed it in, and then, just like that, he was turning around to leave in the other direction.

“I gotta go,” he muttered.

“Ok…” Laura said to the space where Cole had just been, as she watched him scamper away through the throng of kids. She turned back around, head still fuzzy and spinning and phone still in hand, as she finished making her way to the Bronco, opening up the passenger door and climbing in the front seat. Finally, she meekly brought her gaze upward, looking quietly to her padre. He had an arched brow, a small smirk on his face. Sigue siendo un buen día.

“Hi Papa,” she muttered through a half-smile.

“You ok, kid?” he asked.

“Yeah…yeah,” she said, before biting her lip and looking up to him again. He was staring at her knowingly and she exhaled through her nose.

“You heard?” she finally asked. Logan cleared his throat through a slight cough, before putting the Bronco in reverse.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” he muttered.

“You’re not mad?” she asked. Her father only smirked, before turning the Bronco off into the main road.

“Eh. Cole’s harmless,” he said. Just then though, Laura’s phone vibrated in her hand, and as she glanced down at it, she realized it was a message from the new number she had just inputted into her phone.

Do you have a date to the dance? Cole. Laura could feel the blush creep up her cheeks as she stared down at the screen.

Logan cleared his throat, before he added, “That him askin’ ya to the dance thing? Over text?”

“How’d you know?” she asked.

“Hmpf. He’s not so hard to figure out,” he muttered and then, turning to look at her once more, he added through a slight smirk, “Kid’s sorta scared of ya, isn’t he?”

At this, Laura’s face broke out into a true smile as her padre looked back to her. She shrugged her shoulders helplessly, even though they both could hear her heart thumping heavily still with the events of the last few minutes. No one said anything for a bit of time as town slowly dissipated and the truck made its way up the long gravel drive, until finally Logan spoke again.

“You know, hija, if ya wanna go with him, it’s alright by me,” he finally murmured.

“Really?” Laura asked, through another small smile.

“Yeah. I mean, after this morning, I’m not sure I could even stop ya anymore if I wanted to,” he muttered through a chuckle. Laura frowned slightly at this brand of humor, but chose to disregard the comment and put a smile on her face once more instead.

“Thanks, Papa,” she murmured.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, throwing her another glance, before murmuring, “Kay’s over tonight. Is that alright with you?”

“Really?” she asked, voice brightening with the news.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Perfecto,” she murmured, before leaning back in the seat, clutching the phone to her chest all the more tightly.

Chapter 5: Rogue



Marie woke up feeling displaced. Her own eyes opened to the surroundings of their dark and cool bedroom, but she also saw outside of herself. Her mind was a paper kite, and her body dutifully held the string. She lay there for a long time, as if she was watching her body from above. This happened, sometimes. Often enough that she knew not to panic and that, eventually, her body would pull her mind in. In fact, Marie periodically wondered if, with all the people nestled inside of her brain, everything got too much for her body sometimes. The people she absorbed but didn’t kill eventually faded. The others, well. They stayed. She had a good handle on them all these days, but she was not completely immune to their baggage.

It had all started about an hour earlier, when she had stirred at his sounds. It was the rustling of covers, his heavy feet padding across the wooden floor. And, then, his voice in her ear. “I think I’m gonna spar with her.” She had practically smiled, purred in her semi-conscious state. A good day, then was the idle thought that floated across her mind. If he woke up being able to breathe, often that continued on throughout the morning and into the afternoon.

And it was during these times their whole world altered just slightly, the pressure and tension lessening, the temporary but encouraging feelings of peace intoxicating them all. She had fallen back asleep content, but now she was awake once more, and her mind was gone and the other side of the bed had gone cold with his absence.

Someday, it would always be like that.

Marie shuddered, willing that thought away and instead working on slowly summoning her mind back to her body. She lifted her hands in front of her face, focusing on what was here, what she could see. She stared at her fingers intently, eyes lingering on each wrinkled line, the now-visible veins threaded over the tendons in her hands. As she registered the nicks here and there, the occasional age spot, she realized she hadn’t studied her hands like this for a very long time.

After her hands, she decided to keep taking inventory. Her body, for the most part, still worked for her rather than against her. This was partially her own doing. She was now ritualistic about yoga, meditation, too. She had gained a little weight from those early days when she had reunited with Logan at Alkali, working on adding muscle. Still though, Marie would be forty-seven this fall, and her age had made itself known, settling just slightly in all the normal, telltale places she expected it would. Her long hair had more grey now, and it was slightly more evident, nestled as it still was amidst the dark brown and white. Her left shoulder had a lingering ache she could never quite work out, and she was starting to suspect arthritis had taken hold in the joint of one knee. Ultimately, however, these things were still minor. They were the things that signified the natural course of aging. And they were things she didn’t talk about, if only because whatever she felt was always unintentionally eclipsed.

Of course, there were parts of her, parts she couldn’t quite let go of, that were still a little selfish, a little vain. Logan never showed any sign that he was unsatisfied with how she looked, always responding with a Yer beautiful, darlin’ or Have you taken a good look at me, kid? , and she was grateful for his often and generous kindness.

Still though, there was no denying that they were both older, and she would be lying if she said there was something in her that sometimes pined for that cocksure grin and swagger of that deceptively looking thirty-year-old. Not for his physical appearance, no. That part of her, selfishly sometimes, was grateful Logan looked the way he did. The simple fact of the matter was they matched now. As she had begun to understand and respect the signs of aging, she realized it would have looked a bit ridiculous if he had still looked the way he had when she had first met him, swinging a leg off a Harley, dark brown hair slicked into points, immortally smirking. But it was the rest of it. The attitude that had come along with the leather jacket. The forthrightness, the assurance. The wind in his sails. Sometimes, on days not like today, he would become resigned, prone to long periods of being quiet. Logan had always been known to shut others out or simply escape from what he knew when things were amiss, but, now, there was nowhere to go. No motorcycle to take off on. And even if he could, she wasn’t so sure how far he would make it.

Marie frowned, suddenly uncomfortable. It’s a good day, she chanted to herself. Her mantra. She wouldn’t focus on the rest. She couldn’t. She realized through these ruminations that her mind was, in fact, finally finished returning, her body once more summoning the strength it needed to hold her in place. She still moved slowly to sit up, stretching out the achy shoulder before massaging it with her other hand. Her hair was everywhere, and she found herself instinctively running her hands through it, loosely braiding it as she did so. She had just finished working out the tips of the strands, tying it off with a band from her wrist, when she heard the door open.

“Morning, darlin’,” he said. His eyes were bright, and there was still a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and he was shirtless and smiling. Smiling. She tried to focus on that, and not the fact that she could tell he had lost more weight recently. He was still all muscle, taught and hardened, but somehow he was also leaner. Just slightly…less. He needed to eat more, she thought. If he caught her looking him over he didn’t show it, and he was still grinning as he walked over to her side of the bed.

“Morning” she whispered, as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You guys have a good time?” she asked.

“Yeah…” he said, standing back up, taking a deep, unencumbered breath, working his own shoulder through a couple more light stretches. “Kid’s gettin’ stronger.”

“She kick your ass?” Marie asked playfully. Logan only chuckled.

“Not quite,” he said, although he sighed a little tiredly as he sat on the foot of the bed by her feet.

“Well, maybe next time, then. I’ve been working with her on those uppercuts, and teaching her how to use her core as a point of force,” Marie added. Logan’s lips turned upward into a smirk.

“You two ganging up on me?” he asked, as he intuitively took hold of her foot that had been peeking out from underneath the covers, massaging it gently.

“Maybe,” she said, a playful note in her voice as she pressed her foot into the outer side of this thigh. He arched his brow at her before crawling over her, forcing her once more into a prone position, his lips now lingering right near her ear.

“You’re gonna hafta pay for that,” he said devilishly, before gently lining up his teeth with the scar on the side of her neck.

“I haven’t even got out of bed yet. Haven’t brushed my teeth,” she said sheepishly.

“Like I fucking care about that,” he said into her ear. He moved in once more to attempt to lick the side of her neck, but she put an arm to his chest to slow him.

“Baby,” she protested weakly. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him. It was just that Logan, true to form, solved many things he worried about with sex. Despite his condition, they managed to have it most every day. It was just something they weren’t willing to give up, to compromise on. Ever. Even when he felt especially bad, they often found themselves tangled up in each other in the darkest parts of the night, and often it was slow and winding, like a sad unyielding song. He was somehow more patient during these times, more inquisitive, as if pain made him more thoughtful to all the ways a body could be undone. And, of course, when he felt better, well…

“I wanna taste every fucking inch of you,” he murmured. Something deep within her ached at his words, and it took every part of her to try not to become distracted by what she was saying.

“Sugar,” she said, bringing her hand up to touch his bearded face, turning his head slightly so he was looking in her in the eye. Today wasn’t just about him feeling well though. The goddamn man was stalling. Although Marie could freely admit a three-hour drive to go to a monthly appointment with a mutant specialist was not anyone’s idea of a good time, it was crucially necessary.

“You know we can’t miss this,” she said, running a thumb lightly across a faint scar to the left of his nose.

“We can do whatever the fuck we want,” he growled, gripping her wrist tightly before bringing her hand down from his face.

“No, we can’t,” she said pointedly.

“You’re not going to let me off the hook, not just this once?” he asked, hands now running up underneath her sweater, thumbing her nipples lightly at first and then more roughly. She took in a sharp breath, before, stricken with a wild idea, she pulled him close to her, rolling them both over so he was underneath her and she was now straddling him.

“Atta girl,” he smirked up at her, thoroughly amused with the situation he now found himself in. She threw him a serious look as she met his eye.

“This is not for you… this , lover, is a display of dominance,” she said. He cocked a suspicious eyebrow at her, his right lip tugging up into a grin to show that he still looked damn pleased with himself. She squeezed her thighs around his waist once more in response to let him know she wasn’t joking around.

“Dominance, eh?” Logan’s eyes were dancing.

“We’re going,” she said.

He growled a little bit, and she returned it with a slight snarl back. That threw him. He tilted his head to the left, in the most adorably puppy-like way she had ever witnessed, obviously taken aback by her purely feral response.

“What?” she asked. “You don’t think being around the language of two feral mutants constantly means I haven’t picked up a few phrases?”

He growled approvingly once more before he reached up to bite her ear. She let him for a moment, before she pushed him back down into the mattress.

“Now,” Rogue’s voice dropped as she lowered her head to his own, words lingering in his ear. “Laura’s getting ready, and we both need showers. So you have five minutes to have your way with me sugar, so make the most of it.” He only rumbled approvingly in response, before he was whipping her around so her back was on the bed again, before dutifully diving between her legs.





--

An hour later, Marie stared down at the giant gift basket, the sheen of the clear wrapping and giant satin bow looking mildly ridiculous as it graced the fairly muddy doormat. This wasn’t their first care package, but it certainly was the biggest. She nudged it lightly with her boot, before sighing, bending down to heave it up in her arms, swinging the door shut with her foot before she set it down on the kitchen island and took a couple steps back, staring at the gift once more.

It was pretty much known or suspected that they were all a family of mutants. Logan and Marie had come up with a thin cover story about having fled to Canada when the political fallout in the United States got too bad, because Logan was originally from Alberta anyway. Marie, they had decided, also had a sister whose health had been declining and that was why she had not initially been with them when Logan and Laura had first settled here. They hadn’t really needed to reiterate this cover story to anyone, however; no one had asked. And certainly no one had come out and directly asked if they were mutants, but if the people in town suspected they all were or not, the town now knew Laura was, and that was enough. They had been showered with invitations and gifts, much to Logan’s shock and suspicion and Rogue’s general amusement, but now it was getting a little, well, much. They had been invited to church gatherings, spring socials, PTA meetings, even dinner parties. They had declined most of these things, with the exception of Marie periodically helping Jody, Cole’s mother, with a couple of initiatives regarding tribal anti-discrimination efforts in the community, but that was it.

Marie had just started picking through the package, seeing if she might be able to use any of what was there to help round out the spread she had planned for the dinner with Kay, when she heard Logan’s footsteps up the deck stairs. He was most likely deliberately making noise so she knew he was there in order not to startle her. She smiled faintly. He had taken Laura to school this morning, much to their mutual delight.

“Hell, another one?” he said, as he swung the door shut, stalking over to the kitchen island.

“Looks like it,” Marie said.

“When’s this shit gonna stop?” he asked, throwing the keys on the counter. He was in a workman’s jacket, jeans, a button down, his typical attire. Marie often wore jeans nowadays too, but opted for a sweater today, because the nights were still cool enough to warrant one.

“I dunno,” she said. “This one’s impressive…”

Logan sighed, before moving a bit closer to her, hand possessively resting on her hip.

“You were right,” he murmured, his breath on the nape of her neck.

“About what?” she asked.

“We were sorta sheltered back east, you know?” he murmured, leaning back slightly as she turned to look at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“Just...I guess we stuck around there for a reason. The notoriety, the fame. It’s somethin’ we never took to, ya know?”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

“I warned the kid about some of it,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?” she asked, crossing her arms as she watched pass by her now to walk over to the basket, beginning to fumble through it.

“Just…you know. To keep her guard up. Either they’re obsessed with us or they hate us. Things can change,” he said. Then, picking up the card in the basket, he read, “‘ Welcome to the neighborhood.’ What a fucking riot. Laura and I have been here since last summer,” and then he was throwing the card down, sniffing around for the food. Rogue frowned a bit as she watched him.

“You think now that Transigen is disabled, at least up north, we’ll start seeing more mutants? Or more…discrimination?” she asked quietly. At this Logan stopped, looking up to her from where he had been rustling through the contents of the gift.

“Hell if I know, darlin’. I try not to think about it,” he said through another frown, before rustling about in the basket once more. “Ugh. there’s just a bunch of candy and shit in here. Laura’s gonna have a fucking field day, though.” Finally, he held up a bag of peanut M&M’s. “Road food,” he added, before tossing the candy at her, which she caught easily enough.

“What, you’re not fighting me on this one anymore?” she asked, staring down at the yellow and black packaging before looking up to him again.

“Nah. Not today,” he said through another stretch of his neck, before snagging the keys off the table once more.

“Why the change of tune?” she asked through an arched brow.

“I called in a favor. Pushed up some plans I had to today,” he said, as he walked back over to her, swinging the keys in his hand.

“What plans?” Marie asked. Logan only smirked, before moving to kiss the spot right under her earlobe.

“You’ll see when we get there,” he murmured softly into her skin.



--

The drive to Fort Smith was a relatively peaceful one, and Logan’s good mood had remained. He had insisted on being behind the wheel, and they both liked it that way. She lazily had her boots up on the dash now as they idly chatted. The conversation always ebbed and flowed, and when the cabin fell into silence, it was consistently in that familiar, comfortable way. At one point, she’d been languidly watching the snow melt off in the distance, when Logan had thrown a spare M&M at her. She grinned wickedly before pelting one back at him. He chuckled, and they both smiled.

Marie had stumbled on a few old Bob Dylan tapes in Kay’s shop, and now Time Out of Mind was playing from the tinny speakers of the Bronco. When she had discovered it, she had grinned ear-to-ear. The Bronco only had a tape player and a radio and Logan found himself caring for much for the two radio stations they could get up here, so she knew the find had been a valuable one. She had discovered what his favorite Dylan album was back at Xavier’s, when he had touted the vinyl record home from an old little music store in upstate New York he sometimes had frequented. Time Out of Mind was his favorite Dylan album, “the best” as far as he was concerned, far more precious to him than Highway 61 Revisited or Blonde on Blonde, even if he knew he was going against popular opinion. His best stuff was his later stuff, Logan had said that day he had brought the record back to Xavier’s, sliding it out of its sleeve and carefully placing it on the player. Rogue only smiled. She loved Blonde on Blonde and would always think it was better. Agree to disagree , she had said, even as she had settled in to listening to the record with him that day.

“You know, no one back there ever really got your taste in music,” she now teased, and only as she snagged another M&M out of the bag did she realize, a little too late, what she had said. Logan didn’t often like to talk about Xavier’s, and most of the time neither did Rogue. Still though, he only smiled at her, running his hand through his hair before turning the music up slightly.

“’Ro hated Dylan,” he said through a grin.

“ Now give me some of that Chuck Berry,” Marie said, quoting Storm. Logan laughed.

“That’s right, wasn’t it? She loved Chuck Berry. Well, that wasn’t such bad taste. But Michael Jackson,” he said through a shake of his head. “That I couldn’t forgive her for.”

“Better than Kitty and the Spice Girls,” Marie said through a laugh, as Logan visibly cringed.

“You girls and your shitty 2000 music,” he muttered. At this, Marie threw another M&M at him, which he easily dodged.

“Hey, don’t knock Y2K,” she said a little defensively, and he snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with Matchbox Twenty and Coldplay.” Logan only scowled, as Marie continued on. “Kitty loved Coldplay,” she said. “She’d make me sing along when we’d be getting ready in the morning, shared bathrooms and all.” Rogue was still smiling, but then something shifted, and her smile fell, as the shaky voice of Dylan singing to “Love Sick” still played in the background.

“I miss them,” she murmured.

“I know you do, kid,” he muttered, throwing a wary glance her way.

After a bit of silence, slowly another town started sliding up to meet them, and Marie realized, this time, it was Fort Smith. As the buildings started to multiply, she sat up a bit, especially when Logan took an unfamiliar left down a street a few away from where they typically turned.

“Logan, where are we-” she began asking.

“-I already told ya. I pushed up some plans. Gotta couple of things to do here first,” he muttered, before pulling into the roadside diner on the fringes of town. She stared at the neon sign of the giant burger, perplexed.

“You’re hungry?” she asked blinking at him. He smirked, but shook his head.

“No. I gotta friend in town,” he said through a grin. At this, Marie perked up even more.

“A friend ?” Marie asked, and Logan knew she wasn’t being rude. Logan and Marie used to have dozens of friends, friends so close they called them family, but now they only had each other. He was already getting out of the driver’s side door though, not having bothered answering her question, and Marie had to quicken her pace to keep up. The bell on the door rang, opening up to red vinyl booths and a checkered floor, a classic looking burger joint, verging on picking up with the lunch rush. As Marie glanced around, she realized. There, four booths down, sat Dani, nursing a hot chocolate. A wide smile broke out on Marie’s face. They hadn’t seen Dani since they had traveled north.

“Dani!” Marie couldn’t help but exclaim, and when Dani saw Rogue she smiled and stood, before giving the older woman a hug.

“Hi Rogue,” she said through a wide grin. “ Sensei Logan,” Dani said, through a small bow. Something about seeing the younger mutant lit up Marie’s orbit. Dani was one of the only other remnants of the past, of Xavier’s and the life she had so cherished. Marie was grinning hopelessly as they all sat, Logan in the booth beside Marie and Dani across from them.

“And I thought I lived up north. Jeez. It’s still cold up here,” Dani exclaimed. Rogue noticed that she had on only a fashionable jacket, hair done up in that way that younger women with a lot of time on their hands always had it. She was flawless, beautiful and womanly, despite the fact Rogue guess she was maybe only hovering around the age of twenty.

“Can I get you l something?” a younger woman asked, hovering over them with a pad of paper. Dani smiled politely, before slipping a twenty dollar note across the table. “About fifteen minutes of privacy,” she said sweetly. The woman raised her eyebrows, but only curtly nodded, taking the twenty and tottering off.

“Why are you here?” Marie asked, before realizing what she was saying, and adding a, “Not that I mind seeing you.” Dani smiled, before shooting a glance at Logan.

“Two reasons. Logan knows about one of them. He called this morning and set this up,” Marie looked at Logan through an arched brow, her curiosity over the whole situation returning. Meanwhile, Dani was still talking. “You surprised me when you suddenly wanted to meet today. You’re just lucky everything already arrived.” With that, Dani was grabbing a full-sized manila envelope from her bag and sliding it across the table toward Logan.

“What you asked for. Courtesy of Alpha Flight Intelligence Division,” she said, with a little nod of her head and a wink. Logan snorted a bit in response.

“Which consists of?” Logan asked, through one raised eyebrow. Dani only laughed.

“Me. And some very precious connections at the Canadian government. Let’s just say they owed us one.”

“Thanks, Dani,” he said, before placing a hand on the envelope that now lay between them. Marie looked down at the envelope, then back up to Logan and then to Dani, who was biting her lip a little nervously, obviously debating whether or not to bring up the second thing. She could hear Logan huffing beside her, the mood suddenly shifting toward uncomfortable.

“Dani, I know what yer gonna say, and I’m not having it,” he snarled.

“But if you’d just-” she began.

“-Absolutely not,” he said stiffly. Dani sighed, sitting back a bit and showing off a little immaturity, before she muttered under her breath, “It’s just an internship.”

Marie’s eyebrows raised at that. Internship?

“She’s eleven,” Logan grumbled.

“Almost twelve. And I was thirteen,” Dani willfully offered.

“You were at a school ,” he shot back.

“And does her school teach her everything she needs to learn?”

“Yer crossing a line,” he growled.

“Sorry. Look, Sensei. Like I said, internship. ”

“I think I know what this is about, but do you mind filling me in on the specifics?” Marie finally interjected.

“Alpha Flight’s trying to poach Laura,” Logan growled through his teeth, turning to Marie for the briefest of moments before settling his attention back on Dani.

“We’re not poaching anyone. Jean-Paul just wants to talk to her. Let her know, that when she’s old enough, she has options.”



Logan only scoffed, but Marie turned this over in her mind. It didn’t necessarily surprise her. She wondered if at some point, Alpha Flight would ever come knocking. They had relocated and found new homes for most of the children they had sprung from the facility, but there was no denying that Laura was, well, unique. A virtually indestructible skeleton, a healthy healing factor and a whole lot of grit were the same reasons Logan had been so valuable to the X-Men for so long. No doubt Alpha Flight had the same things in mind. They were not, of course, without their own motives.

“She’s a little young for any of that though, Dani,” Marie offered. Laura was dangerous, powerful, even, but she was still incredibly young. Still malleable. Although, in a few years… Marie resisted the urge to shiver at the thought. Heaven only knew what Logan’s daughter would be capable of at Dani’s age. Oddly enough, Marie’s thoughts suddenly flew to the Outta This World Dance! and she frowned. Lord help the boy or girl Laura ended up with. She would need to have a long, long chat with that individual, eventually.

“I said when she’s old enough . But, come on, Rogue, I’ve seen Laura rip out grown men’s jugulars with a foot claw and not think twice!” Dani exclaimed, and then when she saw Logan and Marie were both throwing her an alarming stare, she seemed to realize just how loudly she was talking, and she softly added, “You really think Laura’s gonna be, what, be a human resources officer or something? A mid-level business manager, pushing paper ?”

“ Kanojo wa watashitachi ga daredeatta ka de nayamasa rerubekide wa arimasen ,” Logan tottered off very quickly in Japanese, a low growl issuing from his throat as he did so. Marie only blinked at him. She often forgot Logan was fluent in the language, if only because he rarely spoke it off the karate mat, and it always surprised her when he did.

“You can hide her away in this remote tundra, but kanojo wa itsumo anata no kage ni sunde imasu,” Dani said, with a certain gusto Rogue was fairly impressed with, even if she didn’t quite take Dani’s meaning.

“You tell JP she’s not going near Alpha Flight,” Logan retorted, growling in response.

“She’d help save a lot of people,” Dani mumbled.

“And help kill how many more? She’s already got enough nightmares to last her the rest of her unnaturally long life,” Logan snapped, his grip tightening slightly on the unmarked manila envelope beneath his hand.

“Alright. Enough,” Marie said. They both turned to her, perhaps for the first time since the entire conversation started, and Marie continued on. “I think you both need to remember that Laura is her own person. And when she’s legally an adult, and not a moment before, Dani, she’ll make her own decisions about what sort of life she wants to lead.”

“Exactly my point, Rogue. Just let her know we exist, at least. Anata no josei ni mimiwokatamukeru, Sensei,” she said forcibly.

“You would’ve never spoken to me like that back in the day, Dani,” Logan snarled.

“But we’re not there, are we Sensei?” Dani asked, and something in her voice softened, almost breaking as she realized what she had said, and the tension at the table subsided. She sighed then, before pulling another object out of her bag, sliding it across the table.

“I figured you’d say no, so, at least take this,” Dani said quietly. Logan just stared at it for moment.

“What is that?” he asked, looking up to her suspiciously.

Dani blinked, before glancing up to him confusedly. “Uhhhh a cellphone. How old are you?” He threw her a nasty look that had her looking down and muttering, “ Shazai, sensei.”

“I know it’s a cell phone. Why do we need it?”

“Consider it an upgrade. An early birthday present for Laura, if you will,” she said. “It’s virtually untraceable. A substantial improvement from her current phone.” They both looked up to her then, and Dani rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on. We know she has a phone. We’ve tapped it a couple times, just to make sure the line is safe. It’s not. No one’s listening in, as far as we could tell, but they could if they wanted to.” Marie looked at Logan again, mildly disturbed, even as Dani continued on. “What? You can’t imagine that we don’t keep an eye on you all. Two of the most prolific members of the original X-Men team with a living mutant child, huddled under one roof? You’re lucky we didn’t place you all in some sort of hyperbaric bubble chamber.” Marie couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, even as Logan shot her an annoyed look. She had idly wondered if Alpha Flight knew or was even interested in their whereabouts, and now she realized that there was no way in hell the team was going to lose them all to the wind. Logan too, seemed to realize this, and he sighed, turning back to Dani once more.

“So this one’s…secure?” he asked. Dani nodded.

“So, complete honesty. This also has my number programmed in it along with a few others. Just, ya know, if Laura ever needs anyone to chat with.”

“She’s got us,” Marie found herself saying. At this, Dani smiled.

“And she’s lucky she does,” Dani said. “Look, it’s not…for trying to recruit her. Trust me, I’m sure every year for the next six years JP will try to do that. It’s just… if she, you know, wants to talk to someone closer to her age. Who’s also a mutant,” she winked at them both, before Marie slid took the phone from the middle of the table and gently dropped it into her bag next to her.

“Dani, we’d invite you back with us, but we’ve got-” Marie started, before Dani cut her off.

“A doctor’s appointment. I know,” she said. “Like I said, we’re keeping tabs.”

“We’d happily have you over later for dinner if you like. We already have some company coming but I’m sure we could make room,” Marie offered, but Dani was already politely shaking her head through an apologetic smile.

“I wish I could. But I’m needed south. I’ve got a teleporter picking me up in ten.” With that she stood, casting one more glance in Logan’s direction, before gently putting a hand on his shoulder. “We know you’re done, Logan, Rogue. But I want you to remember that the fight’s not over.”

“It never is,” Logan muttered.

“True,” Dani said through a small frown. And then, bowing her head slightly, she added, “Mata au made, Sensei Logan.”

“ Sayōnara, Dani,” he murmured, as he watched walk out of the diner.

Marie turned her head to stare after the younger mutant the whole way out of the diner. “Boy, she’s a pistol. All grown up.”

“Hell, she was a pistol back then too. Happens fast,” Logan said, before turning back to the envelope still under his hand. And then he was gently nudging it in her direction.

“No use stalling now. I want you to open this,” he said. Brown eyes met hazel as she stared at him hesitantly. She carefully picked up the envelope and she slowly opened the metal fastener. There were several crisp papers inside, and Marie instantly realized what some of documents were. New identification cards and social insurance numbers. Passports, too. All of it there, and all of it accurate. Even a proper birth certificate for Laura. Marie took her time with this one, smiling faintly as she read the partially false lies printed on the very official-looking certificate.

Certificate of Live Birth. Laura Gabriella Howlett. Date of Birth: 25 June 2018. Female. Location of Birth: Edmonton. Mother: Gabriela Rodriguez (Deceased)

Laura looked at it, smiling sadly. “Gabriela… was that Laura’s…?” But Logan was already shaking his head.

“No,” Logan said. “I never…I never found out her mother’s name. Nobody knew. But Gabriela was…a woman that helped her. The woman who contacted me.” The woman I let die. She practically heard that last remark in the air, even though he hadn’t said it. She had heard the story enough now to know what Logan thought about Gabriela’s death. Marie bit her lip, before looking through the rest of the envelope’s contents.

It was a fairly thick stack of official-looking paperwork, firmly stapled at the top. Marie handled it carefully, eyes flying over a page that was flagged with a small post-it note first.

Full Name of Birth Father: James Charles Howlett

Date of Birth: 25 December 1970

Below this, there was a line with Logan’s scrawl, a blocky signature he used when signing documents. And underneath that:

Full Name of Adoptive Mother: Anna Marie D’Ancanto

Date of Birth: 11 November 1983

And under that, a blank line, ready to be signed.

“You…” she stuttered and stopped. This was adoption paperwork. Joint custody. He was offering her joint custody of Laura. He was asking for Marie to adopt her. Marie’s eyes lingered on the word Mother, feelings of fear and love and guilt and pride threatening to inundate her all at once. Her hands shook slightly as she gripped the form she held, looking up to him once more.

“Yeah, kid,” he muttered, moving to tuck a strand of platinum hair behind her ear.

“But…” she tried once more, but then stopped, as he began to speak.

“I-I could’ve had arranged to have it forged. Hell, I could have the documents doctored to show you as her mother, but I didn’t think that was fair to either of you. Keep it as real as possible, yeah? But I thought, at least this. But also that I’d ask you first. Let you make the decision to sign.”

Marie breathed out unsteadily, as she cradled the paperwork in her hands, before looking back up at him, unable to stop a hot tear from rolling down her cheek.

“She’s half yours, if you’ll have her,” he murmured.

“Of…of course. But does Laura…?” she began.

“I already asked her,” Logan said, before his brow furrowed slightly, and he gently took the paperwork from her, setting it down on the table.

“Listen, Marie. If this is somethin’ you want, you gotta take the decision seriously,” he said, pointing to the form with his index finger. “I know you’ll take care of her. There’s no doubt about that. Hell, you’ve been taking care of both of us lately-”

“Baby,” she stumbled, before he shushed her.

“Lemme finish. What I’m tryin’ to say is… if you sign this, right now, obviously she’d be half yours. But later, when I’m gone, kid, this means she’d be all yours. For long as you both are alive. And that ain’t something to sign up for lightly.”

“When…you’re gone...” she stuttered. She could barely breathe. She looked around the diner wildly, anywhere but at him, as her mind grappled with the charge he had given her. Of course she would take care of Laura. Had planned on it since the beginning. But, from Logan, this acceptance, this level of formality, what it all meant…. oh god.

“Hey,” he barely murmured as he realized she was coming undone, and then he was quickly abandoning all attempts at English and gave in to that other language, that different way of speaking. He uttered a possessive growl, before gently pulling her closer so that she was leaning into him. A few more silent tears ran down her cheeks, and she could do nothing other than lay her head against his chest as he gently stroked her hair for several long moments, murmuring incomprehensible sounds, soothing rumbles and gentle growls into her ear. She was fluent enough in the language now to understand. There was no way his meaning, no matter how animalistic it sounded, could go unmissed. I don’t want to leave you. But if I have to, this is what I want. She whimpered slightly in quiet acknowledgement, and his grip on her shoulder tightened.

Finally, after some time passed, he was tucking a hand under her face, lifting her head up from where she had lain it on his chest, both of them coming back to the more human parts of themselves. His eyes were wide but dry, a newfound resolve etched into his features.

“Chin up, kid,” he said, even as he swiped his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a lone teardrop as he did so. “I’ve got an appointment, right?”

“Right,” Marie managed to say, grabbing an unused napkin off the table and wiping her eyes once more, before staring back at him.

“Then let’s go,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I better not miss it.”



--

The specialist had a small, discreet practice, and Marie had found her by using a couple of her connections she still maintained with mutants’ rights groups. She had a background in genetics, but she had also been studying up on heavy metal poisoning for Logan and Marie’s sake, which she had diagnosed Logan with upon arrival. Although she had given them a rough guideline to the signs and symptoms Logan likely might experience based on other metallic compounds like lead and chromium, Logan was unique in his exposure to adamantium, so ultimately they were unsure of just how much, and how quickly, his health would fade.

Of course, he was on a heavy round of antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication. This had, for a time, helped them hobble along, but now there were new concerns. His respiratory system had obviously been compromised, as the hemoptysis suggested. Of course, there were also the concerns with Logan’s susceptibility to infection now too. His immune system, in part from his waning healing factor and in part from the metal inside of him, was shot. Even under several rounds of antibiotics, Logan had been under strict instructions to not use his claws, because the constant wounds he created were prone to infection. The worst of it, though, and what was lately most concerning, was the trembling. Logan was exceptionally skilled at hiding it, but on their last visit, the specialist had guessed that the adamantium’s next victim would be the peripheral nervous system, and from there, the central.

It was after that appointment Logan insisted on going in there alone.

Her clinic was in a small, nondescript bit of office space downtown, and Logan had left Marie with a kiss on the forehead and a squeeze of her hand, insisting once more to go himself. She hadn’t fought him on it, if only because she felt like he deserved his dignity, his pride, and if he felt like it was somehow weakened by her presence, Marie knew better than to be there. She also knew, or at least she hoped, he would be honest with her about any new developments. And if he wasn’t…well. That was his decision to make.

The last couple of appointments Marie found herself killing time by perusing a little used bookstore, and often spent the hour or so the appointment typically took staring at the titles crammed floor-to-ceiling on its shelves. She had initially been enamored with it, so many books lost to the sands of time wedged haphazardly into mostly-disorganized rows, but, lately, things had changed, and upon entering the store again, intent on facing her fears and sniffing around for some books for Laura, she realized she still felt claustrophobic.

She knew she hadn’t read in two months, could hardly stand picking up a book. Every time she tried, she was yet again reminded of the last book she had read. The one about the woman’s husband keeling over in the middle of the apartment living room from cardiac arrest.

You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.

Marie shuddered, before forcing herself to round another corner, now intent on cookbooks, which felt like more friendly territory. There had only been one other time in her life that she hadn’t been able to read, and that was after the hysterectomy. She had been alone then, and she would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t been afraid, hadn’t pined for and simultaneously mourned over Logan in every way possible. The day after the surgery she had felt sore and empty, and it was then that she wept for all the things she had missed, all the little children or babies or bits of starlight that she would never help create, that would always be winking at her, somewhere far off and untouchable. She would have given anything to have had him by her side then, even though she would never tell him that. And now. Now.

Adoptive mother. The words were seared into her mind. Marie supposed, in many ways, she had been already acting in a motherly fashion towards Laura, at least with whatever she could summon up, having no true experience in the matter. It was an amalgamation of gestures of friendship and some of her old teacher bravado, of common sense and compromise. Laura liked her, that she knew, and she liked Laura. They didn’t always understand each other, but they genuinely enjoyed one another’s company. Sometimes, even, especially in the past few weeks, Laura had taken to deliberately being more physical in her approach to Marie, choosing to lean her head on her shoulder or take her hand sometimes, nuzzling up against her while Marie told Laura a story of the X-Men late at night, after Logan had long-since fallen asleep.

Was Papa very brave?

Oh, he was the bravest. Just like you.

Marie frowned slightly again, shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets. Of course she had signed the paperwork. Had rustled about for a pen in her purse and when she had finally found one had easily scrawled her signature next to Logan’s. She offered to mail the documentation back herself. It wasn’t that she was unwilling.

It was just that she was terrified.

How long? It had been the question on her mind since she had taken in his grey hair and scarred face and limping gait after hopping off the helicopter. He hadn’t needed to say anything. She knew, even then the reason why. The question now was simply: How long did he have left? And maybe, now…that wasn’t even the real question. Perhaps the real question bordered more along the lines of How long did he have left that he could tolerate?

Because that was it. That was the difference. Logan would only tolerate so much, up to a certain point, no matter who was in his life. And the paperwork today, all the careful consideration and thought that must have gone into planning it, that’s what scared her.

Marie stared at the brightly colored spines of the cookbooks, most of them advertising different ways to make a soufflé, before she realized there was an odd, blocky sort of book shoved on top of the others, precariously balanced by the thick spines of how to create the perfect holiday dinner and how to brine a turkey.

War and Peace. It was a thick paperback copy, the cover practically falling off, Marie noticed. They already had two copies back at the house, but still she worked on dislodging it from its hiding spot anyway. Her frown changed, her lips curving upward slightly, as she brought it closer to her, smelling the old, faded yellow of the paper. She carefully opened the cover, checking for an inscription, an age-old habit of hers she always partook in when she encountered old books, but found none. Still, she cracked the spine, turning to the first words on the page, loved and familiar.

“WELL, PRINCE, Genoa and Lucca are now no more than private estates of the Bonaparte family. No, I warn you, that if you do not tell me we are at war, if you again allow yourself to palliate all the infamies and atrocities of this Antichrist (upon my word, I believe he is), I don't know you in future, you are no longer my friend, no longer my faithful slave, as you say. There, how do you do, how do you do? I see I'm scaring you, sit down and talk to me."

Marie frowned slightly, as she cradled the book to her chest, once more closing the cover. Logan had liked War and Peace. Marie now knew that he had read it several times over. But what had he said about it that first time? Something about the ending? It’s not good, and it’s not bad. S’real. I like that too.

That’s when she blushed. His words, that whole speech had been the impetus to what had followed. That night. The night they had first made love. It had been… intense. Exceptionally erotic. The tiny scar on his hand from cooking. The haunted, dark look in his eyes. Claws hinting in moonlight. His body, carved and beautiful, like it always was. He had had her up on the counter and then down on the floor. His fingers had explored her. His tongue, god, the way it lapped at her wetness, wanting to taste everything, consume her in every possible way. Not so different from how he had feasted on her this morning. Not so different, and yet… when things were more simple, before…before….

Marie jumped as her phone buzzed in her back pocket, and she whipped it out to read the text from him.

“All done” it read. “Meet me at the car?”

Realizing her cheeks were hot, she bit her lip, before slipping to the front of the store, handing the cashier a ten dollar note and carrying the book out with her. She found him there, leaning up against the side of the Bronco, arms crossed, and she found it impossible to tell if there had been good news or bad news or no news at all. Her cheeks were still flushed, the place between her legs was still wet, and her hands were still clammy as she clutched the book to her chest, muttering a “H’lo” as she made her way to him.

“Marie…what’s..?” he began, before immediately stopping. One sniff. That’s all it took. A heady, involuntary growl rose in his throat as he began to understand, even as she muttered, “Sorry…I…what did the doctor say?”

“Nothin’ new,” he barely made out, predatorily moving a step closer to her.

“No?” she asked, her throat suddenly raspy and raw.

“Just…called in the prescription,” he managed.

“Okay,” she said, blinking at him once more before he growled again, this time more savagely.

“Get in the fucking car, Marie,” he ordered.





--

They had barely made it out of town when Logan had pulled off the road into a small clearing, as a few geese took off from where they had been settled in the field. No one had spoken, but Logan had been breathing heavily, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. She had absorbed enough of him in the past to know that her scent was driving him mad. It had to be. Just then, he killed the engine, turning roughly toward her.

“In the back. Now,” he finally ground out. He was already climbing out and slamming the driver’s side door and opening up the back as she climbed into the open area that sometimes serves as a backseat, but was more often used as a lounging space. A few blankets had been spread out, more for long day drives and the occasional camping trip when Logan felt up for it, and now they were wholly convenient.

He climbed over her, both of their movements raw and desperate. Clumsy, too, as they learned how to maneuver in the back of the Bronco. He bit her lip, she ran her tongue over his. He rolled her over, and they accidentally slammed into the side of the car’s interior. Marie yelped out of surprise more than anything, and he chuckled slightly. Just as repositioned them both, his hand then slipped on the sheer fabric of her sweater and he fell down on his elbow. She repaid him by giggling. He growled irritatedly quickly becoming impatient with the silliness of it all, as he pinned her beneath him, his hands now roughly holding her hips. Most of their clothes were still on, but he easily unbuttoned her jeans, working them off her ass just enough so he could shove two thick fingers inside her. She cried out, not caring who heard, as he rumbled approvingly, removing his fingers almost entirely from inside her before roughly shoving them back in once more. She cried out again, unable to help herself.

“Gonna make you come, and I want ya to describe it for me,” he muttered into her ear.

“ Sugar ,’ she managed to say, and he chuckled, slowing his pace slightly.

“You can do better than that,” he joked, and she began to snarl at him.

“Uh uh,” he said. “Enough of that. English. English now,” he demanded, even as he explored her with his fingers. Marie was always astonished by the fact that, even though he knew every inch of her, he approached her each time with a healthy level of curiosity, like there were still secrets nestled inside her body just waiting for him to draw out.

“It feels… god,” she stuttered, as he quickened his pace, “Tight. Stretched around you. Pressure.”

“Yeah?” his voice was only a heady rasp. “Keep going. Keep telling me how it feels.”

“Full. I feel… full,” she murmured, right as he added a third, and she moaned louder.

“You feel me here?” he said roughly.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“I’m with you,” he said, and she struggled to breathe, a thick thumb rolling over her clitoris as he worked her, and she gripped his shoulders tightly.

She cried out, and he paused. He was holding her there, right on the precipice, and he wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. Not yet. He moved off her momentarily before heading downward, settling his face between her legs, fingers still inside her as he replaced his thumb with his mouth, rolling the bundle of nerves between his tongue, licking and sucking and gently biting down until he had her seeing stars, on the edge of some sort of desperate oblivion.

She made a sound that wasn’t human, and he tore away from her, panting, as he gave her a slight shake of his head.

“Words, Marie,” he chastised, before his mouth was on her again.

“God, oh god,” she mumbled as he quickened the pace of his fingers. “Shaking. Hot. Tight. Slippery.” He rumbled low and deep, urging her to continue. He licked up the side of her folds, tongue once more flicking her center.

“Undoing me. L-Like unraveling. Like thread. Like you’re…you… oh fuck oh god,” and then she screamed as she felt herself come around his mouth, a new wetness all over everything, even as he lapped at her, quickly cleaning her, before he moved upward, and then she was gripping him tightly as he sank into her in every way possible, his length filling her while his teeth found a home in the delicate skin of her neck, the blossoming feelings of searing heat and pleasure spiraling outward.

He finally broke away from her skin enough to whisper “Pain?” before licking her skin once more.

“Yes,” she hissed. He still had her pinned, holding her down roughly in the back of the

Bronco, unmoving.

“Full? Tight?” he asked again.

“ Yes,” she moaned, bucking her hips up slightly to get him to move, but still he refused.

“Feels tight for me too. Hot and slick. Swallowed all up in your legs, you holdin’ me here. Harborin’ me.”

“ God yes ,” she mumbled. “Logan…”

“Gonna move now. Can’t fucking stand it anymore, M’rie,” he managed. She only moaned, growled a little as he lifted his body back and then shoved his entire length deep within her again. And again. And again. He commanded all of her senses, the sounds of his groans and snarls, the smell of aftershave and her own come on him, the close-up sight of his stubble, the coiled muscles of his neck, the slickness of sweat, the feel of hot skin, rougher than hers but still taught, even underneath the scars, and the taste… god the taste of him.

Then he slammed into more roughly, and the poetry was gone. Words, abandoned.

He fucked her harder than he had in weeks, taking full advantage of this buen dia, even as the Bronco groaned under their weight. She cried out, and it was rough and hard and somehow smooth and gentle all at the same fucking time. Some distant part of her mind knew what they were up to. After the emotion of earlier what they needed to feel. He commissioned her, demanded her to feel it, to feel it, to feel something…oh god. The song. What were the fucking words to the song? Something had broken open, and she realized too late there was a steady leak of air, and she felt the hissing, the buzzing before she could stop it. He was groaning, beginning to let go of all voluntary function and it was she all could do but hold on, even as her skin burned, greedily taking more than what was natural. He knew it was happening too, but he did nothing to move away from her, as he spent himself inside her. She cried out as a swell of his emotions of paindesperationsadnessfutilityloveprideangerjoy flowed into her as well, and she was lost in the feeling of him losing himself as the pleasure now swept her in the current too, and her muscles were convulsing, throbbing around him, a new pain sprouting in her belly from coming again so soon, the feeling of it all disorienting and raw. She struggled, slipped and stumbled to turn off her skin, to close the open line between them, and finally she felt herself do it, finally stuffing a finger in the hole of the dam. God. Holy fucking god.

He let her go, and she rolled out from underneath him in an instant. She looked at him with a desperate attention, checking to make sure he was ok, in one piece, even as the rolling waves of pleasure from both of their orgasms still radiated within her. He seemed fine however, breathing out steadily, looking thoroughly sated, albeit a bit breathless.

“ Holy fuck,” he growled. “Jesus, I forgot what that felt like.”

“S-Sorry,” she said, blushing a deep shade of crimson.

“Huh?” he murmured confusedly. “You didn’t mean to do that?” he asked.

“ No!!” she said, looking around wildly, obviously panicked. Her head throbbed with the smell of larch and pine and musk and birch and earth and rain as she simultaneously felt her shame and his wildness, her concern and his heartache.

“Hey,” he said, realizing she was overwhelmed and moving to sit up a little before just as quickly leaning back. “Whoa. Dizzy.” The look on her face must have contorted into something pained, because then he added. “Not bad, darlin’. It was just a little bit. I’m alright. Just…C’mere.” And he drew her closer to him once more and she finally relinquished her fear that she would hurt him again, trying to regulate her frantic breathing as she dealt with the onslaught of senses.

“Sorry. I’m just...rusty,” she muttered, embarrassed.

“It’s a lot to feel, isn’t it?” he asked her honestly.

“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes, and she felt his grip on her tighten.

“Here…just use what I gave you. Turn it back on itself. Take a moment. Listen with me. Let the world distract you.” She exhaled deeply, trying to remember her meditation rules. Focus. The sounds. Sticks settling, grass twitching, birds calling out, the wind in the milkweed, his deep breathing, his steady, stubborn heartbeat. He was right. After several long, winding moments, her mind did begin to settle as it got used to processing everything it was taking in.

“I can’t believe you hear all of this all the time,” she finally murmured after things quieted down.

“I know it’s a lot. But kinda beautiful too, ya know?” he asked, rubbing her arm gently. She opened her brown eyes and looked at him.

“Yes,” she whispered, and he smiled at her. “God, it’s been…years… since I’ve lost control like that,” she finally said.

“Glad I was the one to do it to ya,” he joked. She could feel him smirking a bit, and she lifted her face up to look at him, letting him know she was serious.

“I could have really hurt you,” she murmured. He was already shaking his head.

“Nah. No way. How much did you even take?” Marie quickly assessed. Heightened senses, no real animal urges. No clear memories.

“Not all that much, in the end,” she murmured.

“See?” he said, before tightening his grip around her, before carefully adding, “Any thoughts…?”

“No. Just… like impressions.”

“Yeah? Like what?” he asked gently.

“Sadness, futility,” she said through a quiet voice, and then she bit her lip as his hazel eyes lingered on her features.

“Kid….I-” he began, before he immediately stopped himself.

“What?” she asked. His eyes darkened a little, but he only shook his head.

“S’nothing,” he muttered, but he didn’t take his stare off her.

She frowned at him, trying to figure out what he had tried to say, before she watched his lips turn upward into another smile. She was the one to cock her head at him now, all the more confused.

“What?” she asked again.

“That look,” he said, eyes dancing.

“What look?”

He only chuckled, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip, and she could still taste herself on his fingers.

“You look nothing older than seventeen when ya do that. Pout that little lip of yours,” he rumbled, flashing her another smile. She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she blushed, glancing downward quietly.

“That was a long time ago,” she muttered.

“Feels like yesterday,” he said simply.

She stopped, considering this, before she looked up to him darkly. “Even though we were different people to each other,” she said, before she could help herself.

“Not so different,” he muttered, running a finger down a streak of platinum hair. She said nothing in return, and he once more brought a hand under her chin to lift her gaze upward just like he had in the diner.

“Hey…what did I say? Chin up, kid,” he said. She smiled, albeit a bit sadly, and when that didn’t satisfy him, he snuck an arm around her, leaning in and kissing her forehead once more, as if he was keeping her mind steady, keeping it all in place. And then, out of nowhere, he chuckled slightly, and she once more threw him an incredulous look.

“What?” she asked. He only grinned.

“I was just thinkin’ how it’s about fucking time we christened this damn vehicle,” he laughed.

She smiled widely back at him. “Seems appropriate,” she mumbled. And then, he smacked her ass lightly, moving to sit up. “Come on, kid. We’re already running late, and I wanna pick up Laura and surprise her.”

Chapter 6: Logan

The woman was talking, and he should have been listening. He was, in a way, but the words had little meaning to him. The fan tossed the air around the small office, he could feel the thin paper on the patient table underneath him, but still his mind was far off in memory, a distant dream.

How are the tremors?

Fine, doc.

Really?

I miss the nail with the hammer every once in awhile. That’s all.

You shouldn’t be working.

He had been thinking of Marie swimming. In those precious few weeks in South Africa. The way her body moved, all smooth and lithe as she moved through the water. He had traveled downstairs to watch her most mornings they had been there. She cut through whatever had been bothering her with each slice of her hand, each forward motion.

You know what the trembling means, don’t you?

Yeah, doc, I do.

The heavy metal poisoning is affecting your nervous system.

Yeah.

“Don’t go playing the victim card,” he had growled. And then he had intuitively stepped closer to her, close enough for him to hear every little movement, every little sound her body made. “There are ways around it,” he had said. And then that sharp breath of air as her heart thudded loudly in her chest. “You know there are. And I swear to God I would’ve found a way, Marie, had I wised up enough to have found the fucking chance.”

Logan, if you lose feeling in any of your extremities, I need you to call immediately.

Is that what I have to look forward to next?

Yes.

Fuck.

And there’s more.

“It’s about claiming you, isn’t it?" he had said. She hadn’t responded, instead choosing to look at him meekly. That’s when he knew for sure. "Jesus, Marie, you know about it, don’t you? You know… if I had you, there’d be no end." It wasn’t her skin that had stopped them so long ago on their walk, although it hadn’t certainly helped. For her, for that Marie, it had been the cold: the barren, twisted future that loomed before them, the quickly dying light.

The quickly dying light.

“Logan, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Logan looked up at the woman who was also his doctor in front of him, his mind coming back into focus. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun and there was a no-nonsense look on her face. He liked her. She didn’t sugar coat shit. There was something about her, too, that reminded him a little of Jeannie. Obviously not the mutant part or the telepathy, but something in her clinical detachment. She didn’t have time for platitudes; he liked that. But, unlike Jean, there was nothing more than what it should have always been between them. A doctor and a patient. And he had to hand it to her, because Logan fucking sucked at being one.

“Yeah, doc. We about done?” he asked, as he began buttoning his shirt back up before hopping off the patient table. The woman only frowned, quickly snaking out a pad and scrawling out a perscription for him. Logan frowned as he watched her work.

“More happy pills?” he asked.

“A stronger dose of SSRIs. They’ll help with the depression,” she said simply. Logan’s frown only deepened.

“I’m dying doc. Depression comes with the fucking territory,” he muttered.

“Take it,” she said curtly, handing the small sheet of paper out in front of her. He frowned as he extended his fingers, gingerly taking the slip from her outstretched hand.

“Next month,” she said.

“I’m sure Marie will set it up,” he grumbled, and then he was breathing out steadily as he walked through the lobby and swung open the door, the afternoon sun warming his skin as he sunk the piece of paper into his back pocket.

That afternoon had moved like water, gently flowing around them both. He watched her walk out of that bookstore, silver bracelet winking as it caught the light. God, she was fucking gorgeous. Hair half done up, long tendrils escaping its hold. A thick, cable-knit sweater that kept slipping off one shoulder. A good pair of jeans that hugged her ass. Her no-nonsense hiking boots she had taken to wearing up here, whether they planned on hiking or not. He loved every inch of this woman, so much so that sometimes he almost couldn’t fucking stand it. This woman, who would mother his child, who would take up the empty role without a moment’s pause. Something deep within him rumbled as he saw her. He wanted to bury himself in her and stay there, wanted to drive into her so hard there was no way she’d ever forget what it felt like.

And then, the scent of her arousal, practically knocking him over, as the current of the day picked up, swept them both along. So sweet and thick and heavy and wanting. He had barely made it to that little patch of field, took everything in him to keep it the fuck together while driving. In a rare moment, he felt the old animal ripple beneath at her scent, whining and scratching to be let out, but Logan kept in firm control. Today, on this good day, he wanted to be fully conscious, not some fucking half version of himself. He needed to see her, to speak. And he also wanted her to speak, and he wanted to listen. He wanted to know fucking everything. What she wanted more of. What it felt like for her when her toes curled and she screamed out against him. He needed them to be fucking human beings, through every scratch and thrust and bite and slide of the tongue, even as the moment swelled, even as they lost themselves inside each other.

And then, the connection between them had snapped open. She said it was a mistake, but he wondered. She had been taking him and he felt himself leave, like flying, like the wind picking up a kite and lifting it upward. Like leaving. Like living. He felt it, he felt it all, and he knew then. Knew it deep down. Knew it for good.



--

The drive home had been perfect, the air of the Bronco’s cabin thick with both sunlight and the scent of them both the whole way. Logan was excited to pick up Laura, and the anticipation of doing so swirled together with the steady, peaceful thrum of being with Marie. They had spent the time cracking jokes, her joy so infectious at points his ribs ached from laughter. She was constantly touching him, too. Her hand always rested on his leg or on the back of his neck, massaging the muscles gently and idly as the open road lay sprawled out before them. As the Bronco finally finished making its way up the hill to their house, la casa del lago, as Laura liked to call it, they couldn’t help but smile at each other as he opened the passenger door for her, the gravel from the road still wafting up around the parked truck.

She smirked at him as she hopped out of the car, shutting the door behind her, and he growled as he stepped closer to her. Three hours of keeping his hands on the wheel was no easy fucking feat, especially with his scent all over her still. She giggled slightly as he stalked toward her, snaking his hands around her waist and biting her neck lightly as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He kissed her long and hard in the afternoon light, unwilling to let go, and then he was grabbing her ass, hoisting her up easily with the extra reserves of strength that had lingered within him today. She straddled his legs as he walked them up the deck stairs, his gait only the slightest bit unsteady from the limp in his step as he did so.

He rumbled in approval as they made their way inside, carrying her easily to the bedroom. Logan barely closed the door with his foot before gently backing her up against the far wall and taking a generous bite at the pulse of her neck. She moaned with enthusiasm and he growled approvingly, before ripping his mouth away to speak.

“God, I love the way you fucking smell like me,” he muttered into her neck. She only grinned in response for a moment, running her fingers through his hair.

“Me too. Especially when I can smell like this,” she murmured into his ear. He growled, gripping her ass tighter as he held her against the wall.

“I want you to remember it kid, because I want it on you all the time. I wanna rub it into your fucking pores,” he growled, as he was already pawing at her clothes, the sweater that was already hanging off one shoulder now falling to the floor.

“Still need showers,” she breathily muttered through a grin. “Don’t wanna be late.”

“In that case,” he muttered, hoisting her up again as she giggled. She was ripping off her tank now and then stripping him of his button down as he walked them into the bathroom, all the while simultaneously sucking and tugging on her bottom lip.

“Don’t fall,” she teased as he padded his way onto the tile of the bathroom floor. He only grumbled in response, and minutes later the hot steamy pour of water hit them both as he took her from behind, water dribbling down and pooling at the small of her back as she moaned and writhed underneath him. He made her come easily enough. Once. Twice. Again. And then he was pulling out as he felt himself throb and pulse, choosing to deliberately throw white ribbons of seed on her milky skin, even as the water moved quickly to try and erase them. He shuddered through a steady breath out, and then he was taking a hand to rub it into her skin, even as she slinked back around to face him. A thumb to her mouth, a taste of himself on her tongue. That coy little smile when she was more Rogue than Marie as she savored his taste. And then they both helped clean each other as she drew a loufa over his body, massaging soap into his navel while he rubbed shampoo gently into the temples of her hair and she laughed as he dabbed a dollop of sudsy bubbles on her nose.

After the shower was through, he left her there, wrapped up in a fluffy robe, hair done up in a white towel. She was cradling one foot as she sat on the edge of the bed, watching him shave and then get dressed in a fresh set of jeans. She sauntered over finally to help do the buttons of his shirt even though his hands barely shook at all today, before handing him the keys to the Bronco he had dropped to the floor earlier when he had been carrying her in along with the new phone Dani had given them to give to Laura.

“Go get our girl,” she smiled at him.

“Yes ma’am,” he joked, tapping the door frame as he did so. As he was about to turn, however, he heard her murmur a "Hey" from where she still stood. He stopped, turning back to her, and she cocked an eyebrow at him, before he dutifully returned. She gave him one more chaste kiss, a gentle press of her lips to his that still managed to send to wave of lust through him. He flashed her a grin and walked out of their room, creaking the door just slightly, the way she liked it, before he made his way outside to the Bronco.



---

He couldn’t help but smirk as Laura, eyes wide and heart beating erratically, climbed into the Bronco. He probably should’ve been more upset, more protective at the very least, over the whole little scene he witnessed, but Marie had done a good job of working out any lingering tension he’d had today, and what had transpired between Cole and Laura had been so fucking innocent he could barely feel anything other than amused. The kid was terrified of her, more like a little puppy than a boy, and Logan was surprised and vaguely impressed that Cole had even worked up the courage to text Laura, and had chuckled a bit as he had scampered off after giving Laura his number. Laura seemed just as genuinely surprised as Logan did that the older mutant had been ok with it all and something about her relieved posture as she muttered a “Perfecto” before leaning back into the seat kept Logan’s good mood afloat

The whole drive here he’d been looking forward to getting her. He fucking loved when he got these moments with her, and this afternoon was proving to be no exception. During these trips to fetch her from school, on days when he was feeling up to it, the conversation lingered. Often they’d sit in the drive long after Logan had killed the engine, now that it was warm enough. He wanted today to be one of those days. He wanted as many of these days as he could get his fucking hands on.

“So what happens at these dances of yours?” he asked as he turned the Bronco on to the main road of town. Laura still clutched the phone to her chest as she shrugged her shoulders slightly.

“I dunno. Like Marie said, probably,” she said. “Awkward swaying.” Logan snorted at this, shooting her a look.

“Aren’t the kids talkin’ about it at school?” Logan asked. Laura exhaled dramatically at this, nodding as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear that was escaping the braid Marie had done in her hair this morning.

“That’s all they’re talking about. Las ninas especially. All about what they will wear. Vestidos,” she said with a wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes.

“Vestidos, eh?” Logan clarified, focusing once more on their conversation. “You mean like dresses and shit?” he asked. Laura, god help her, was like him in the fact that she’d settle for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt anytime, although Marie had littered Laura’s wardrobe recently with more options, sweaters and cargo jackets, sneakers and boots. The shopping for the shoes had been especially appreciated, since they had been replaced on multiple occasions, as Laura had the habit of piercing holes in them on hikes or out in the woods by the lake when she felt more at ease to use the claws. At least you never had to worry about that, poking holes in your shoes, Marie had said to Logan one day through a smirk.

“Los vesitdos. Dresses. Muy bien, padre,” Laura said through another smile. “You get an A+. Hablas espanol muy bien.” Logan snorted, although something in him still warmed at her praise.

“Tengo un maestro bien,” he said through a wink. “Now we gotta work on your Japanese. Anata ga shitte iru gengo go oi hodo, anata ni wa yoi.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, through a rumbled brow.

“Learn a bit more, and maybe you’ll find out,” he said through a smirk which Laura returned.

“Puedo hacer lo mismo que hacer. Lo siento, papá, pero aún no sabes todo lo español que hay por saber,” she said through her own grin. Logan caught only every other word, and he couldn’t help but chuckle, still getting her point. Don’t get too ahead of yourself. You’ve got a long way to go. They had been parked at home for a couple of minutes now, but, just like always, even though Logan had killed the engine, he didn’t move to leave the vehicle and, Laura, reading his signs, also stayed put. A little time with just the two of them before they enveloped themselves in the warm, delectable smells coming from Marie’s kitchen and the eventual company they’d have in Kay’s visit at the house tonight. Una tradición de los dias beunas.

“So you gonna go with him?” Logan finally asked. Laura bit her lip thoughtfully, turning to him after some time.

“Maybe,” she said, before adding after a beat or two, “So...was Marie right?”

“About what?” Logan asked.

“Did you dance el Charleston?” she asked hesitantly. Logan couldn’t help but snort at that question, anticipating something a lot more serious than that.

“Not much of my thing, kid,” he muttered. To his surprise, however, Laura persisted with her line of questioning.

“But what about...back then? Los años veinte? Was that before things got bad...before el holocausto mutante?” Logan glanced back at his daughter as he recalled the conversation they had this morning while sparring, and he realized what she was up to. She was fishing for more information.

I’ll tell ya more of it later. Cuando es listo. When you’re ready.

“Hell, kid, it’s never enough for ya, is it?” Logan said through a sigh. “Well, as far as the dancin’s concerned, I got nothin’ for ya. My memories of all that stuff aren’t the greatest.”

“You mean...because of Stryker y la experimentación?” It was then he turned his head sharply to her. Stryker? While Laura knew what had happened, at least partially, he had never given her the name of the man in charge of the Weapon X program before, and he realized where she had likely picked it up. Fucking comic books. Logan let out a low growl. He knew it was one of the reasons she turned to the comics, desperate for more information, desperate for stories from his past, but still. And while Laura would never know everything, Logan was steadily realizing there was a little too much she didn’t know. So much he still had to tell her.

“Yeah, before that,” he muttered, turning forward to take in the view of the lake before them. Laura bit her lip thoughtfully as they both watched the water was singed a murky orange as the sun sank lower in the sky.

“So how come I still remember...before they did it to me?” she asked after some time. Logan swallowed hard, turning to look back at Laura once more.

“I don’t know, hija. I really don’t. But I know there’s more I need to share. But most of that shit’s depressing, yeah? And I don’t wanna ruin what we’ve got goin’ on today,” he said carefully. Laura smiled sadly before nodding once, glancing down at the phone still in her hands. The gesture suddenly had him remembering the other duty he had been tasked with, and a wide grin broke out on his face once more as he fumbled in his coat pocket.

“Hey kid.”

“Sí, daddy?” she asked.

He pulled out the shiny purple smart phone, handing it over to her. Her eyes settled on the device, and a wide smile broke out on her face.

“I wanted to give this to ya before we go inside. Early birthday present. From Dani,” he said through a small smile. Laura’s eyes lit up as she jerked her head up to him once more.

“You saw Dani?” she asked excitedly.

“Yeah, uhh we met her in Fort Smith, before the appointment,” he said, as Laura carefully took the phone from his outstretched palm. She handled it carefully, turning it over a couple of times in her hands, as if it was something precious. Something coveted.

“It’s...more secure.. than the last. It’s also got Dani’s number on it,” Logan sighed, the slightest bit hesitant to reveal the last bit of information to her, but trying to take Dani’s word that she wouldn’t actively try to recruit Laura to Alpha Flight. At least not now. “She said you can text her, if you feel like it. If you need someone else to talk to.”

“Really?” she asked, looking up to him again. He smiled.

“Yeah. Looks like you’ll need to put Cole’s number into that new one, eh?” he asked, and Laura’s cheeks flushed. Logan smiled slightly, and then something in him fell. The ugly truth of the matter is that he’d never know for sure if Laura would join Alpha Flight. It was too far in the future, and Logan wouldn’t likely be around. That was partially the reason behind some of his frustration with Dani earlier today. Laura was a beautiful, wild creature, certainly a force to be reckoned with. And the truth was…He was going to fucking miss it. What she’d look like grown. How she’d be. The challenges she was going to face. God, he was going to fucking miss it all.

Laura was still staring down at the phone in wonder, as Logan muttered her name under his breath once more.

“Listen...Laura,” he said. She looked up to him softly.

“Sí, papa?” she asked.

“Eventually... yer gonna hafta make choices. About who you wanna be.” Laura only blinked at him, before offering him a knowing, coy smile.

“Why you smilin’’?” he asked through a tilt of his head.

“You’re not la persona primera who’s told me that today,” she said.

“Who else said something like that to ya?” Logan asked. Laura fiddled with both phones in her hands now, before nervously tucking a piece of hair behind her ear once more.

“Mrs. Greer. She wants me to go to college,” she said simply. Logan raised his eyebrows at this. Since the IEP, Laura talked little of the counseling sessions with the woman, so this bit of news was a surprise, if the woman’s advice was anything but.

“College, eh?” Logan asked.

“Si. She says I’m una escritor bien,” Laura mumbled. Logan simply nodded in agreement.

“Well she’s right about that. Makes sense, with all yer books you read. So...what do you think about that?” he asked her quietly. Laura said nothing for a minute, simply choosing to stare at the blues and purples of the rippling surface of the lake.

The quickly dying light.

“I need to protect Marie,” she finally muttered under her breath, and something deep inside his gut twisted. The feeling was partially pride that she had heeded his advice, keeping it at the forefront of her mind from this morning, but it was more than that, and Logan realized that it was Laura’s matter-of-factness that was clawing at his heart. She was becoming more comfortable talking about when he’d be gone.

“You can still get more schoolin’ while doing that, right kid?” Logan managed to grind out through the heavy feeling inside of him. Laura paused, eyes still looking forward, before murmuring, “But I like it.”

“Like what?” Logan asked carefully.

“Protecting people,” she muttered. Logan rumbled a bit at that, more contradictory feelings of guilt and pride and grief now churning in his gut.

“I know kid. Sorry...those are my genes,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” Laura said thoughtfully, before turning to him. “But maybe also de mi madre.” That surprised him. Since that night so long ago when he first discovered she had pesadillas the same as him, Laura had not brought up her real mother once. Logan could typically guess why. The mention, however suddenly reminded of the other reason for Dani’s visit and he perked up a bit once more.

“Yeah, maybe. I’d like to think so, hija. Speaking of mothers though… I meant to tell ya the other reasons for Dani’s visit. She dropped off the paperwork.” A familiar spark registered in her eyes as Laura realized what Logan was saying.

“Really?” What did Marie say?” she asked excitedly. Logan nodded his head in the direction the lake house, where he could tell Marie had just flicked on the lights.

“Why don’t you go in there and ask her yourself?” he said. “Marie probably thinks we’ve been eaten by a pack of wolves out here by now anyway. Best go inside and reassure her.” Laura grinned, as she moved to open up the car door. Logan had to walk quickly to keep up with her, and he barely caught the quiet “Es verdad, Marie?” that Laura had uttered, as the smaller girl stopped just inside the open door. Marie looked up and smiled at her.

“Yeah, mi amada. Of course,” was all Marie needed to say, and then Laura was already quickly striding forward to her.

Then Marie was sweeping Laura up into her arms. Then Marie was looking at him, into his fucking soul, as she held Laura close to her, stroking her hair, the back of her head. Then he swallowed hard, stifling a cough as his lungs, for the first time all day, threatened to seize up on him once more.



---

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Marie was bustling around the kitchen, in the final stages of baking bread and making a fresh summer salad. Laura had read the instructions from the cookbook to Rogue, and had then set the table. Logan had been fiddling in the basement for a decent bottle of red wine, dry like Kay preferred, when he heard the fuss upstairs.

“Logan, can you get the door? I’ve got my oven mitts on,” Marie said quietly a floor above, which he heard easily enough. He smirked a bit, and, still unable to decide, he swiped a bottle of Malbec for Kay and a decent bottle of bourbon for he and Marie before quickly heading upstairs. A few seconds later, he had set down the alcohol on the bar and had opened up the door to the short, older woman who was smiling at him widely. Her typical bun had been set loose, and her long black hair fell down her back. She wore her typical silver topaz rings, as she held out a warm batch of butter tarts in her wrinkled and well-used hands.

“Nághaye,” she said warmly. Logan smiled at her, taking the dessert. “Mársi, Kay.”

“You minding yourself?” she said, through an arched brow. He chuckled a bit as he welcomed her inside.

“Always,” he said. She offered him a knowing grin and a small nod.

“Uh huh. I’ve heard that before,” she said, as she made her way inside, Logan trailing behind her.

Having completed her chores for dinner, Laura was currently perched on the couch in the living room, hovering over a chessboard. Logan had been playing with her earlier before he had fetched the wine, but when the younger mutant saw Kay had arrived she looked up, enthralled and game forgotten.

“Xahto, Kay,” Laura said, bounding over to offer the older woman a hug.

“Xahto, sekui,” she said through an umph as Laura hugged her. “My, such strength!” Laura blushed slightly but then she eyed the butter tarts Logan was still holding.

“No way, kid. After dinner. You know the drill,” he said, and Laura returned to the living room to study her next move.

“Marie! You do too much!” Kay was exclaiming behind Logan as the older woman strode to the kitchen. “What can I do to help?” Marie smiled as she wiped a bit of flour from her forehead. “Ha! Sorry to keep you waiting, Kay. Nice to see you! I’m about fifteen minutes behind. And you don’t need to do anything nothing, you’re the guest,” Marie added, but Kay was already dismissing her with a wave of her hand.

“Nonsense,” the older woman said as she made her way into the kitchen, opening the oven for Marie to take out the bread.

“Thank you,” Marie said, and after setting it down and wiping her hand to her forehead, she murmured, “Well, do you mind keeping an eye on that oven for the carrot souflee, if I go wash up? Just take it out if the timer goes off."

“Not at all, dear,” Kay said through a smile.

Marie nodded her head as she slipped off her apron. “Logan, a drink for Kay?” she asked, before offering him a quick smile and striding over to their bedroom. Logan smirked back, a quiet mourning song in his head for Rogue’s abandoned apron, but dutifully followed her orders.

“What will it be?” Logan asked, as he strode over to the bar where he had set down the liquor earlier.

“You know I was thinking a bit of wine,” Kay asked quietly. Logan grinned.

“Red or white?” Logan toyed, knowing full-well what the answer would be.

“A dry red. Nághaye, you know this.” Logan grinned as he held up the bottle he had already plucked from the cellar.

“Just kiddin’, Kay,” he said, and she laughed as she swatted his shoulder.

“Don’t tease a woman this old,” she joked, and Logan scoffed, shaking his head as he filled up a spare glass.

“Well, a bit more won’t hurt, Nághaye,” she said and he grinned as he tilted the bottle to more properly fill the wine glass. As he handed her the wine and then made his way over to make a couple of scotches for he and Marie, he heard Kay began to idly chat with Laura.

“You know chess, sekui?” she asked the younger mutant, even as Kay kept an eye on Marie’s oven, as promised. Laura smiled almost shyly as she shrugged her shoulders, fiddling with a rook in her hand.

“Papa’s teaching me,” Laura said.

“I’m not so good,” Logan grumbled, stalking over to the living room, scotch in hand. “Never had patience for it when I was...younger. It’s tactical strategy, sure, but without the uh...practical implications,” he trailed off through a grin, to which Kay rose a suspicious brow.

“That so, Nághaye? Well regardless, Chess is about tactics. My sedÿne played… years ago,” Kay said, guestering to the chessboard on the coffee table. “His advice to me was always attack the middle game and lose pieces wisely,” she said through a sip of wine. Laura wrinkled her nose.

“The middle game?” Laura asked.

“After you’ve brought all your knights and bishops into the ring,” Logan explained to Laura through a steady gulp of bourbon

“And lose pieces wisely! Papa says that too,” Laura said, looking up to Logan. At this, Kay turned around to face him. “I thought you weren’t much of a chess player?” she asked Logan. Logan cleared his throat before guestering halfheartedly to the chessboard.

“Eh, well, my uh... I had a mentor, once, teach me that,” he grumbled, and he realized that Laura was frowning a little too deeply before Marie walked out of the bedroom once more.

“Lose pieces wisely, eh?” Marie asked. She had changed into a green cashmere sweater and had rebraided her hair, and Logan licked his lips before offering her own glass of scotch.

“Thanks baby,” she murmured, looking up to him with those soft, chocolate eyes. “Shall we do this?”



---

Once everyone had been served and the drinks had been refilled, Logan settled down between Laura and Rogue. Laura was staring at the food as if she hadn’t eaten a day in her life, typically the look about her around this time in the afternoon, whereas Logan didn’t feel the slightest bit hungry. Even though he knew the food was likely to be delicious, it was Marie’s cooking after all, his stomach churned over uncomfortably.

“A few words?” Kay said, looking around the table. Logan shot an eyebrow upward at Kay, not believing her to be the religious type, until she spoke. She did so with purpose, the accents and stresses of the foreign words heavy and resolute, and he realized it wasn’t a prayer at all she was reciting. Something else. What?

“Eh thee ho dee-ey. Dene Cha Neeya. Eh kisee whol tyee,” she said, before giving her head a curt nod, and looking up to them all once more.

Laura, especially, seemed entranced, food suddenly forgotten as she murmured a breathy, “What does it mean?” Kay smiled at her as she picked up her fork.

“Well, sekui, the first part’s about rights. It can mean, hmmm, one who acts rightly. The second part means, well, your word for it is dignity, or should I say dignidad?” Laura’s eyes lit up as Kay’s use of Spanish.

“Si!” Laura said enthusiastically, and Kay chuckled with a nod before continuing on.

“Yes. Hmmm. Dignity. Sort of like...How he or she lives, like pride, with humbleness. Yes? And the final, part, well, that’s my favorite, sekui. It means equality. Everyone is counted as one.” Laura simply blinked at her for a moment, obviously overwhelmed.

“That’s beautiful, Kay,” Marie murmured from behind her glass of scotch, before shooting a glance at Logan and smiling.

“Counted as one,” Laura murmured, through a content sigh. “Lo amo,” she added. No one spoke for a moment as the truth of what Kay was really saying, about her people, about their people, was silently acknowledged. Equality. It was a simple idea, really, but one, that, no matter what events on any given timeline had passed, seemed unlikely to ever really come to fruition.

“So I hear you’ve helped take on the anti-discrimination efforts of our little tribal council?” Kay asked, the first one to break the silence as she took a bite of salad, and nodded in approval at the meal as Marie’s cheeks flushed.

“Well, I went to a meeting,” Rogue said, glancing down at her plate.

“It’s good of you, dear,” Kay said kindly.

“Marie…” Laura murmured, looking up from her food, which she still hadn’t quite touched. “Was Jody there?” Logan raised his eyebrows at this, automatically understanding where Laura was headed, but perfectly content to let her get there on her own accord.

Marie looked up to her with interest as she put down her fork.

“No, mi amada. Although I’m told she usually is. Why?”

Laura shot a nervous look at Logan, obviously asking him for some help. He cleared his throat and set down his glass. He noticed Marie had snuck a glance at his still-full plate, and he made a mental note to take a couple of bites of bread in a second to keep her from worrying

“Uhh, kid. You tryin’ to ask me to tell ‘em what happened outside the school today?” he asked Laura. Laura nodded enthusiastically before taking a huge bite of carrot souffle and swallowing it down with a generous gulp of water

“Laura’s uhhh...got a date to that little dance of hers,” he grumbled, shooting a look Laura’s way to silently asked if he did it right. She nodded again, looking down to her plate once more.

“What? You only say this now?” Marie asked through a helpless smile. “Who?”

“...Cole,” Laura murmured to her salad. Kay was grinning ear to ear, obvious in high spirits at such news, as Marie pressed for more juicy gossip.

“He asked you?” she said.

“Well, sorta,” Laura muttered. “He uhh...texted me.”

“Laura! Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked again. Laura shrugged her shoulders, still red with embarrassment as she gestured to Logan.

“Papa heard,” she said. Marie looked up to him, and he grinned a bit. “I just heard the kid ask for her number. Apparently he texted right after,” he said, before dutifully taking a bite of bread, much to Rogue’s suspicious, fragile approval. He chewed slowly, focusing on the movements in his jaw, as much to keep his volatile stomach at bay as it was to settle Rogue’s anxiety over him not eating.

The conversation meandered on from there. Laura talked about what she was doing in school and Kay and Marie discussed some of the tribal council initiatives. Logan was sure to offer a grunt here or there, but the third glass of scotch and a fading bien dia had him feeling tired. Weak. It was a fucking car trip and rumble around with your woman in the back of the Bronco. Not a battle with a fucking sentinel. Fucking pansy. Man the hell up.

There was a moment where the conversation lulled, and then he heard it. It practically happened before he realized it, and suddenly his senses were alive, pulsating through him on high alert. From upstairs, a shifting of sorts, as if a weight had been dropped to the floor. The hair on his arms stood up straight as he zeroed on the noise. Thunk. Again. Logan took a deep sniff, then another. It was almost the smell of, the smell of….? He realized at this point he had stood from the table, and as he looked to Marie she had a slightly worried frown on her lips. Laura, too was looking at him wildly, silently trying to figure out what he had sensed.

“You ok, sugar?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah...I… just a sec,” he grumbled. Rogue’s frown deepened.

“Baby,” she tried again. Laura was about to stand, too, her body strung with tension in reaction to Logan’s reaction, but he gave her the slightest shake of his head, placing a hand on her shoulder, willing her to sit.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Just...give me a minute, darlin’,” he muttered, and then there it was again. Ka-thunk. Like someone falling. Like a person. He left the dining room silently, and then he was taking the stairs two at a time up to the loft. His claws were already itching underneath his skin, begging to be used, as neglected as they had so been. A fucking intruder? In this neck of the woods? Maybe a stray animal through an open window?

Logan. The Marie in his head. Hell. He practically forgotten about her, with as silent as she had been these past few months.

Shut up, Marie, he muttered. I need to think.

But Logan, she muttered again.

I said shut up!

And then there was the sound again, reverberating through Laura’s bedroom, now a steady of stream of incoherent mumbling from the partially closed bathroom door. Intruder then. His claws were out in an instant, singing to life and easily ripping through the scar tissue embedded between his knuckles. The pain was jarring and excruciating and the blood was hot as it stained his hands, but god did he feel fucking alive.

He could still protect them, make them safe. He could still be what they needed.

Logan, just wait. Again, Marie’s stern voice radiating in his mind. You won’t be able to come back from this.

He ignored her this time through only a frustrated growl, as he carefully approached Laura’s bathroom door, a predator stalking its prey, as he silently pushed it all the way open.

The old man was sitting there blankly in his dilapidated, duct-taped wheelchair, staring off into space, in that faded brown cardigan and white, slightly stained undershirt. Wiry and mussed hair. Sagging jaw. Fucking elastic pants. His eyes were distant and clouded, but as he lifted his head to look at Logan, they focused in on him.

“Charles,” Logan raspily murmured, sheathing his claws even as the wounds remained open, oozing blood still, little drops falling onto the white tile of the bathroom floor. What color had Marie called it? Eggshell. That’s right. Eggshell. The room spun as Logan’s stomach lurched, the Wolverine all the while howling in confusion.

And there’s more.

Laura hadn’t heard the sound. Laura hadn’t sensed anything. Had only reacted after he had stood.

You can expect hallucinations too.

Charles staring at him with clouded eyes, a small, odd smile forming on his lips.

Psychosis.

Marie screaming inside his own mind, telling him to go back downstairs, to find help.

Partial paralysis of the limbs too, in time.

He couldn’t catch his breath, as he struggled, willed Charles to go away. To stop fucking looking at him. Logan growled, stumbling forward to wave away the apparition, only to have himself knock into the side of the old man's wheelchair. Logan stumbled backward a couple of paces, all the more confused.

You haven’t experienced anything like that, have you?

Charles looked up to him, before grabbing Logan firmly by the wrist. Logan's eyes widened, his breath erratic and wild.

“What? Did you think this was going to be easy?” the old man said simply to Logan, through an odd, gaping grin.

“Charles,” he croaked once more.

Trust me, doc, he had muttered earlier that day, before getting to his feet. I won’t let it go that far.

Part 3:
Saturday, May 26th , 2030



Chapter 7: Laura

Laura could feel the weight in her feet as she stood on the thinly carpeted floor, boots firmly planted next to a rack of clothing. She stared down blankly at sparse collection of vestidos in front of her, fumbling idly through the plastic hangers before dropping her hands. She couldn’t focus. Fue demasiado. All of it, too much. Marie was up ahead a few paces, flicking through the hangers, while Papá was at home, sleeping. He was always sleeping, it seemed, ever since el incidente.

Laura had been the one to find him. As soon as she heard the stumble upstairs, as soon as she heard the confused growl escaping her father’s lips, she had sprung to her feet, disobeying his original command and flying to the loft. She had heard Marie tell her too to sit back down but Laura hadn’t listened to the woman, hadn’t wanted to. She had been so sure there had been an intruder—how had she not heard it— but instead she had found him in her bathroom, pacing the little area wildly, claws out, breath coming in heavy. Her mind desperately worked to put together what was happening, even as she noticed her own claws withdrew instinctively. But not to take out the intruder. Her body had realized what her mind was still struggling to catch up with. The threat was in front of her. Los ojos de papá had completely darkened. Laura knew he was all el animal now, and she felt her own beast rising to the surface in pure, primal response to his erraticism. She had shoved it back down though, retracted her own claws. Slowly, she had reached out a hand to soothe him and he had whipped around wildly through a growl to face her.

It was only a gouge, a graze of the arm, but an instinctive whine had escaped Laura’s lips from the pain even as her skin was already stitching itself back up, and for whatever reason, maybe her response, or the scent of her blood on the air, seemed to shake him awake. His eyes had cleared, and he had immediately retracted his claws and looked around as if he was seeing for the first time. Sharp hazel eyes quickly assessed the situation to find blood on both their knuckles, blood dripping from Laura’s arm, her eyes wide, a scared but still determined look on her face. He seemed to understand immediately, and his posture had crumpled with the realization.

“Hija, oh god.” He had grabbed her and held her close, and then Laura was crying, not because she understood, but because she didn’t. ¿Cómo podría hacerle eso a ella?

After Monday night, Laura had heard words like hallucination and psychosis used a lot. There had been calls to the doctor. Marie and Papá had fought several times, about everything, about nothing, but most of the time during the day Papá chose to sleep. Marie had said this was mainly due to new medications that made Papá fatigado , but Laura knew it was also because he wasn’t sleeping at night. His pesadillas had come back. Since Monday, they had all been noches malas.

Marie was still prowling around the girls’ clothing section, but even as the older woman dutifully searched through the sparse choices for a dress for Laura to wear to the dance tonight, Laura could tell she was exhausted, fatigue etched into every feature. Often Papá would wake up shouting, with his claws out. Three nights in, Marie had nearly been apuñalado and since then she stayed up most nights, ready to take care of Papá when he needed it. And when Papá did manage to sleep at night, when Laura dutifully checked for his slow and steady heartbeat, Laura could also hear the scratch of a pencil, Marie forever sketching in the periods of calm between the tormentas. Now, no one was sleeping.

Laura hadn’t wanted to go to the dance tonight. Hadn’t wanted to come out shopping either. But Marie, steadfast as ever, had wanted Laura to go. Had asked nicely, and then had demanded that Laura get in the car.

“What about this one?” Marie was now saying, holding up blue dress with silver patterns on it. Laura blinked once or twice, unwilling to bring herself to truly care.

“Bien,” Laura murmured. Marie only frowned.

“Do you want to try it on?” she asked, even as she held the dress in her arm and flicked through a few more options.

“No,” Laura muttered. Marie stopped then, frown deepening, as she looked up to Laura once more.

“It’s important you go tonight, mi amada, ” Marie said, walking slowly over to where Laura stood, tucking a strand of loose platinum hair that had fallen from her braid behind her ear. Marie extended her hand holding out a couple of dresses, including the midnight blue, for Laura. “Try on a couple, chica. Come on, for me.”

A few minutes later, Laura found herself under fluorescent lights behind a door with chipping paint, alone in a dressing room. Quietly, she removed her boots, shed her clothes, and then she easily slid the first midnight blue vestido over her thin frame, pulling her hair out from behind, careful for it to not snag of the price tag, before staring at herself blankly in the mirror.

Una niña stared back. She was short, thin. Sharp. Slowly, she brought her arms out from her sides, staring at her hands, before she wrapped them around her narrow frame. She wasn’t a woman. Wasn’t even human. Wasn’t normal. Just a girl. Or a monstruo. Grimly, she thought about the fact that with the short, strappy sandals that Marie picked out to try on with the dress her claws could easily slide out of her foot.

Frowning again, she walked forward a couple of steps in the dress, and slowly leaned her head against the mirror in front of her, exhaling deeply.

“Doing ok in there Laura?” Marie’s voice from outside. Not shouting, because she didn’t need to.

“Sí,” Laura grumbled from the dressing room. She lifted her head off the mirror and stared back at herself. Una niña. Una monstruo. Una hija con un padre moribundo.

A daughter with a dying father.

A single tear then, which she quickly wiped away, fleetingly wishing she had her sleeves of her jacket to do so instead of her bare, skinny arm. She snarled for a moment, before awkwardly backing up in the sandals she had tried on, throwing open the door and stalking into the hall where Marie was waiting. Marie raised her eyebrows at Laura, before smiling at the younger mutant in front of her.

“Really pretty,” Marie murmured. Laura only snorted, clasping her hands into fists at her sides.

“Miro tener demasiado de mi padre en mí para ser bonita,” she said flatly, knowing full-well Marie wouldn’t understand. Marie rubbed her eyes, sighing a bit as she tucked another strand of hair back.

“So you wanna buy it?” Marie asked. Laura said nothing, looking down past her strappy blue shoes toward the fraying carpet and the cement underneath that. Marie looked at her helplessly before walking over to where Laura stood and knelt down to her height, just as her papá had done a hundred times before.

“Hey,” she said, putting a hand under her Laura’s chin. “He’d want you to enjoy the dance.”

Laura looked up to Marie hesitantly, feeling all the more awkward in the dress. Marie stared at her for a moment, before sighing

“I know he’s been…distant lately. But he’s tired. And he’s feeling sorry for himself. But he’s told me as much about tonight. That he wanted you to have a good time. So...as much as you can, I want you to try. Ok?”

Laura looked at Marie tiredly and then tried to summon all the resolve she could muster.

“Ok,” Laura murmured. Marie nodded her head slightly, before moving to stand back up.

“Now, we should pick out some jewelry. A few hair clips, maybe. Yes?” she said. Her tone was resolute, sturdy, but Laura could smell it on her too. It was the thing she could smell easiest on anyone. The fear. Of the future. Of the unknown. Of being left behind.

“Yeah,” Laura muttered in response.



--

Marie took her time. Laura stood carefully in the downstairs bathroom, the one off Papá and Marie’s room, as Marie carefully and with precision curled each piece of Laura’s dark hair, ringlets now in the place of where the straight locks had been. Laura watched distantly, as her usual appearance was replaced with a stranger’s. Laura was already dressed, and her feet were already aching in the strappy sandals they had purchased for her. She shifted her weight carefully, wholly uncomfortable. From the bedroom, she could hear deep and heavy breathing. The dance was in about an hour, and Laura had been hoping Papá would wake up to say goodbye, maybe wish her buena suerte. So far though, it was looking unlikely.

Finishing up, Marie smiled, grabbing a sparkly silver clip from the package they had purchased earlier today and fastening it on the right side of Laura’s hair.

“Does that look ok?” she asked. Laura frowned slightly, turning back to the mirror. It did look nice. In fact…

“I look... pretty,” Laura murmured, and Marie raised her brow and crossed her arms warily.

“Of course you look pretty, amada,” Marie said matter of factly, before moving to fumble around in one of the cabinets, before pulling out a bit of colorete y máscara. At this, Laura’s mood slightly brightened. Make up was something intrigued Laura. She loved watching Marie apply it, but she had never worn any herself. Siempre demasiado joven.

“De verdad?” she asked. Really?

“Yeah, I think so. If you want,” Marie said. At this, Laura genuinely smiled. La primera sonrisa todo el día. Marie returned it, before moving quietly into the bedroom to grab a desk chair into the bathroom for Laura to sit in.

Marie was careful, using languid strokes to apply the make-up. A brush grazing the tops of Laura’s cheeks, a wand darkening Laura’s lashes. After a few minutes, Marie bit her lip a bit, rolling back on her heels to survey her handiwork.

“Bonita,” she said through a little nod. Laura turned, facing her reflection once more. It was still una niña that stared back, but she was less fierce looking. Softer somehow.

Even approachable, maybe.

Laura snuck a glance through the bedroom door at her papá, still sleeping. She could barely make out his form under the blankets. Laura hated how much he had slept. In the days since dinner, Laura had maybe had three decent, real conversations with her padre, and while they had been honest and meaningful, they had been brief. She knew why, too. Of course she she knew why. He felt vergüenza. Shame. Laura frowned once more, before she felt Marie’s soften and genled hand on Laura’s bare shoulder.

“I know you wanted him to wake up, Laura. But last night…” Marie trailed off.

“Yo sé, ” Laura murmured, turning away from Marie’s touch and the older woman’s arm dropped. Last night had been particularly rough. So bad, in fact, Laura wondered if there ever was going to be another buen dia again. Still though, Laura found herself walking out of the bathroom, a little awkward in the strappy sandals and not her typical boots, to where Logan slept. Her father’s brows her furrowed, breathing heavily, heart slow. Carefully, Laura reached out a hand and clasped it in his own.

“I’m going to the dance,” she said. Still, he slept. Laura sighed, leaning downward to murmur in his ear. “Te amo papá.” He stirred only slightly, but didn’t open his eyes and didn’t say anything, and Laura finally stood back up. A slow heartbeat. A breath out. A squeeze of the hand, and then she backed away. Laura realized only afterward that Marie had been watching them both, hands clasped tightly around her arms, face blank.



--

Laura had taken down a whole building of Transigen guards in a single-handed bloodbath. Had slit the throat of Xander Rice, in cold blood. She had disemboweled, sliced, stabbed, gutted, ripped out jugulars of all kinds of bad men and women, without so much of a blink of an eye. Miedo wasn’t something she often felt in the past, but now, it was all she could feel.

As the Bronco made its way into town, Laura gulped. She clutched the sparkly blue purse closer to her body, which had her new phone Papá had given her earlier that week. Laura had worked it out with Cole the day before. They’d meet in front of the school, go in together. She knew how to fight, knew how to swiftly and effectively kill. But this...this was different. What was she supposed say? How was she supposed to be? Did Cole... expect anything? That thought suddenly choked her.

“Marie,” Laura was saying as the woman was pulling up to the school.

The late spring evening was uncharacteristically warm and heavy, although Laura could sense just from the humidity in the air alone that there would be a storm tonight. The heat did nothing to ease the tension as Laura’s own palms were sweating as she clutched the tiny purse to her. Laura laid eyes on the other girls in their dresses and heels, boys in shirts and ties. Some parents were getting out, waving goodbye. Everyone was chatting animatedly. Pungent scents of perfume and cologne singed the air. Inside, she could already hear the steady thrum of music.

But none of that mattered. All she could hear was the voice of her papá in her head. And it wouldn’t leave.

Look. In the end...I want ya to have all those normal things. The things most people take for granted. But you can’t get soft, either. You can’t forget how to fight. Things...they always go south.

“I don’t wanna do this,” she said, to Marie across the interior of the Bronco.

“Laura,” Marie attempted through a sigh, gesturing to just beyond the front double doors of the school. “Cole’s already waiting.”

“No. Not this. Well, yeah, actually. I don’t want to do any of it. None of it. Terminé con esto,” Laura practically spat. Lifted up a tendril of curled hair. “ Es mentira. A lie,” she hissed.

“Stop it,” Marie said harshly and Laura looked up to her, staring intensely into Marie’s eyes, brown matching brown.

“What?!” she asked sharply.

“Lord, you’re just like your father. Stubborn to the bone. Listen. I know it’s hard, but I can’t do it all. I just can’t Laura. I need help,” Laura looked up to notice Marie had tears in her eyes and something within Laura uncoiled, the very truth of it all laying itself out amidst the landscape of when instead of if.

Again, his words in her head, haunting her.

You’ll need to protect Marie.

Meanwhile, Marie was continuing on, gripping the steering wheel tightly, just like she had seen Papá do a hundred times.

“He’s not ok, Laura. He just isn’t. And I’ve known it for a long, long time. Ever since...well… since I noticed the grey in his hair another world ago. He’s fought, lived, struggled for a very, very long time. You understand? But because he isn’t doing ok, especially right now, we need to be strong, yes? Fuerte.”

Laura did nothing for a moment, only choosing to stare at Maire through grim, tight lips.

“Now. You’re gonna have a good time. You might live for two hundred god damn years, just like him , but you’re only this young once. And you need to have some normal experiences. This is one of them. So you’re getting out of this car, even if I have to force you out, and you’re going to go take that poor boy’s hand who is still waiting for you to get out of this car and you’re going to dance with him. Because Laura...I need you to. You understand me?” The way Marie asked this question shook Laura out of her resolve, the note in the woman’s voice just as wild in nature as Logan and Laura seemed to forever be.

“Sí , Marie,” Laura murmured, before casting her glance at the waiting boy across the parking lot.



--

Cole was immaculately dressed. Black slacks, a white button down contrasting with his dark tan skin. Jet black hair too, which he had been growing out recently, was slicked back, and he seemed...well... taller. Sturdier. He now was several inches taller than Laura, and Laura liked that. She noticed as she looked down that he was holding una pulsera embedded with real flowers.

“Hi Cole,” Laura said quietly. His eyebrows had risen when he had seen her get out of the Bronco, and they hadn’t quite fallen yet.

“Wow...Laura...you look…” he mumbled over his words. “Æaxenét’î. Uhh...nice.”

Laura looked down and mumbled, “You too.” They stood there awkwardly for a moment, even as she heard Marie start the Bronco and hesitantly pull out of the drive. After the skirmish in the car, they had agreed that Marie would be back to meet her around 8:30, a little bit after the dance was supposed to end.

“What’s that?” Laura asked, pointing a finger to the bracelet made of flowers in Cole’s hand.

“Oh! Uh, yeah. I got this for you. It’s a corsage. For your wrist.” Laura looked down at it suspiciously, and startled a little when Cole carefully reached for her right wrist, taking her hand in his own. Cole had patted her on the back before, had even reassuringly hugged her a time or two, but something about the way he touched her skin tonight sent jolts of electricity through her veins, and Laura could hear her own heart speeding up. Meanwhile, Cole was carefully stretching the silver elastic band over her hand, past her knuckles, to slip it around her wrist. Laura stared at the tiny white rose buds awkwardly, the whole of the thing practically covering the front of her hand. It was almost laughable, the delicate petals in place of where blood and adamantium and rage usually stemmed. Laura blinked again, before looking up to Cole.

“Gracias,” she said, too shocked for English. Cole smiled a little, and she noticed the newfound bravery he his smirk. It was as if the tables were turned, and suddenly all the grit and gumption and forwardness Laura usually carried with her had been passed to Cole, and she was skittish, shy one

“De nada,” Cole said through a wink, and Laura couldn’t help but blush.

“Wanna go inside?” he asked. Laura nodded softly, noticing almost too late that Cole was offering Laura his arm. Laura stared at it for a moment, before intuitively taking it, like she had seen in all those películas viejas , and they walked forward through the double doors differently than she had in the previous hundred times before, leaving the warmth of the sunny evening air behind.

Inside, the sounds and smells were worse. The darkened hallways gave way to the flashes of lights and strobes of the middle school gym. Fake stars and planets were painted in glitter, and a lot of people were wearing glowing neon collares. There was a man in the corner with a computer, and from two large, pounding speakers poured the latest music Laura couldn’t stand to listen to on the radio. There was no stage, no band, like Laura had thought. No one was dancing either. If anything, large clumps of boys and girls were standing off to the sides, sorta talking in groups amidst the music. Laura gulped again, eyes flitting around the gym. The music was so loud in here that the typical sounds she could normally pick out were drowned out, and it was overwhelming.

“Do you ...uhh...want some punch?” Cole asked, lowering his arm and letting Laura’s fall. Laura stared at him for a moment, blinking.

“Punch?” she asked. Cole nodded.

“Yeah… uhh. Like fruit punch. Like juice?” Laura made a face, and Cole laughed a little. Laura smiled a little bit back in return, shrugging.

“Let’s go over there at least,” Cole practically shouted over the music.

As they slowly made their way through the throngs of people, the uncertain feelings intensified. She could feel el animal whine underneath the surface, perturbed that loud sounds and heavy scent of perfume was masking her senses. But beyond that, there was a sense of sheer disappointment. This was not what she had envisioned, not at all, and it was becoming increasingly clear to her that there was no way she’d be dancing. Not like this. Cole seemed to intuit her unease, however, and about halfway to the refreshments table he turned back to her and saw the look on her face.

“Screw punch. Wanna go someplace else?” He said loudly once more.

Laura only nodded, and then he was grabbing her hand to pull her forward, and that jolt of electricity flew through her. Did touching a boy always feel like that? El animal was trying to respond, say something, and Laura shoved it down further as the click of her sandals reverberated loudly on the linoleum as they made their way out of the gym and back into the abandoned, locker-lined hallway.

“Was that….overwhelming for you?” Cole finally asked, as they slowed their pace and came to a stop half way down the hall.

“Yeah...a little,” she heard herself saying, glancing down to notice his hand was still in her own. He also seemed to suddenly notice this and instantly whipped his hand away like he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” Cole muttered, before gesturing to the floor. They sunk down to sit next to each other, backs against the lockers, Laura mindful of her dress-- how did you do anything in something like this?-- and Cole exhaled frustratingly.

“It’s sorta stupid anyway,” he mumbled, resting his arms on his bended knees, and Laura suddenly was jealous she couldn’t do the same.

“I guess,” Laura mumbled fiddling with the hem of her skirt, flicking bits of glitter off of the midnight blue fabric and onto the floor of the hallway. The conversation died then, and she pulled her phone out of her clutch and checked the time. 6:14. Mierda. She’d been here for a little over ten minutes. Laura sighed tiredly, just as she thought she could hear Cole’s heartbeat getting faster, which caused her to intuitively look over to him.

“Are you ok?” she asked, through an arched brow and crossed arms.

“Uh, yeah. I just… I just wanted you to have a good time,” he mumbled. Laura sighed, crossing her legs stretched out before her at the ankles.

“Sorry,” Laura murmured, looking down at the flowers still garnishing her wrist. “It’s just... “

“You have super hearing, I know,” Cole muttered. Laura looked up to him sharply.

“No,” Laura blurted out before she could stop herself. “I don’t care about la música at all. It’s just.. been a hard week.” At this Cole perked up a bit, throwing her a questioning glance.

“My dad’s dying,” Laura said, the words so sharp in the air she felt like they had cut her. She had never said it out loud before. To anyone. But there it was, the awful truth looming heavy before her. Cole’s eyes widened, before he frowned deeply.

“But I thought he was…” Cole drifted off. It was now Laura’s turn to look up at Cole, suddenly curious.

“He was what?” she asked. Cole looked moderately panicked for a moment, as he gestured to Laura in the small space between them.

“You know...like you,” he said lamely. A mutant. Laura’s brow raised in surprise. Laura had always known some people assumed that she came from a family of mutants, and while she was waiting for someone to accuse her of it, no one yet had. And if she was going to assume someone would, she wouldn't have guessed Cole. Cole was often en su propio mundo.

“Who told you that?” she asked, eyes narrowing. Cole looked up, a mildly hurt expression etched on his features.

“No one. But isn’t it obvious?”

“What’s obvious?” Laura pressed.

“He’s Wolverine,” Cole said simply.

Laura whipped her head up now, and if she hadn’t had such good control over her cuerpo, her mouth would fallen open in surprise.

“But...how did you…?” Laura mumbled. Cole only rolled his eyes at that, surprising her even moreso.

“Come on, Laura. Rogue-uhh- Ms. D’Ancanto calls him Logan all the time. He’s fixed like ten different things at our house, been there just as many times, and he’s practically growling the whole time he’s there. Heck, he even calls me “bub,” just like in the comics. Plus… look at you.”

“Look at me? What about me?” Laura questioned, fully fledged annoyance now lacing her voice.

“Sorry...it’s just….in the comics Wolverine has a healing factor, heightened senses, the works. Just like you. Exactly like you. So I just figured…”

Laura blinked at Cole, suddenly torn from feeling simultaneously disappointed and impressed that Cole had figured it out. Pero cómo?

“Cole, you don’t even read los comics that much. How would you know?” At this, Cole seemed visibly hurt again, before his own tone teetered toward frustración.

“Yeah I have. I mean… lately,” he added. Laura’s anger was only growing. She was a novelty, then. Nothing more than a pre-packed product designed to entertain, to sell stories. Something inside Laura quietly acknowledged that that was maybe why her father hated the comic books so much. Laura frowned.

“Because I’m a mutant? That’s why you’re reading them?” she asked, already assuming the answer.

“What? No! No. Because you like them. The comics. You’re always reading them,” Cole retorted. Laura opened her mouth to speak, but instead shut her mouth, at a loss for words.

“So you are Wolverine’s daughter, right?” he asked quietly. Laura exhaled deeply, as suddenly an image of the stark, white halls of the Transigen labs filled her mind, and she found herself frowning once more.

“Kinda,” she muttered.

“What do ya mean, kinda?” Cole asked.

Laura blinked, looking down, mind now filled with images of Bobby and Delilah and Rictor. “Nevermind,” she murmured. Cole seemed to sense her sadness, and his stance softened. It was then that he once more snaked his hand to hold Laura’s left, and Laura let him.

“So why is he dying? If he’s got the healing factor?” Cole asked carefully.

“He’s getting older. It’s...wearing off,” Laura said quietly.

“Fuck,” Cole said. At this, Laura snorted softly, and Cole smiled.

“Yeah,” Laura said. “I can’t believe you knew.” Cole only shrugged his shoulders apathetically, as if he had just discovered Laura liked daisies or that Persuasion was her favorite book.

“I mean, Marie is Rogue too, right? They look like they do in the comics. I mean I figured they both were retired and all that...” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” Laura murmured. “They are.” Suddenly, Cole looked nervous, and Laura could feel his heartbeat quicken once more as his palm grew sweaty, gently lifting up her left hand that he had been gently holding.

“Do you...uhh...do you have…?” he trailed off, and Laura sighed, realizing what he wanted to know. She took her right hand to pull his off her left, and then quickly released the claws on the left hand, the one without the corsage.

“Holy fuck,” Cole said, as his eyes watched the drip of blood fall down the front of her hand. Laura realized, almost too late, that there was no fear in his eyes though. A sense of general wariness and more than a bit of awe maybe, but that was it.

“Does that fucking hurt?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off two blades of adamantium jutting out of Laura’s hand still. Laura only frowned a little, before quickly retracting them.

“Uh, yeah. But I’m used to it,” she mumbled, before realizing the mess she had made, staring down blankly at bloody knuckles.

“Oh, here,” Cole said, whipping out a tissue from his coat pocket. No, not a tissue. It was was made of fabric and embroidered on one end.

“What’s that?” she asked, even as she took it from him.

“A handkerchief,” he said, blinking at her.

“Oh,” she said simply, staring at the white fabric and the stark red blood of her hand. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah… no problem,” he said, and slowly Laura wiped the spatter of blood from her knuckles.

“I have them in my feet too,” Laura muttered after some time. Cole’s eyes widened at that one, but still his resolve remained.

“You do?” he asked steadily.

“Yeah,” she said blankly. Suddenly her thoughts flew to the muddy soccer field a few weeks ago, and she frowned. “See? A freak. Like they say,” she muttered. At this, Cole willfully took her freshly cleaned left hand in his again, squeezing it lightly. Again, another jolt of energy flying through her body.

“I don’t think you’re a freak. Maybe a fucking badass, but not a freak,” he muttered, even as she gripped the dampened, bloody handkerchief still. “Your Wolverine’s daughter.”

Laura considered this for a moment, but with the reminder of her father, she frowned once more.

“Ehh.. sorry…. to bring him up again,” Cole muttered. Laura could still hear the steady thrum of the music in the gym a few rooms away, and now the sound of shuffling footsteps. Awkward swaying.

“It’s ok,” Laura muttered, but still the images of the moment when his eyes finally cleared and his heart broke when he saw he had hurt Laura plagued her mind. He’d be gone soon enough, and she didn’t, couldn’t know what that meant.

“Do you…” she paused, looking down at the handkerchief once more. She was unsure whether or not to give it back to Cole, so instead she now fiddled with the fabric, rubbing it back and forth in her hand. “Where do you think we go when we die?” she practically whispered to him.

Cole seemed genuinely surprised by this comment, running his free hand through his jet black hair tiredly.

“Ehhh. I dunno. Sorta a religious question, huh?” he asked.

Laura only shrugged her shoulders at that. “I guess so,” she muttered.

“It’s complicated,” Cole said quietly. “My mom, she still holds onto a lot of the Athabascan beliefs. You know, the Deninu Kue kinda stuff. Releasing a spirit with a dance back to the earth, that kinda thing.”

Laura paused...remembering what Kay had said before dinner a few nights ago, before everything had fallen apart.

“But….not like this dance,” she said through a little smile.

Cole offered a smile in return. “No, not like this.”

“But….what do you believe?” Laura said quietly. Cole paused, before offering another shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t... really know. I’d hope it’s not over after we’re gone, but I’d be ok if it is.” Laura considered this answer deeply, crossing her arms. She rarely felt cold, but right now, she did. She didn’t want to think about her father simply... not existing. Someone as strong of a force as her padre suddenly not being there.

Laura stared back down at his hand on hers, and, frowning, she looked back up to Cole.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” she asked simply.

Cole cocked his head to the side slightly, seemingly confused by la pregunta.

“Why should I be? You’re a good person. Even if you do beat people up,” he said through a laugh. Laura didn’t laugh in return though, thoughtfully considering what he had said.

“A good person,” she muttered quietly.

“Yeah, like your dad. Like... he fought for good, you know? The good side.”

“For justicia,” she murmured to her lap.

“Right,” he said, and then she looked up to him solemnly. A bit of silence passed between them. The music had died a little, and Laura realized for the first time all night, they were playing a slow song. Cole heard it too, and he grinned. Moving to stand, hand still in hers, he brought her to her feet.

“I’ll take that,” he said of the handkerchief Laura still held, and Laura blushed meekly as she offered it to him.

“Wanna try again?” he asked, gesturing to the gym.

“Yeah. Sí. I do,” she said.



--

A few minutes later, Laura found herself out on the gym floor. The erraticism of the light effects had dimmed, leaving the gym darkened and the calma seemed now to cradle them both. A lot of people had coupled up and the dancing now was just as Marie had described. Cole had carefully taken her waist and she carefully put her arms on his shoulders. She noticed some girls were perhaps intuitively slinking their arms around the boys’ necks, and Laura pushed the anxious questions of Was she doing it right? What did Cole want her to do? How was she supposed to concentrate? further down, focusing instead on the boy in front of her.

“Is the music better?” Cole had muttered softly into her ear.

“Sí,” she said.

“Good,” he murmured. Slowly, they danced, Laura’s brown eyes locked on Cole’s own.

“This was different... than what I thought it would be,” she said quietly.

Then, the song changed. Something recent and cheesy and not so slow, replaced with something timeless. Laura could hardly believe her ears as Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” filled the gym. The song was on was un álbum played often at the lake house, and as Laura fully realized what it was, she felt the nascent beginnings of several hot tears.

How many times, indeed.

“You ok?” she heard Cole asking her. She nodded, before she instinctively laid her head on Cole’s chest. He held her like that as they danced, slowly, to the soft swoon of the guitar and harmonica, until the song faded out to nothing.

Chapter 8: Rogue

Her back ached. That was the first thing she noticed. It was a dull, sore sort of pain that radiated in her spine and traveled outward, the kind that suggested she was in the latter half of her life, the kind that let her know she was tired. So very tired.

It was dark. That was the second thing she noticed, as she quietly blinked a few times, her eyes opening from her spot on the living room couch, where she had accidentally drifted off.

And the third thing, well. The third thing was that her brown eyes now met Logan’s soft hazel, as the man stood over her, frowning.

Immediately, her heart raced, a litany of terrible possibilities flooding her mind. Had he had another nightmare? A coughing fit? A hallucination? As these paranoid questions inundated her, another part of her mind, some deep, darker part, cringed at the concept that this is how she responded upon seeing her lover in the middle of the night now.

“What’s wrong?” she said, sitting up quickly, wincing a bit from the ache in her spine as she did so. She was moving to turn on the lamp on the end table, but he slowly reached out, grabbing her wrist lightly, inhibiting her from doing so.

“Leave it off,” Logan muttered, and then he turned his hand, extending it, palm and fingers offering to help her up. Rogue glanced at the hands of the man she loved, knuckles wrapped in medical gauze, freshly dressed from earlier this evening when he had awoken from another nightmare and had once more extended the claws. This was the fourth night in a row that she had slept only a few hours, trying as she had been to keep awake and alert when Logan needed her, but the fatigue was now pressing down on her, seeping into her bones. She stared at his hand intently for a moment, then brought her eyes up to meet his.

“Come to bed, Marie,” he murmured. “You need to sleep, and I don’t want ya to do it on the couch.” She stared at him for another long moment, before slowly and quietly taking his hand. He pulled her to a standing position easily enough, before wrapping his arms around her thin waist. She sighed heavily in the dark, for a moment simply laying her forehead against his chest. He snaked a hand up to cradle the back of her head, and they stood there like that for a long while, the tips of his fingers stroking the brown of her hair.

“Come on kid,” he finally murmured, and then he was pulling her along, gently leading her back to the bedroom. She sat down on the bed she hadn’t occupied in three days a bit awkwardly, lying down then, grateful for the coolness of the pillow, and he silently lay down beside her. She turned into him intuitively, facing the front of his body, before she ran a hand down the side of his face, and his head leaned into her touch, nuzzling her palm.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she finally said through a frown.

“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered through closed eyes. For a moment no one spoke, and the only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the ticking of the clock on the wall in the living room. She sighed again, as she watched Logan open his eyes once more, staring at her.

“Laura’s dance is tonight,” he said after some time. It wasn’t a question, and Marie wondered if it was more of a way of Logan marking time. With dozing most of the past few days away and being in and out of sleep at night, time had moved differently. It had for them all.

“Yeah, it is,” Marie said through a faint smile. Logan didn’t return it.

“How’s she doing?” he asked softly, even as a gentle hand ran down the length of one arm and Marie shuddered slightly. Logan had done very little talking lately, and something about this moment suddenly felt like a small, important gift.

“She’s fine,” Marie said quietly. “She misses you.” Marie could barely make out Logan’s frown in the dark, but it was still there.

“I’ve fucked it all up,” he muttered quietly.

“No, you haven’t, sugar,” Marie said softly. Again, more silence. Logan turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling fan oscillating above them both. For a while, she listened to his breathing and the occasional cough; however, he wasn’t likely to go back to sleep, not with her in bed.

Three nights ago, only a day after the hallucination, Logan had woken up from a horrific nightmare, claws out. They had been inches from her stomach. He had retracted them, horrified, and from then on out she had stayed awake, ready to patch his wounds and ease him back to sleep. The quiet new truth that that he might truly, really hurt her if she kept sleeping next to him remained unspoken, although she knew Logan was hurting over it. She had been too.

“It’s falling apart, darlin’,” he finally muttered after some time to the dark.

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“The rest of it,” he muttered. She was silent in the dark and his hand reflexively tightened on her shoulder.

“Marie. I smelled him. Felt him,” he said hoarsely.

“It was once, sugar,” she said evenly.

“Until it happens again,” Logan muttered. Marie closed her eyes tightly. She didn’t want to hear this. The fact of the matter was Marie suspected that Logan’s nightmares and further slide into depression had been spurred by the hallucination. It had happened once. Once was enough. And what was far more damaging was the resulting aftermath. Whether or not his senses were actually failing him, if Logan believed they were, then that was that. And he did now. He had been inclined to sleep the day away to deal with this new reality, this truth, and it was breaking everyone’s heart.

He turned back to her then, pulling an arm around her waist and bringing her closer. She now lay curved up against his body, that deceptively strong frame taught with muscle, and his warm skin instantly settled the churning feelings inside her.

“Sleep,” he finally muttered.

“But, sugar, you’re the one who-” she began but she could feel him shake his head in the dark.

“No. Not now. I’ll manage. For now, I’m gonna breathe you in, listen to yer heartbeat, and let you rest.”

Marie sighed, surprised how quickly her eyelids began to droop as she gave in to the gnawing feeling of exhaustion, dozing off to the steady rhythm of his breath and the faithful warmth of tangled limbs.


--

She had awoken to a still-alert Logan in the early morning, the slatted light from the window throwing patterns of white onto their bedspread their bodies were still draped on top of. She had yawned, smiling at him softly, and he had smiled back, tracing a thumb over her lips.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

“Fine, darlin’,” he muttered.

“How long was I out?” she asked quietly.

“Few hours,” he murmured. As she woke up a little more, Marie noticed the dark circles under her lover’s eyes, the tired slack of his body.

“Now you need rest,” she said, and he only offered her a small shake of his head.

“S’just the medicine talkin’,” he said flatly.

“Doesn’t matter the reason,” she said, putting her hand to his chest, curling up a bit more closely against him.

“Coffee with you first, kid,” he said through a small smile. “Laura’s not up yet, but I wanna be when she is.”

A few minutes later Logan sat at the kitchen island, thoughtfully watching Marie make a fresh pot of coffee. His hair was mussed and he was shirtless, sporting only a pair of athletic pants, and Marie, despite all that had transpired in the past few days, found herself appreciating the view.

“What?” he asked through an arched brow as she snagged two mugs from the kitchen cabinet.

“Nothing,” Marie said through a small smile. “You want it black?”

He only nodded, before staring down at his hands, fiddling with the fraying edge of the gauze on his left set of knuckles.

“Does Laura have what she needs for tonight?” he asked suddenly, and Marie stopped to look up from what she was doing and smiled at him.

“I think the plan is to go dress shopping later today,” Marie said softly.

“She nervous?” he asked.

“Hasn’t really talked about it much. If anyone’s nervous I’m sure it’s Cole, the poor thing,” Marie muttered, pouring the fresh coffee into two mugs.

“Heh. Kid’s alright,” Logan said. Marie slightly frowned at this, turning around to face Logan once more.

“I’m not sure…” Marie trailed off, unable to quite put her suspicions into words as she added a little milk to her mug.

“What?” Logan asked. “Cole’s not who you think?”

“Oh no, he’s fine. He’s Jody’s son. He’s a good kid. It’s just...I’m worried he’s in for a little heartache. They just seem like such friends to me. I’m not so sure if Laura really likes him or not…” Marie trailed off quietly. Logan’s interest seemed to perk even more at this.

“But she’s always talkin’ about love. Amor and all that. You think she likes another boy?” Logan asked, and, after a moment, he spoke again, another thought striking him. “Or… someone else?” he added carefully.

Marie bit her lip a little as she gently stirred her coffee with a spoon before offering an answer. “Maybe. I don’t think any someone specifically yet...but maybe. And Cole, well, I think she was just excited someone, anyone, was thoughtful enough to ask her to the dance.” Logan raised another eyebrow at this, considering.

“I guess I can see that. Our little hija wantin’ just to fit in a bit more,” Logan murmured, as Marie walked across the kitchen to place the warm mug into Logan’s assuredly sore hands.

“Our hija,” she murmured through a smile. He put down the mug quietly on the island beside him and growled approvingly, taking her waist between his hands. “Yeah darlin’. Ours. Our daughter.”

She smiled, leaning into him for a moment, before reaching for the mug he had set down and handing it back to him.

“Drink,” she said. Logan had the slightest ghost of a frown on this face, but still dutifully took the mug from Marie. His hands barely shook as he did so, but she knew that he was exercising vast amounts of control to keep the tremors slight.

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

Marie assumed Laura was sleeping in late, and Marie could guess why. Logan had told Marie long ago that Laura had fallen into the habit of staying up sometimes at night, double checking on both of them, and Marie could only assume the events of the past few days had exacerbated that habit. Across the island, Logan and Marie had been talking quietly, but she could tell now, that, despite the coffee, Logan’s body had begun to droop. He hardly slept at all last night, and it was beginning to show. As Marie cleaned up from breakfast, she was just about to suggest he lay down when she heard him mutter something into his coffee cup once more.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that line,” he said quietly through a sigh. Marie stopped what she was doing, and walked slowly over to her side of the kitchen island, their empty coffee mugs now on the counter between them.

“What line?”

“The one you painted last month. The one with the boat,” he said, and Marie frowned deeply. She had set aside that painting weeks ago, focusing more on sketching since she could do that in the main living room. She hadn’t thought of the painting since. She had thought no one had.

“What about it sugar?” she said softly.

“There was always some line between you and me. Anytime we got it right, even if we had it our way for a little while, things would go to shit. I’m no believer in fate, but it seems like it’s not too much on our side,” he ended quietly. Marie simply stared at him wildly for a moment, trying to understand why he was bringing this up and why he had interpreted what she had created that way.

“That’s not what I meant when I painted it,” she finally murmured.

“No?” he asked, eyebrows arching in mild surprise.

“No,” she muttered.

“Then what did it mean?”

Marie stared at him for a long while, trying to remember how she had felt when her hand had drawn the brush across the canvas, black painting dividing the white space in two. She had added blue later, made it the surface of a lake perhaps, but it had first been nothing but that line. Now that she recalled the image, she was starting to understand why Logan would have interpreted it that way.

“I…. I was thinking about time, maybe,” she finally said.

“Time?”

The truth was that Marie had been thinking about time since Logan had left her at Xavier’s four years ago. About it’s relativity. About how it stretched, lingered, compressed itself. It was one of the only things that had soothed her, reading all she could about Einstein’s theory of special and general relativity. He was gone, but he wasn’t. It had provided her comfort. During the cancer, during his absence, during her endless search to find him in Canada.

“Yeah,” she murmured again. “How it’s all relative. Time speeds down, slows up. All based on perception. I’d like to think that maybe we’re all points, or dots. Like we’re doing everything at once.”

“The bad and the good,” Logan muttered, and a chill shot down Marie’s spine.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said thoughtfully.

“Even so, I don’t want dots, and I certainly don’t want lines between us,” he said. “I want it all. All of you, all of the time.” That had her looking sharply to him once more.

“What do you mean by that sugar?” she whispered quietly. He said nothing, resigned instead to picking up the coffee mug shakily and standing, walking it slowly around the island and to the kitchen sink. He turned back to her, kissing her gently on her forehead.

“Nevermind, darlin’. Gonna go rest since the kid’s still sleeping,” he muttered. Marie frowned as he began to walk out of the kitchen, and she found herself murmuring his name once more.

“Logan, wait,” Marie said. He turned back, dark eyes locked on hers, and for a second no one moved, everything and nothing, stretched out between them. Finally, she blinked, realizing why she had spoken, and turning back momentarily to rifle through the kitchen drawer, she had the pillbox out and slid a handful of pills across the counter. He frowned deeply, before sweeping them across the rest of the space and swallowing them all at once.



--

The next hour found Marie alone. Both Logan and Laura still slept, so Marie was left to wander the house by herself. It was no surprise, really, that she ended up once more in her study. She purposefully avoided the painting and ones she had attempted like it, and instead found herself drawn to her bookshelf. She slowly ran her hand over the spines of her books, so many books. Dostoyevsky. Proust. Austen. Dickinson. Twain. She stopped there, for reasons unknown to her, pulling out a nonfiction collection from the prolific American author that she enjoyed more than Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn. Life on the Mississippi. She cradled the book closely to her, bringing it over to the armchair in the corner, cracking it open. The yellowed pages stared back at her, a faded inscription written in blue ballpoint pen on the title page.

12-25-78

Kevin,

This one for me was one of the most profound explorations of mankind ever written. Read & Enjoy. - Peter T.

Marie smiled faintly at it, running her thumb over the words. She had read the inscription before and had faintly wondered who Kevin was, what Peter T. was like. What their relationship was and why Peter felt compelled to give him this book on Christmas. Thumbing through the pages, she found herself settling on a dog-eared corner about halfway in, and she turned to the page, realizing that a whole paragraph had been circled in the same blue pen.

No, the romance and the beauty were all gone from the river. All the value any feature of it had for me now was the amount of usefulness it could furish toward compassing the safepiloiting of a steamboat. Since those days, I have pitied doctors from my heart. What does the lovely flush in a beauty’s cheek mean to a doctor but a “break” that ripples above some deadly disease?

Marie froze at these words. Through a wave of nausea she closed the book quickly, shoving it away from her through a deep and troubled frown.



--

She had tried to wake him. It was no use. He slept deeply, so deep Marie had checked a couple times to make sure he was breathing. She was hesitant to leave him to go to the mall, but Marie also knew that he would have wanted her to go, to help Laura get ready. Laura had been downtrodden all day with the knowledge that she had slept in too late and had missed her father when he was awake, but, as Laura’s sullen mood persisted, Marie started to suspect there were also other reasons for her demeanor. It wasn’t every day you went to your first middle school dance after all.

Later, the curls of Laura’s brown hair. Laura’s slender frame in the midnight blue dress, the silver swirls looking like some far off place, like blinking stars. She was so beautiful, so solemn, so carefully perched on that precipice between girl and woman. Marie’s heart flattened when she watched Laura bend down over her sleeping father, brushing her lips to murmur something so soft Marie hadn’t heard what it was. And then the resolute look as she glanced at Marie once more, willing herself to stand, to press on, to move forward.

The ride had been silent, but Marie could feel Laura’s tension spike when they had gotten closer to the school.

I don’t wanna do this, she had said. I don’t want to do any of it. None of it. Terminé con esto. Es mentira. A lie.

A lie. Laura had been referring to her hair, but something about that word now plagued Marie, even as she now drove back from the school. Marie had been harsher with the younger girl than she had intended, but she couldn’t take it right now. Not today. Not after seeing him so tired. Not after the remark about the painting. Not after the words in that goddamn book.

You’re getting out of this car, even if I have to force you out, and you’re going to go take that poor boy’s hand who is still waiting for you and you’re going to dance with him. Because Laura...I need you to. You understand me?

Tonight, for once, she needed someone to be ok. She needed something to work. She needed something to be normal.

Some of the tension had left Marie’s body as she watched Laura get out of the car and stand next to Cole. Marie’s heart had lurched a bit as he offered her a corsage, and, realizing she was openly staring, Marie had shaken her head a little and started up the Bronco once more.

A lie. But what part?

Now, the sun was falling out of the sky, as the sleepy town of Hay River stood huddled on either side of the street. Marie frowned as she drove, grip tightening on the wheel. At no point had she anticipated, expected to live in a place like this. Was that part of the lie? And if not, which part was?

Their lives had stalled at some point. Had slowed so much that now they all seemed to only be hobbling forward, pretending things were better than they were, preserving something they might have already lost. But that was the funny thing about time. You didn’t always know that you had slowed, because you were always bound by the limits of your perception. But every speed on your knees was still crawling. Was that what Laura had meant?

The Bronco ironically struggled itself as it made its way up the hill, and just as she was about to curse the car for being another relentlessly tired thing in her life, Marie was struck with a sour feeling.

Something was wrong.

Everything was suddenly off. Discordant, as if all the notes had been changed to sharps and flats or the world had been tossed upside down. As soon as she pulled the Bronco up into the driveway, she could feel it seeping out of the lake house, all of the light now gone from the late spring sky, casting everything in shadows. She found her palms were sweating as she fumbled with the keys, yanking them out of the ignition. The air felt electric, as if on the brink of a storm, and as the night wind whipped through her sweater, she found herself slamming the door shut, the pace of her boots quickening as they made contact with the gravel and then up the stairs to the front door.

Much like her lover’s hands always did, her hand shook as she reached out to open the door, and then, the sound of a thud, a crash. Glass breaking. Wood splintering. Inside the white lakehouse: chaos. Instinctively, she turned and locked the door behind her.

“Logan…?” she murmured, looking around the darkened house desperately, before she even could understand, could comprehend what was happening.

Noises. Shouts. The sound of furniture snapping, breaking. She was breathing heavily now, trying to understand where the noises were coming from, since they seemed to be coming from everywhere. Glancing around the kitchen, she took in an opened, empty liquor bottle, pills from the container scattered all over the kitchen floor.

“Logan!” she shouted his name this time, and then there...a sharp thud from upstairs. From Laura’s bedroom.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she flew up the stairs to see the man she had loved for so long standing in Laura’s bedroom, seething and bewildered. His eyes were completely dark, much like they were when the animal was in full control, but he was still muttering in English, even through growls, and there was a sheen of sweat on his face. The room was dark, but the adamantium caught the light that flooded out from Laura’s bathroom, the only light on in the entire house. Around them both, Laura’s room in tatters, and even from where she stood Marie could see the white tile in the bathroom floor glittering silver from shattered bits of glass and mirror.

“He was here….He was here….” Logan muttered. He hadn’t quite noticed her presence yet, even as he turned his head around this way and that, tracking ghosts.

“Sugar.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“They took him here. He thought he was me, and they...they…. god. Laura. Is she alright at least?”

Marie was stone still, blinking even through the hot wetness of those first tears.

“I needta...needta tell her the rest of the story. I need to tell her…” he muttered, still ignoring her and looking about the room frantically. Finally, Marie dragged her feet forward as if they were made of lead, desperately searching for her voice, careful to speak firmly and clearly when she did so.“Logan,” she said.

Suddenly, his posture, the way he held himself changed, and he whipped his head around to her and let out a low, angry growl. The air was still singed with electric current, so much so that the fine hairs on Marie’s arms and neck stood up.

He snarled, taking a threatening, animalistic step toward her. Everything in Marie wanted to instinctively back up, but, instead, she held her ground.

“Baby,” she said, through more tears.

As he took another predatory step toward her, her heart thudded heavily in her chest and she suddenly dodged instinctively to the right, trying to put space between them. He was quicker though, catlike in his reflexes, and he was over to her in an instant, had her up against the wall, claws mere millimeters from her throat, and he was all animal now, breathing her in, taking in the scent of her fear, and Marie thought for one wild moment that this was the kind of fear that hundreds, if not thousands of people Logan had slain had felt in their last moments of life.

She did it instinctively. No willful action from her mind at all as her skin defensively turned on, just as she grabbed his left forearm. Just a little, something inside her said, and, instantly, his face changed as her skin sucked the slightest bit of life out of him, and he looked at her, confused and pained as he stumbled backward. She was still sobbing as a rush of terrible memories flooded her mind. The drop of blood from Charles’ mouth, claws in Laura’s back as an exact replica of Logan carried the young girl down the stairs. The dead look in the old man’s eyes in the back of a Ford pick-up truck and then... oh god... the dead look in her own eyes, the way he held her limp body in the dying light of their bedroom in Westchester. She sank down against the wall as she tried to lock everything away in a box in her mind, while, in front of her, Logan withdrew his claws, the blood still seeping from his hands.

He still wasn’t himself though, and silent tears ran down his cheeks, the sight of which savagely cut through Marie. She had never, not once, seen him cry. Marie looked at him, wild-eyed and desperate as he crumpled to the edge of Laura’s bed, and then she was once more scrambling upward, finding her feet and throwing herself in his arms as he sobbed.

“You...god... he almost….I almost... fuck. Fuck!” he breathed bitterly into her ear, once more finding real words.

She was outside of herself, watching from above again, as she held his body tightly to hers, frantically stroking the hair on the back of his head, shushing him through breathy, soothing murmurs.

“It’s alright sugar.... It’s gonna be alright,” she whispered desperately. A lie. She comforted him like she might a young child, holding his strong body closer to her, blood and broken things, dots and lines, scattered hopelessly around them both.

Chapter Nine: Logan

“Just Marie,” he says before he can think. He can see her blushing, and he likes it.

“You know you’re not married to the place, right kid? The door’s open, and it’s right there,” Logan says, gesturing with a hand to the field and the line of pine trees beyond.

“I know. I don’t want to leave,” Marie is saying, although he notices the way she crosses her legs as she speaks, carefully folding her inner self up a bit more.

“Good,” he murmurs, stricken suddenly with the strangest urge to brush a hand through her hair. He always fought that urge, and he had, once, after the torch. Instead though, he stands, offering her his hand to pull her up with him.

And then he’s watching her through the haze of purple and black, Blink’s portal, and he can’t fucking get to her. She won’t let him. And now he knows why she hesitated, all of what she couldn’t say, and things are falling down around him.

“You knew it would come to this. That’s why, last night, you wouldn’t…” he stops, voice breaking.

“I love you,” she says fiercely, just beyond the rift. “You hear me? I love you. Always have.”

“Marie, baby, don’t do this,” he begs, lifting his arms up to reach for her. But she’s placing a strong hand on his chest to press him back.

“I’ll see you in another life, sugar. A better one.”

“No. Baby, baby-”

No.

“No, no, no. Baby, baby,” he’s muttering, before growling loudly as he puts two fists over her heart, pumping it for her, desperate to get it moving again. He feels her body compress as he breathes air down her lungs. But nothing. Nothing.

He stops after a while, tears rolling down his cheeks, swaying gently above her until he can do nothing but pull her closer, cradling her against his chest, murmuring her name into her hair over and over again.

“I love you, kid. You hear me? I love you. Always fucking have,” he says, and then he’s kissing her forehead fiercely, before staggering backward, out of their room and out of the life they had created for themselves as if it’s only full of dead things. All those fucking sad birds and books.

Logan woke with a start, her name on his lips. He looked around wildly, could feel the sweat on his forehead, as his eyes darted back and forth in the dark. Jesus. He had worse nightmares, but none so fucking vivid. Like watching a goddamn movie. He swallowed, and he realized the sun was setting. Why? Finally, his vision focused enough to read the time on the bedside clock.

5:56pm.

No.

He already knew they had gone. He would have heard them if they were still here, but still, he scrambled out of bed, tossing off the covers and standing, before immediately regretting doing so. He suddenly felt the onslaught of vertigo and a wave of fresh nausea. Fucking pills. Steadying himself, he walked out of the room, peering this way and that.

“Marie? Laura?”

No. No one. Everyone gone. He’d fucking missed it.

He cursed loudly, running a trembling hand through his hair, gripping the side of the kitchen island tightly. He’d missed her leaving, missed seeing her off. Growling in anger, he glanced down to see the pill box set carefully on the counter with the container “Sat. PM” open, Marie having readied the pills for him to take. More fucking pills.

“Fuck!” he said again, shaking his head slightly as he stared down at the medicine. What a fucking waste. He couldn’t even function. Couldn’t see his daughter off to her first dance, shake Cole’s hand. Suddenly, his anger doubled, and he found himself snarling, picking up the container and throwing it against the far wall, Risperidone and Isoniazid showering the kitchen floor in a myriad of shapes and colors.

Then he was stalking over to the alcohol cabinet, intent on liquor. A bottle of bourbon, only one-third of the way full. He unscrewed the cap, and stared at it through a frown, then he brought the bottle to his lips, drinking heavily.

The burn of the liquor, the mixed-up colors of pills. The silent, empty house. And then, he heard it. The thud. A sound from upstairs. Again. Almost every day if he was awake for too long, especially if he was alone.

Thud. Slam. Crash.

He shut his eyes, cursing under his breath once more.

It’s not real, he told himself. It’s in your fucking head, bub.

Louder now, and then the noises of a lamp being knocked over, of glass shattering.

“God damn it,” he muttered. Logan gripped the bottle more tightly, moving away from the liquor cabinet, headed for the door. Maybe if he went outside.

And then, the sound of screaming. Laura’s screaming. Charles’ screaming. He whipped his head back to the stairs, snarling, the animal so close to the fucking surface it was nearly impossible to hold on to his humanity. Another drink. Laura’s at the dance. Charles is dead. It’s not fucking real. The sounds of bodies being thrown about. The bookshelf falling over. Shouts, torturous cries. The animal whined again, practically hissing in Logan’s ear. Have to save them. You can be useful. You haven’t been useful in so long. Save them.

Logan closed his eyes more tightly.

Sugar, don’t listen to it. Marie again. The voice that had never left him.

“It’s driving me fucking crazy, Marie,” he said bitterly, staring at the loft warily from below.

I know baby. I know.

“I’m losing it…” he breathed bitterly.

No you’re not. You know it’s not real.

“You’re not real, and I’m talkin’ to you,” he muttered.

There’s a difference.

“Doesn’t matter. Like he says. I’m fucking useless,” Logan murmured, drinking heavily once more until the last of the contents of the bottle were drained.

From upstairs, his daughter’s piercing cry.

“ Shit,” he snarled, setting the bottle down hard on the counter.

Sugar…don’t.

Protect them, the Wolverine hissed. Save Charles. Save Laura, the animal snarled.

“Fuck! ”

Save them.

He stalked forward. He would go upstairs, to show the animal he was wrong. To shut him up. To prove it was all a hoax, a bad dream, a cheap hat trick.

Don’t, Marie warned again. He ignored her, taking the stairs two at a time, and, before him: nothing. Not one piece of furniture out of place. No broken glass. No Laura. No Charles. Nothing.

“See, you stupid motherfucker?! ” he growled to the Wolverine, looking around the empty room. “You’re just as fucking crazy as I am…”

And then, the searing painful slide of adamantium through his back and into his stomach. He yelled through a growl, as the pain took over his whole body, and as he whipped around the room, he faced himself, and he could taste the iron blooming in his mouth, spitting blood. He growled, instinctively extending his claws and shoving them into the clone’s heart. The clone stumbled backward, shouting incomprehensibly as he did so, falling into Laura’s bookshelf, novels flying everywhere. Logan took the few moments to look down, dazed, at the blood seeping from his abdomen. He put his hand to it, and brought up red. He stared at the blood, confused, just as the clone was back on him, shoving his claws up through Logan’s left forearm, tearing through muscles and ligaments alike. Logan shouted in pain, and he could feel the Wolverine growling, grasping for control and finally taking it, as Logan’s consciousness slipped, now muted.

The animal fought the clone viciously, painting the walls of Laura’s room with blood. Being knocked backward, thrown into the mirror. Glass ground into his wounds and embedded in his hands as he shook, standing back up. Such pain. The threat moved so quick. The enemy. He would disappear, reappear. Senses failing the animal, he stumbled forward, unable to track the clone properly. Where? Where was he? Where were the ones who needed saving?

“Logan….”

The animal within Logan turned his head and stared at her. Smell was off. Somehow different. Older now. Different. Not real. Not his mate. His mate was dead. He had watched her die. Held her broken body amidst the paper cranes and piles of books.

The animal sneered, already confused and vulnerable. Threat. Threat. Everything was a threat. Nothing was to be trusted.

He took a step forward, once more noting the scent was off. And then he was on her in an instant, claws once again out, pinning her against the wall. The metal, so close to the beating pulse in her neck. So close to violence, to once more ending a life.

And then, she was grabbing his arm, the one that should have been mutilated, and he stared at it, confused by it for one fleeting moment, and the animal inwardly whine in pain as the pull happened. The jerk, the rubber band stretching, pulling him out of everything, out of his body, out of his mind, before quickly snapping back.

He felt himself hit the edge of Laura’s bed, the animal having retreated, and then he felt the solid warmth of Marie in his arms. He glanced down at this wife beater to realize the blood was gone, the wound as quickly healed as if he’d been in his prime. But no tear in the shirt. No bloodstains either. Time in reverse . He could feel himself crying, and he realized that it was because he was fucking terrified.

And Marie. His Marie. She was alive. She was real. And god. God. The animal had almost killed her. He had almost killed her.

“You...god he almost….I almost... fuck. Fuck!” he breathed bitterly into her ear. He felt her grip tighten as her fingers were threaded in his hair. He felt his hands shaking, he felt his ragged breath, he felt himself coming back, but barely so, as if teetering on some edge, desperate to stay in control.

“It’s alright sugar.... It’s gonna be alright,” she whispered desperately. He sobbed into her shoulder, as she ran her hands along the muscles in his back, holding his shaking body tighter. She quietly murmured soothing truths into his ear, but still he breathed out bitterly, hating everything, hating life.

“Tell me you’re fucking real, kid,” he finally said, as hot tears ran down his cheeks.

“Yes, real. I’m real , ” she said clearly, her voice even and careful. “You’re with me. You understand?” she said, and he gave in to her, once more lowering his head to her shoulder as the rest of his lucidity returned. He focused on her touch, the quiet cadence of her breath. After a while, they both laid down on the twin bed, as she still idly stroked his back. His mind, exhausted and bewildered, began to drift, and, once more, he slept.



--

He woke to the steady patter of rain outside and the occasional rumble of thunder. The room was dark now, and for long, unending moments he idly ran his fingers over her shape, trembling hands steadying as they outlined her profile, lips settled on the nape of her neck. She had fallen asleep too, and for awhile he felt content to listen to her breathe, watch her sleep.

He now realized that she had taken him in to jolt him out of the hallucination and out of the grasp of the crazed animal who had believed what he had saw. It had worked. And she stayed close to him to finish the job, slowly drawing him back from the murky dark world he had been in.

But it had been too close. Too fucking close, and in that moment, he knew, that whatever was happening to him couldn’t happen for much longer. That he’d end up hurting someone.

He was out of his goddamn mind.

Slowly, to calm himself, he tried to recall how it felt, the warming feeling of Marie pulling him in. It was not so unlike that day in the back of the bronco or that last night in Westchester or even on top of the Statue of Liberty. Like leaving. Like flying, a kite catching the wind. Like living.

He had known already. Had known it deep down. How it would end.

But she didn’t.

She was stirring at his touch now and, slowly, she turned to face him, sleepy eyes blinking open, a small upturn of her lips, a quiet smile.

“Are you alright?” she murmured. He sighed a little, moving his hand upward to graze a thumb across he scar he’d given her their first night in Hay River. The one that would likely disappear. She leaned into his touch, and he rumbled a bit in approval.

“Yeah kid. Yeah,” he finally muttered. She smiled again, and he pulled her in a bit, lips just brushing hers as she gently ran a hand through his hair. He pulled back then, staring at her intently for a moment, and then made up his mind. He would tell her now. It couldn’t wait anymore.

“This can’t go on much longer,” he said softly. She pulled back just the slightest, tension tugging at her features.

“It’s just a bad week,” she finally muttered, but she had lowered her gaze and her hand had now fallen away from the side of his face, as if her body knew the real truth.

“Not long ago a bad week was coughing a little too hard and long, darlin’. Not nearly slitting your throat ‘cause I didn’t recognize you,” he muttered cynically, and he could once more feel her body stiffen slightly.

“Stop that,” she whispered.

“It’s the truth, kid,” he said simply, moving to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You would never hurt me,” she murmured.

“I’m not so sure,” he muttered, thinking once more of Charles’ limp jaw from a week ago, and now thinking of the pain Logan had felt when the clone took a swipe at him. He had tasted blood. Felt the stab. Smelled his own fear. All of it real, and all of it a fucking hallucination.

Logan shuddered a bit, willing himself to focus.

“Marie, look at me,” he said, bringing a hand to lift her chin, her eyes were clear, but something was quivering within them, like something fragile. Like something about to break.

“I want you to do it,” he said quietly, although he maintained eye contact with her, even as the hurt, confused expression in her irises bloomed. The furrow of a brow. The slight quickening of her heartbeat.

“What?” It was a word she barely said, something just shy of a whisper.

“When the time comes, I want you to do it,” he said more clearly. Now, she really was frowning, moving to sit up, breaking eye contact and looking around the room as if she was searching for the moments that had happened just before this one. Finally, she turned to him again, even as he shakily moved to sit as well.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” she muttered.

“Yes, you do,” he said, but she was now shaking her head.

“Marie, I need you to look at me,” he said quietly, and when she turned back, there were tears.

“When the time comes, you absorb me. You end it,” he said. Her eyes darted to his sharply, before she abruptly stood, arms folded, her back to him. For several long minutes she stood there like that and he waited, watching her.

“No, ” she finally said. Logan sighed, sitting up a bit more, running a hand through his hair. It was the answer he expected initially.

“Marie,” he said quietly from his spot on the bed. Meanwhile, she had begun to pace, and he watched her silently as she moved back and forth across the length of Laura’s darkened bedroom. Outside, thunder.

“Do you understand what you’re asking of me, baby? What you’re really saying? ” she interrogated, her voice panicked and heart rate elevating.

“I do,” he said flatly. “As much as I can understand, I do.”

“ Then why are you asking me?” she hissed.

“You really wanna watch this thing play out till its last notes?” he said evenly. “Because it ain’t a pretty tune, kid. I can feel it getting worse, ramping up. And I won’t let you or Laura see that. ‘Specially not with your safety in jeopardy,” he added bitterly.

“You wouldn't hurt me,” she said again, this time forcefully through tears.

“Marie, I don’t know what I would do. Because, when I’m not sleeping, and I’m sleeping all fucking day, I feel like a fucking time bomb. I can’t live like this,” he said, running a hand through his hair desperately. She watched him do this even as she paced, a blank, haunted look in her eyes.

“Logan…” she began, but he cut her off.

“You listen to me, woman. I won’t do this for much longer. I refuse to. So in short of attempting to drown myself in the fucking lake out there or shooting myself in the head with that fucking adamantium bullet, you’re my only option.” She stopped then, standing dead still in the middle of Laura’s room.

“You wouldn’t ,” she murmured through narrowed eyes.

“I would,” he said simply. “But I’d prefer somethin’ a little less graphic.”

Marie was actively crying now, her arms clung to her body as she stared at him helplessly.

“You have more time,” she murmured. “I need you to have more time.”

God. This was too fucking much. He realized he had already stood, striding over to her in two paces in the middle of the bedroom, taking her into his arms, as she lay her head against his chest.

“I can’t kill you,” she barely whispered. “I just can’t.”

“Yes. Yes you can,” he murmured into her ear. “I know I’m askin’ for too much. But it’s what I want. It’s how this thing ends. And just….think about it for a second Marie. Could you do that for me? Think about what it would mean,” he said, swiping his thumb across one cheek, wiping away a tear. At his touch, her eyes closed, and her voice was quivering as she spoke.

“If I completely absorb you...you’ll….” she said dropping off.

“Be with you. Marie, I’ll be with you. For good ,” he finished her sentence for her. She opened her eyes then, and he found a broken world, a grieving world, but a vibrant, alive one too, the one he’d live in, nestled inside those eyes, staring back at him.

“Would you want that?” he asked quietly. This was the only part he was unsure of, because only Rogue could really know what that felt like, what it meant. She frowned, but after a few moments nodded her head softly. He issued a low, approving rumble in response, pulling her into his arms once more. He stroked the back of her head, hands threaded in her soft hair, and he was reminded of how she had held him, right as he had come out of the hallucination.

“Laura wouldn’t forgive me,” she said after some time, and Logan’s heart lurched. He had thought of Laura too. He had thought of all of it.

“Kid, I’ll talk to her. And she would. You’d take my healing factor, or what’s left of it. Might mean you stick around a little longer, see her grown. And that way...that way I can see her too. Watch her grow up.”

She pulled back from him slightly then and carefully surveyed Logan, a slow, steady realization in her voice.

“You’ve thought about this. You’ve known for a long time this is what you’d do,” she said simply, now understanding the truth.

“Yes,” he answered.

She stared at him for a moment, and he felt it. Felt her fear, her anxiety, her dread. But also the acceptance, the decision. That she’d do it. She’d kill him, but more than that. She’d be the unending harbor to his fucking soul. And that … the love there... fuck. The love was overwhelming.

“When?” she whispered after some time in the dark, and his grip on her tightened.

“Soon,” he murmured quietly into her ear.

She breathed out steadily, and he sighed, holding her closer to him. Some time passed like that, before he finally held her back a little, looking at her once more.


“I’ll have to talk to Laura,” he said quietly. “After the dance maybe. Or tomorrow.” And then he heard Marie’s sharp intake of breath in the dark.

“Oh, god. Wait,” she said, suddenly looking around the broken room wildly as if for the first time. “What time is it?” she breathed, and Logan realized he had no clue. How long had it been?

“Fuck, 9:15! Fuck!” Marie cursed as she saw the clock, then instantly she was flying down the stairs. Logan followed quickly after, and just as a fresh swell of guilt and confusion threatened to rise within him, Marie unlocked the front door, throwing it open to the dark wet air. They found Laura there, head bowed, bedraggled and wet in her blue dress, shoes hanging from her hands, sitting on a chair on the deck in the rain. She seemed smaller somehow, cold, but she instantly felt their presence and quickly stood. Even through the downpour, Logan could tell her sharp eyes quickly assessed both of them. Their postures, the weight they now carried. Laura instantly knew something was terribly, horribly wrong. That everything had somehow changed. Fuck.

“You didn’t answer your phone. I walked, but the door was locked,” Laura finally murmured to her bare feet.

Marie stumbled forward, instantly cradling the girl between her arms, and Laura hugged her as hard back. Logan stood a few paces away, arms crossed in shame as the cool rain soaked through his wife beater, through his mussed hair. He winced as Laura finally brought her gaze to him, and barely murmured something through the steady rain and thunder

“Another?” she quietly asked. He could practically feel parts of himself cracking under the strain, the guilt, but he still managed to give his daughter the slightest nod of his head.

Laura exhaled, dropping the blue sandals onto the floor of the deck and determinedly walked toward him. For the slightest moment he thought she was headed past him to the door but, instead, she was firmly hugging him in the rain, already knowing what he could barely understand, and his trembling hands could do nothing but hold the young girl, hold on for dear life.

Finally, he glanced up to Marie from where she stood near the deck chairs, watched her pick up Laura’s shoes. Her sweater was now wet and clung to her thin shoulders, and she now hugged the sandals tightly to her. Meanwhile, in the distance, the crash of thunder from the summer storm, a strand of lightning across the lake illuminating the wet, black sky for a single, fleeting moment.

Part 4

Tuesday, June 25th, 2030

Chapter 10: Laura

Laura blinked once, closely watching the clock on the bedside table next to her. 11:52pm. The illuminated number, even her bedside lamp now was at a slight tilt, one of the legs of the bedside table having been replaced and made not quite even. Across her room, even though it was now dark, she could still spot the recently patched drywall, splatters of gritty white that had not been painted over yet.

The dark had always been a quiet friend. Like being covered in a blanket, all safe and warm. But now, the dark had a different meaning. It didn’t mean safety, security. It meant despair. It was a dark that swallowed, not protected. It was a darkness that consumed and suppressed. A darkness Laura wasn’t so sure you could come back from.

In the past, if she felt caged, she would listen to the sounds around her, alive in the night. The pine trees rustling, drafts changing on the wind. The hum of the forest, the sound of the water quietly lapping at the shore of the lake. Even the night birds, all of them having since returned to their summer homes. She didn’t seek these sounds out anymore though, because to do so would be to also pick through the more intimate sounds, the ones closer to her. The clock on the far wall ticking, the hum of the refrigerator, the sounds of breathing. And now only two heart beats. The sound of Marie’s slow and steady one downstairs, and, of course, her own, wild and deliberate.

It was because of what she couldn’t hear that she chose to no longer listen.

11:54pm.

Laura sighed, feeling restless enough to turn on her little lamp and pick up her cell phone, surprised to see a new message there. Dani. Please know I’m around if you ever need to talk. Laura smiled slightly, but didn't feel compelled to respond. Every once in awhile she would text with Dani, but she hadn’t in a couple of weeks. Besides, Dani was busy. Laura didn’t like bothering her even when Laura did feel like talking. She would, however, bother Cole.

Tonight sucks, she texted and waited for a response.

Cole had been an incredibly important friend over the past few weeks, as awkward as some of their moments had been. Things had changed since that night at the dance, when they had both waited for their parents to pick them up. Jody had arrived early, Laura had been trying to call Marie. Cole had looked at her, offered her a ride. Laura had shaken her head through a small smile, adding Marie will be here, she always is, and he nodded. He squeezed her hand goodbye and Laura was speechless to say anything else as he darted through the rain to Jody’s car. Fifteen minutes had passed. Twenty. Marie’s voicemail. Again and again. As time passed, her anxiety grew. She knew, then, something had gone wrong. Not wanting to call attention to herself or her family, Laura easily slipped past the last of the chaperones waiting for the last couple of kids to be picked up and slinked out silently into the cold rain, resigned to walking. The sandals had made it difficult; she had taken them off. She remembered the way the cold, wet gravel hurt, the way she had thought it was still better than walking up the hill in those awful sandals, much more content to have the bare earth underneath her feet.

Suddenly, Laura’s phone buzzed, pulling her out of the memory.

Do you need anything from me? Cole texted back.

Laura sighed outwardly. That wasn’t the answer she wanted. She wanted him to say something like, yeah I bet it does suck . Things with him had come to a head a couple days after it had all ended. Jody, Cole’s brother, Danny, and Cole himself had come to the funeral, they all had. It had been held in the backyard, several hundred feet away from the house, near the property line. It had been a short ceremony. Kay had said a few words. Cole had been dressed in a sharp black suit, Laura in a black dress, both of their appearances reminiscent of how they had looked at the dance, save the fact all the color had been drained away, even from their faces.

The morning had been oddly cold, overcast, and Laura had clung her arms to her body. She couldn’t keep her gaze off of Marie, who was silent and tearless during the whole thing. Why wasn’t she crying? Laured turned this question over and over again in her mind. Laura wasn’t crying either though, she realized, and after it was all over, she had left Marie to her guests, stomping off into the woods, intending to walk the trail that edged the lake, the trail she had walked every day ever since, rain or shine. On this particular day, however, Cole had followed her:

Hey...Laura! Wait up! Cole shouted after her. He reached out to grab her hand and Laura looked down sharply at it, frowning before yanking it away.

“Where are you going?” he asked. It was almost an accusation, and something about this had angered Laura further.

“Nowhere,” she muttered, even as she kept walking down the trail, moving deeper into the woods.

“Hey, stop,” he said, and she finally did, turning to him.

“What do you want, Cole?” she asked wildly, and he grabbed her arm once more, moved closer to her. It was then he gently and chastely pressed his lips to hers. A shock reverberated through Laura, but not the good kind. El animal protested, and immediately she stepped away, overwhelmed and annoyed.

“ What are you doing?” she hissed sharply.

“Sorry..I,” he said, looking down at the moss under his feet. “I thought you might need-”

“I don’t need anything,” she snapped, holding back tears. “Or anyone.”

Or anyone.

I’m fine, Laura texted back.

11:58pm.

Amor. Secrets. A best friend. Now she had a better idea of how it worked. Cole was her good friend, but not someone she felt amor for. The kiss had proved it. It was so unlike what she had seen from Papá and Marie.

Papá .

Laura’s heart felt that deep, familiar ache once more, and she brought her pillow to her chest, hugging it more tightly. It didn’t make sense. It had been explained to her. She knew Marie had absorbed him, but in the weeks since Marie had, she had not said one word about it. Was he still there? Was he inside Marie’s mind somehow, watching the world go by? Laura couldn’t be sure, as Marie hadn’t told her anything. Marie hadn’t talked to hardly anyone lately. In the brief periods her adoptive mother was awake, she was always absent, blank somehow, prone to spending whole periods of time staring off into the distance or laying in bed. Laura wasn’t sure how many words Marie and she had exchanged in the weeks since they both had said their goodbyes to the man they had known, but it had to have been less than one hundred. Laura had finished out the school year predominantly alone, snagging rides with Jody or walking. And now that school was over, Laura realized how much she had been leaning on it for something to do. Now, there was nothing to distract her. This was only the second day that school was out, but already Laura felt claustrófobo . There was nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

Laura clutched the pillow closer to her. She wanted to be anywhere else but here, in this house. But Papá had tasked her with something important. Something she wouldn’t stop doing, no matter how hard it got. She still was, after all, an anchored red balloon.

You’ll need to protect Marie.

But what if Marie didn’t want protecting? Simply didn’t want Laura around at all?

Laura frowned, glancing back at the clock, and found a new day staring back at her.

12:00am.

She sighed, moving to click off the lamp light and move her pillow behind her head once more.

“ Feliz cumpleaños ,” the girl whispered to herself, to the dark.

--

There was no breakfast. Since it happened, there was never any breakfast. She had showered, gotten dressed, put her hair up on her own. With school out, there was no real reason to get ready anymore, but Laura was now in the habit, and there seemed to be no real reason to fall out of it either. She had snagged a book she hadn’t read in a while off her recently-mended bookshelf that Cole’s older brother had come over a couple of weeks ago to fix and had made her way downstairs.

The kitchen wasn’t clean. Laura needed to do a better job. Coffee mugs in the sink. A few crusty plates. Laura sighed, ignoring the dishes and moving to the empty coffee pot. The first week or so Kay had been over every day, and she still took to dropping in on them, but she couldn’t be there all the time. Laura had realized this, and she had texted Dani a couple of weeks ago about how to make the coffee right. ( For a strong mug of coffee, 1 tablespoon per cup of water.) Now, Laura carefully measured out the coffee, and poured the water into the maker.

In the fridge, she noticed groceries were low, most of the food from the funeral they had been sent now dwindling to nothing. Laura frowned, wondering how in the hell she was going to walk a full cart of groceries back to her house. Maybe Cole or Jody could help her, she thought, when she heard rustling in Marie’s bedroom. Laura turned around, looking sharply upward. Marie was awake. Laura bit her lip, snagging the mostly- empty milk from the fridge before closing it and willing the coffee to hurry up. She took what was already ready in the pot and poured it into one of the few still-clean mugs, blowing on it a little. She smelled the milk to make sure it hadn’t gone bad. Not yet. She poured a little in, stirred it with a spoon before tossing the utensil in the growing pile of dishes in the sink. Quietly, she padded over to the door, and knocked slightly.

No answer.

“Marie?” Laura asked quietly.

A sniffle, the shifting of blankets.

“Uh yes? Yeah Laura?” she heard the woman say.

“ Café con leche , Marie?” she asked carefully.

“Yeah...c-come in,” Marie said. Laura entered the darkened room carefully, quickly assessing. The bed unmade, Marie’s hair wet, having showered at some point in the past hour, but that was about all. Still her papa’s boots by the door, where they always had been. Books and tissues and sketching pencils piled up on Marie’s nightstand. Laura quietly handed the mug to Marie and the woman muttered a thank you, before looking up to Laura for one of the first times.

“Do you need a ride?” she asked quietly. Laura raised her brows, careful with what she said next.

“Marie...school’s out,” she said softly. Marie looked confused for a moment, but then glancing at the summer sun trying to peek it’s way through the black-out curtains, she seemed to make sense of it.

“Oh… yeah,” was all she said. Laura stood there, wringing her hands, before she murmured her daily request.

“Is it alright if I go for a walk?”

Marie was still looking down however, somewhere far off.

“Marie?” Laura said again.

“Yes?” she finally asked, looking back up at Laura once more.

“I’m going to go for a walk,” she said.

“Ok,” was all she whispered. Laura’s eyes glanced to where Marie had set the full mug of coffee, wondering when the last time it was that Marie had eaten anything. Laura sighed, leaving the woman then, closing the door gently behind her. She glanced once more at the messy kitchen, before a low, involuntary growl rumbled within her. Not right now. She couldn’t. Suddenly she found herself walking quickly to get outside, throwing open the door and shutting it just as quickly behind her. Softly, she breathed in the morning air, taking in the scents of the vibrant forest, grateful to be out of the house once more.

For a while, she simply stood on the deck, breathing, before she noticed that someone was making their way up the gravel drive on foot. She listened to the footsteps for a long time before she spotted him: Cole walking up to the house on his own, hands deep in the pockets of his denim jacket.

“Hi Cole,” Laura said, as he slowly walked up the stairs, eyes glancing at the door for a moment.

“So she forgot?” Cole asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Laura muttered. “Maybe.” Cole only sighed.

“Well, Happy Birthday Laura,” he said through a small smile. She returned it, scuffing a boot on the deck. “Thanks,” she murmured. She gestured to one of the deck chairs, deciding her walk could wait a few minutes, and they both took a seat, staring out at the soft blue tones of the lake beyond.

“So what have you been doing since school was out?” he asked.

“Nothing. This. You?” she said, sitting on her hands slightly, trying not to appear too stiff. Cole shrugged.

“Hockey still. Although Danny plays more than I do. He’s better than me” he muttered.

“He’s older,” Laura offered, and then, threw a slightly furrowed brow she added, “What, no video games?” Cole sighed, running a hand through his sleek black hair. It was even longer now, almost down to his chin. He had been growing it out in the tradition of most men who recognized their Athabascan heritage, and Laura liked that this was the reason he was doing it.

“They’ve been boring lately,” he finally offered. Laura only smiled a little, placing the bottom her the boot on the rails of the deck. Coles eyes were fixated on her boot and the lake beyond, before he murmured, “You know you can always come over, hang out if you want.”

Immediately, Laura frowned, drawing her knees up to her chest, boots now in front of her on the chair.

“Cole...” she began, but he quickly cut her off.

“Not like that. Listen, Laura...I know. I remember what you said..” he murmured looking down to the muddied floorboards beneath his own sneakers.

“Do you?” Laura asked, hands around her knees, even as she cast a side glance at Cole.

“You don’t like me,” he said quietly. Laura sighed, rolling her eyes a little as she sat up normally in the chair once more.

“No...that’s not it. I really like you,” she offered.

“But not like that …” he finished. Laura frowned. He was right. Not like that. And what did that mean? she wondered. She had been enamored with him the night of the dance, but she had also been pushing down something el animal had been trying to whisper to her all night. She had thought it had been about what Marie had once called arousal, but Laura had realized after some time, after everything with her father had ended, that el animal had been actually protesting her decision to go with him, to get close to him. No él it had been saying. Not him. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense; she should like him. Cole was nice to her. She enjoyed his company. Still though, no él. Laura looked to her hands, realizing too much time had passed, now trying to come up with something polite to say.

“I don’t know if I like anyone like that…maybe that’s not even possible for me…” she trailed off.

“Oh, come now. Shut up. That’s not true,” Cole said, and Laura smiled just the slightest at him.

“Your dad just died. You’re sad,” Cole offered. At this, Laura looked up sharply to him, emotions twisting in her chest.

“Thanks,” she automatically responded before she understood what she was saying. Cole seemed surprised at this too, especially since he recognize there was no note of sarcasm or snarkiness in her voice.

“For what?” he quietly asked. Laura breathed out slowly, trying to figure it out herself. For what, indeed?

For admitting to it, something inside her breathed. So far, Marie had only referred to Logan’s death as “since everything happened” or “since he said goodbye.” Other than the fact that they had lowered her father’s cold body into the ground and Laura had watched it happen, no one, not once, had said with such honesty described the events that had taken place.

Papá died. He had asked for Marie to kill him. Marie had. He was dead.

“For saying it out loud,” Laura finally finished, eyes still eerily dry.

“Yeah…” Cole trailed off, but when he realized she was gripping the sides of the chair tightly, he added, “Hey...it’s ok if you need to hit...or stab something. So long as it isn’t me,” he joked.

At this...Laura truly laughed a little, turning to face him.

“Trust me, I have,” she said, bringing her hands in front of her slowly, turning her palms upward and back again.

“That’s the problem,” she finally murmured, eyes far off for a moment. “Everything reminds me of him. I remind me of him. I think...that’s why Marie…”

“What?” Cole pressed. Laura looked up to Cole sharply, before shaking her head.

“Nothing…” Laura drifted off. Just then, she felt the warm presence of Cole’s hand taking Laura’s own on the armrest of the chair. It was distinctively not what everyone in school was calling a come-on though; instead, it was the physical representation of the warmth and compassion of a close friend.

“Laura...you’re really strong,” he said. Laura blushed, still withdrawing her hand while shaking her head.

“No,” she muttered.

“You are. You are,” Cole said, holding her gaze. “ And it’s important you don’t forget it.” She looked up to him once more, blinking back a couple of tears now, before immediately standing, pacing a little in front of Cole.

“I think I’m gonna go on a walk soon,” she said softly.

“Yeah, sure,” Cole said, now standing himself. “Before you leave though,” he hesitated, fumbling through his jacket pocket, “This is for you.” He held out a little box, wrapped in Christmas paper, jolly Santas and Christmas trees frosted in snow dancing across the front.

“Sorry,” he said, going a bit red. “It’s the only wrapping paper I could find.” Laura only smiled, fiddling with one edge of the box.

“Thanks,” she said, but then Cole was putting his hand out, obviously gesturing for her to wait.

“Don’t...open it right now. Open it later.”

“Ok,” Laura muttered, moving to pocket the small box, before staring at her boots once more.

“I’m gonna go,” Cole muttered. “Hockey practice soon. Also...my mom wants to drop off a cake for you later, if that’s ok.”

“To eat by myself?” Laura blinked.

Cole only shrugged his shoulders. “She wanted to do something.” Laura once more couldn't help but smile slightly.

“Thanks Cole. And tell your mom thanks,” Laura said, clutching her fingers more tightly around the tiny box in her pocket, the first, and only, birthday present she had ever received.



--

She walked further than she ever had. She walked and walked, sloughing off her jacket and tying it around her waist in the midday heat. She was far enough away from the lake house now that she let herself hear every sound, let it overwhelm her so much that she was sure she was nothing but the birch trees and slowly growing moss and the vultures lazily floating around the bright sky. The thing was that nature was nature. It did what it was supposed to do. No matter the pattern of the wood, the circles for each passing year infused into the timber, a pine tree’s sole purpose was simply to grow, reach toward the sky. It was simple. It was right. And Laura wanted to be like that. If only for right now, if only while everything hurt. She breathed and breathed, reminded herself she was alive until her mind seemed to know it, and that was enough.

It wasn’t until miles out that she caught the sight of green and red paper peeping out of her jacket pocket. She stopped, wiping the sweat off her forehead, pulling the little box whose wrapping paper was now damp with humidity, and she ripped it off, opening up the little box to be greeted with her own father’s dog tags. She blinked once or twice, trying to understand how Cole had found them. But she knew, could feel from the slight dents and nicks in the metal, the metal worn shiny, that they were the real thing, not a copy, and it was then she noticed the small note inside.

Marie was trying to give these to Kay. Told her to do something with them, sell them maybe. Kay thought that was wrong. “An act of grief.” I was at her shop yesterday. She told me to give them to you. Sorry it’s not quite a real present. But they’re yours now, I think. Laura brought them up through a shaky hand, the metal winking in the sun, before she gripped them tightly, roughly wiping her eyes with her fist before the tears sprung, the metal jingling as she did so.

--

Her arms were tightly crossed as she sat opposite to him on the couch. His posture remained open. She could tell today he felt at relative peace. They had been waiting a few days for a day like this. To end things on a buen dia.

Laura felt like hating him for it. He and Marie had made all the decisions. She, none.

“I know you’re mad,” he finally said, hands folded.

“I’m not,” she muttered.

“Come on, Laura.” She only glared at him, even as a fresh tear or two rolled down her cheeks, and she refused to wipe them away.

“You’re giving up,” she hissed. At this, Logan seemed disturbed. She knew she wasn’t being fair. Knew she already had agreed to it happening. But that was then and today was today. Their last day.

“I’m protecting you and Marie,” he said simply. Suddenly Laura stood, wanting to be somewhere, anywhere else. Logan stood just as quickly, striding over to her in less than a second.

“Come on kid...take it out,” he said. She tried jostling to the left, but he was just as quick, blocking her path.

“Move,” she snarled, and he only growled back in response. She hit him then, only moderately hard, and he took it. She did it again, crying out, stumbling forward, until she fell into his arms actively sobbing, hands still in the form of fists as she leaned softly into him.

“Papá, papá. ¿Qué me estás lastimando?” she murmured into his chest. He exhaled deeply, and she knew it was unfair. But all of it was.

And then, Esperanza, murmuring in her ear: My Papá , his thick hands and thick shoes, who wakes up tired in the dark, who drinks his coffee, and is gone before we wake, today is sitting on my bed. And I think if my papá died what would I do. I hold my papá in my arms. I hold him and hold him and hold him.

She clung to Logan more tightly. He held her just as close, even when she finally whispered into his chest, “If you leave, I won’t be able to save you.”

She could feel him wince, but still, he brought one steady hand up to her chin, lifting her small face up so she was looking at him.

“You can’t. That’s the point, little one,” he said softly, before quietly adding, “You remember what I told you? What I asked you to do?”

“Si,” she said so softly she wasn’t sure her own ears had heard it.

“Good,” he said again, before gently kissing her hair and then taking her by the hand.

“C’mon, hija. Enough of this. Let’s go outside. Go for a walk. See some things one last time.”

Laura offered him a sad smile, but followed him dutifully toward the door. His hand was almost on the handle before he stopped, obviously stricken with a thought, and turned back to her through a small, playful grin.

“Hey kid,” he said, still smiling. “What’s five times five?”

Laura coudn’t help but smile in return, even through another sniffle. She rolled her eyes slightly, shaking her head a little at the joke. “How do you say “too easy” in Spanish, papá?”

And then his rich, warm laughter in response. “You got me there. See? Too smart for me nowadays,” he said, gripping his daughter’s hand more tightly as they walked out into the bright, midday sun.

Chapter 11: Rogue



The feeling of the world being ripped away. She was ripping the world away from him. She could hear it. His heartbeat slowing. The tired thud, as life and joy and hope and pain flowed into her. As if she could stop it.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Breathe. Just breathe baby.

You’re here? Oh my god, oh my god. You… you….

Marie…

I can’t do this.

Her eyes snapped open as she whipped her head upward off the pillow, breathing heavily. She clutched her hand to her forehead, the headache she had been trying to so desperately escape through sleep waiting and ready to once again greet her. An involuntary tear or two, a lonely shiver, a glance around the darkened bedroom.

Things had barely changed. Except that everything had.

She clutched the blankets more tightly to her for a moment, unable to shake the chill. The chorus of noises buzzed and hummed around her, and she closed her eyes tightly, intent on focusing on just the intimate space around her, trying to once more mute her newly acquired senses. She had been in bed for days this time, and it was now taking its toll. God. She needed a shower. She needed to eat something. Her stomach was still in knots though, her nose still overburdened. There were hundreds of smells, most of them foreign and overwhelming, and every time she thought of food her stomach violently churned. Just the shower, then.

She moaned a little, shakily moving the covers off her, forcing herself to stand on wobbly legs. As she did so, the room spun, and she quickly shot an arm out to steady herself against the foot of the bed. Her instincts were so much better, so much more fine-tuned and natural, that even a few days’ worth of not eating had her still able to stand upright. But at a devastating cost.

I can’t do this.

Marie….

She closed her eyes, remembering to breathe out. Steadily as she could manage, she purposefully made her way to the bathroom, the tile cold under her bare feet. She shed her nightgown, standing naked in the bathroom for a long moment, before she cranked the shower faucet to the right, turning it on as hot as it would go. Quickly, plumes of steam billowed up from the shower stall, and suddenly an image of thick plumes of smoke rising up from a tiny village filled her mind, as an orange rain began to fall. Then, the smell of burning flesh, the smell of napalm. She saw his hand, reaching out for a small boy, only to find the boy’s skin slipping off like a glove….

Marie cried out, gripping the tile of the shower, shoving the memory back through the crack in that shoddily constructed door in her mind, the door that needed to be opened. The door she could practically feel him standing behind, pacing, waiting.

Three weeks ago she had stared down at his lifeless body, his hand going cold in her own. Just as the plan demanded, she had robotically called the hospital. The ambulance came. He had been declared dead on the scene, inside the house. They had taken his body away and two days later had brought it back only to lower him into the ground.

And since then, she had done nothing.

In their closet, all of his clothes. His shoes, his belts, his coats. In their bathroom, his razors, his aftershave. On the coffee table, the paper he’d been reading that last day, his glasses still laying upside down and open on top of three-week old news.

Marie.

She desperately reaches for the loufa, ripping it off the handle and wetting it before bringing it to her skin. She closed her eyes as the scalding water poured over her, and then she began to scrub her scalp and skin until it was raw. Until her newly-acquired healing factor couldn't quite catch up. Until it hurt.



Three weeks earlier

She knew it from the moment she woke up, because he was already awake. It was a buen dia . They had been waiting for one for days, which meant this was it.

Today was it.

No one had said it out loud. Breakfast had been oddly normal, although Marie had made everyone eggs and pancakes and bacon. They all ate more than usual, talking and laughing like it was months earlier. Like it wasn’t going to be the end. Laura had loaded her plate with syrup. Logan had let her. At one point, Laura had even snagged Logan’s glasses off his face, pretended to read the paper with them. Logan had chuckled. Marie had smiled.

After breakfast, subtle plans began to take shape. Marie suggested she drop by Kay’s shop so that Logan and Laura could go on a hike. She knew, even as she murmured the suggestion, it was so they would have time together. To say goodbye. Again, everyone knew, but no one said anything. Afterward, Marie had returned, and Laura had said something about wanting to go to Kay’s to spend the night. She knew Logan had probably suggested it, but she also knew none of them wanted Laura to be in the house when it happened. Logan himself had driven her to Kay’s, and Marie watched silently from the window as the small girl embraced her father once more, before climbing into the passenger seat of the Bronco.

Marie had tried occupying herself while they were gone. She had tried sketching, reading, cooking. The cooking stuck. As she rhythmically sliced vegetables, simmered sauce her mind focused on little else. Moving her hands did her good, she realized, and she fell into a sort of quiet hypnosis, so much so she barely noticed the sound of the Bronco as it made its way up the drive.

The sound of the tires on gravel. The sound of a door shutting. His heavy footsteps ascending the deck stairs, keys jingling in his hand.

She was frozen to the spot as he opened the door, offering her a quiet smile before he shut it firmly behind him. She watched him as he walked to the kitchen island, fumbling with the keys before setting them down on the counter.

“Smells good,” he finally murmured. She said nothing, and as she took in the sight of him, a twisted thought passed through her mind: that was the last time she would see him walk through the door, keys in hand.

That’s when the bottom fell out from under her.

“Is Laura ok?” she found herself asking. He said nothing, noticing the waver in her voice, how her hand shook slightly as it still clung to the dishtowel. Slowly he stalked forward, coming right up to stand in front of her, staring her dead in the eye.

“She’ll be ok,” he finally said, and then she broke his stare, unable to take it, and he growled, stepping even further into her space. He was then kissing her roughly, fiercely, and she melted into him, dropping the dish towel as his tongue idly explored her mouth, and he pressed her back into the side of the counter. They both breathed hard, a new desperation clinging to every grip, every word.

“I first claimed you in a fucking kitchen,” he finally muttered into the side of her neck.

“I know,” she whispered.

“You remember what that felt like?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she murmured through a rasp, and then he was lifting her up by her waist, setting her on the kitchen island, hands and mouth running under her shirt, over her breasts.

“You asked me what it was like...what it was like for me to smell that fucking scent on you...” he said, moving to undo the gentle tie of her apron, sliding her sweater upward.

“Baby…” she pled.

“What?”

“We need to talk about this…” she surprised him by saying. He only growled, quickly snapping her bra and pulling it off with the rest of her shirt.

“We will,” he muttered, large hands running over her thin torso.

“When?” she breathed

“Later… after,” he growled.

She quickly inhaled. “After?”

“After I fuck you in every room in this house, or at least as many of them as I can manage. After I sear the feeling of my touch into your fucking brain,” he muttered before teasing at a nipple, pinching it roughly between thumb and forefinger.

“Baby…” she muttered again, losing resolve.

“S’what I want, darlin’,” he said, before bringing his mouth to her nipple, sucking and biting it roughly. She arched, but tried to stay focused.

“What about what I want?” she asked, and that caused him to pause, withdrawing his mouth and looking upward, eyes dancing.

“And what’s that’?” he asked.

“I’m scared,” she mumbled, and he was frowning, bringing her closer to him, so that her legs encircled his waist tightly, his head close to her heart.

“I know,” he finally said. “We’ll talk,” he muttered. “...but first.”

His grip tightened on her waist and she finally melted into him, the oven still on, but the food forgotten.


--

Later, they lay tangled in the sheets. They had made love several times, had spent the night wrapped up in each other, and now their bodies were doused in the early, pre-dawn light. They dozed on and off, as the early hours of the morning turned into something else.

Slowly, she stirred, stretching her back.The truth was, she was sore. She hadn’t made love for that long and that often in months. All over her flushed skin, bite marks and bruises. She smelled like sex, they both did, and her muscles felt loose, rubbery.

As she opened her eyes, she stared at him. His lean, lithe body was stretched out, and we was sleeping, but only lightly. He lie on his stomach, and she paid quiet homage to the way his ribs met muscle, the dusting of grey in his sideburns and hair, even the slight furrow of his brow in his sleep. As she watched him silently, her heart began to fall, as the knowledge of what was coming weighed down on her, as if it was pressing her further into the blankets. Suddenly, she wanted to be closer to him.

She nuzzled him gently, and he intuitively turned to his side slightly, so he could bring an arm around her. They lay like that for a long time, breathing in and out, before she realized that he was stirring once more, lazily blinking his eyes opened. She frowned a little, rolling more onto her side to face him.

“Logan,” she murmured. “We need to talk.”

“Not yet,” he managed, chest growling as his hand went lower, cupping her ass and bringing her closer to him.

“When?” she numbly whispered. He truly opened his eyes then, staring at her intently, before he brought his lips closer to hers. “After. Once more,” he murmured against her, and then his hands were all over her again, kissing her hard, and she responded, arching off the bed as he planted kisses down the side of her neck. She inhaled sharply as he ran his hands roughly up the length of her body, and his teeth hit her skin on her neck and he was biting down as hard as he could, so hard the blood bloomed again, so hard she knew he had let the animal have control, at least for a moment, letting him take his last fill. She moaned. She had already been wet, he had already cleaned her, but he moved downward again, tasting her with a rough lick, hands hardly trembling at all as they firmly gripped her thighs. She came undone easily, and he stayed there once more until it happened again.

Back up now, lips on hers again, her hands wrapped in his hair. At first, he moved gently inside her, his forehead resting on hers for a moment. She could feel all of him, every part, as he looked at her and she at him. And then, he thrust forward once more, harder now, and she gasped, the pain of being sore mixing with the pleasure of him stretching her, filling her. His pace quickened then, and she held his arms tightly, whole, and yet not. Complete, but somehow not enough. Not ever enough. Spirals of her own pleasure had him growling low in his chest as he spent himself, and her walls clamped down on him as she felt the steady throb, white ribbons pulsing deep inside her.

It wasn’t until the feelings of pleasure subsided did she realize she was sobbing.

“Don’t leave me,” was all that she could say .

He lifted himself onto his forearms, turning his head so his lips were hovering just over her ear, “I’m never leaving you again.”



--

Eventually, he had made the point that they should probably take showers, get properly dressed. The plan for after wasn’t all that complicated, but Marie had still committed it to memory. After she absorbed him, she would call 911. They would make arrangements, take his body to the morgue. He’d be buried in the backyard, near the edge of the forest. He had wanted to be cremated, but, of course, that was yet another thing the adamantium had stolen from him. Somethin’ short , he had said of the funeral. No music or nothing. Maybe you or Kay can say a few word s, he had added after a thought. Now these wishes flowed through her head as she toweled off, Logan having already taken a shower. They had decided to do so separately, to give each other a little space, before, well...before there was to be no space left to give.

That’s the part they still needed to talk about.

While Marie had touched many mutants and humans briefly while her skin was on, Marie had only killed four people via absorption. All of them had been human beings, and all of them had been, in some form, the enemy. Early on, long before she knew the Logan she did today, she had worked extensively with Charles to gain better control of her powers, but also of how to mentally lock away and contain the personalities and memories of those individuals.

This would be the first time she would be absorbing someone she wanted to have stick around.

Still though, some of Logan’s memories were his own. Private. And while she had already seen more than her fair share, it was going to take a lot of work, a whole hell of a lot of work, to carefully place most of them--two hundred years’ worth-- away, without shutting him completely out as well.

And what would that be like? she wondered. Ever since Logan had asked, she’d gone over the various possibilities and scenarios in her mind. Even if he could mentally excuse himself at points, even if that was possible, he’d see everything. Everything she’d ever again do, from here on out. And god knows how much longer she would live; that would all depend on if she was to absorb his healing factor in-tact or somehow damaged. Neither of them really knew.

Slowly, she towel-dried her hair, keeping it damp. She had opted for a simple, white long-sleeved v-neck and a pair of jeans. She skipped the make-up, any extra flourish, really, looking at herself through clean, brown eyes. She breathed out, considering herself. She was, for the most part, alone in her mind. She would never be again. She exhaled, before turning, opening the door. She frowned, realizing he was no longer in the bedroom. She padded out into the living room, realizing he was on the deck. From his spot in the chair, she saw the trail of smoke of a cigar, and she smiled a bit. She slowly opened the door and quietly moved to sit beside him. A bottle of the good stuff sat between the two deck chairs. He arched a brow at her as she took in the scene of him in a fresh flannel, wife beater and pair of jeans, work boots on and propped up on the edge of the deck as he idly smoked his cigar in the cool night air.

He silently offered her a spare Cuban, and she scrunched her nose a bit in disgust. He laughed then, a deep rumble that was rich and crisp as the smell of the tobacco that coiled around them.

“Yer gonna like ‘em after today, so might as well have one,” he said, his eyes dancing. She exhaled through a short laugh, and slid one out. She held it out for him to light, and he did so, before she took a long pull of the cigar, trying not to cough afterward.

“I never knew why you liked these things, baby. They’re awful,” she said through mild disgust, although she didn’t move to snub it out. He only grinned a little, even through a couple of his own coughs. She knew the smoke exacerbated the damage in his lungs, and the fact was she hadn’t seen Logan smoke a cigar in months and months, since just before they moved to the lake house. He had tried, had tried so hard, to care for himself in a way he never had to before, to maintain the life they had built for themselves here. But the time for that was over, and now she watched as he closed his eyes in pleasure, breathing in the rich waft of tobacco deeply through another brief cough.

“Fuck, I’ve missed that,” he said quietly. She smiled at him, settling in a bit more as she took another drag of the cigar, eyes staring out at the purple sky. The sunrise was only about half an hour away. She glanced downward, noticing the bottle of unopened whiskey, and smiled.

“You gonna open up that bottle of whiskey or am I just gonna hafta make eyes at it all night?” she teased. He shot her a grin back, setting down his cigar on the ashtray that had suddenly appeared on the deck ledge, popping off the cap and handing the bottle over to her, giving her the first sip. She arched a brow at him, but murmured a sincere “thanks” and took the whiskey, sipping generously. The burn felt good and right, and suddenly everything seemed a little more possible.

She handed the bottle back to him after a moment and he gave her an appreciative nod. He drank heavily, sighing afterward, lowering the bottle and looking back over to her.

“So, you wanna lay out some ground rules, kid?” he asked quietly, before handing the liquor back her way.

“It’s...complicated,” she said after some time. “I won’t know what it will be like for you.” Logan looked thoughtful as he picked up the cigar once more, and, realizing it had gone out, lit it again.

“Not so concerned about me. More worried about you, darlin’. What’ll be like for you, ” he murmured quietly, offering her an intent look. Marie bit her lip, thoughtfully considering.

“At first...it’s a lot. You’ve got a lot of memories, baby. I’m gonna need some time to pack them all away, get things organized. I’ve done that before...but I’ve never...kept the personality around...you know… in the forefront of my mind.” Logan looked at her carefully as he took another drag of his cigar, breathing smoke out through his nose.

“Anyone I can expect to bump into in there?” he finally asked. She was already shaking her head through another sip of the whiskey.

“Err. No. They’re locked away. They have been for years. And you can’t, uhhh...bump... into anyone. At least I don’t think you can. No metaphysical forms, as far as I know. From what Charles has described to me about personalities in the past, you’ll feel like your own presence, distinctively you, at least I hope so, but you’ll get all my signals. See what I see. Hear what I hear. Feel what I feel,” she said quietly, intuitively handing him the bottle once more. She noticed he had already snubbed out his finished cigar.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, taking the offered whiskey from her and drinking heavily. Marie frowned, and, as he noticed the downturn of his lips, he clarified.

“I mean… I don’t mind seein’ the world through your eyes, kid. I just was hopin’ I’d be able to give you a little privacy sometimes...like retreatin’ a bit,” he said quietly. Marie nodded, understanding.

“You might be able to, eventually. We’d have to both work on it,” she muttered, before admitting, “God I’m rusty. I’ve been trying to remember everything Charles taught me, but it’s been a while. I’m pretty sure you could take over too, if you ever needed. Like pushing your presence forward.”

At this, Logan was now the one shaking his head through another gulp of whiskey. Around her, the landscape dances, her head now spinning.

“Uh Uh, no way. You deserve your own autonomy,” he said curtly. Marie sighed, remembering her discarded cigar, and, holding it up, he lit it again for her. She took a long draw of it, coming around a little now to its warmth and flavor.

“Maybe,” she finally muttered, casting her eyes out toward the lake once more.

“Darlin’? Can I ask ya somethin’?” Logan muttered quietly, and she glanced back over to him, sliding her eyes up his jeans, the coiled and smooth muscles evident under his wife beater. She met his eyes, unsure of what he might say next.

“Before...in the kitchen… you said you were afraid,” he muttered. “Of what?”

“I thought you said you knew…” she trailed off.

“Not...exactly. Tell me,” he said quietly.

Marie wrung her hands, snubbing out the last of the cigar and reaching for the bottle once more.

“What if...what if we’re making the wrong choice?” she finally asked.

“What do you mean?” Logan mumbled.

“I don’t know…” she trailed off. She was afraid for myriad of reasons. Afraid of the timing...of jumping the shark. Afraid still of the impact it would have on Laura. How it would change her relationship with her newly adopted daughter. Marie had killed people, but it had always been in the scuffle, during some incredibly important moment on a mission. To kill deliberately, in cold blood...

“Yer wonderin’ about the ethics of it all... ?” he asked quietly. Marie looked up to him sharply.

“I don’t want to be the one to end your life,” she said simply, and she realized she had finally articulated what she was trying to say. Please god, let anyone else but me. I don’t want to be the one to send Logan out of this world.

“Well...that puts us at a standstill, baby, because you’re the only one I want doing it,” he said softly. Marie looked down at her hands, realizing they were gripping the whiskey bottle so tightly her knuckles were white.

“I’ll still do it,” she whispered, clarifying slightly, and he moved closer to her, taking her hand.

“Maybe...we figure the rest out once we get there...yeah? Sounds like we got some ground rules covered. And god knows we’ll have the rest of time to talk…” he muttered, finally moving to stand, offering her his freshly-healed hand once more. She took it firmly and for a moment it felt like it had so many years ago, that look in his eyes reminiscent of just before a dangerous mission, one where the team’s lives could be at stake. Not Logan’s life though. Never Logan’s.

Images now. Flashes of scene. The feeling of his heavy hand on the small of her back, gently leading her inside. The way she caught him looking at her as he closed the bedroom door behind him, shrouded in the early dawn light. The weight of his voice as he murmured “lay down on the bed with me, baby.” The fear welling up inside her as he idly stroked her arm, the way she couldn’t stop crying, tears hot and wet and rolling down her cheeks. How he kissed her, how she almost fought the kiss, not wanting it to be the last. The way his strong grip around her tightened, holding her close.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” she finally sobbed after breaking away slightly.

“Be strong, darlin’,” he muttered. He kissed her hard once more, before traveling down her neck, the light brush of his lips lining up with the scar he’d given her, placing them gently around the new marks and bruises.

“I want you to clear yer mind, understand?” he said firmly.

“No,” she cried softly, and he leaned back a little, threading his strong hands through hers tightly.

“Marie, look at me. Really look at me,” he murmured, and she saw him, saw his pain, saw his anguish, and she realized she needed to be strong. Stronger than this. Perhaps for the first time, stronger than him. She swallowed heavily, demanding herself to focus.

“Go somewhere peaceful, and when I say so, let go.”

“No, no, no,” she murmured. “I can’t. God, I love you.”

“I love you too, kid. Always have, always will,” he said. And, with a final kiss to her forehead, he added, “Now, do it, babe. Just...let go.”

Let go.

Let go.

And then, the song stopped, the music stopped, everything stopped as the powers she was born with, the powers she had been ashamed of and had struggled and fought to control for so long, took hold, ripping away the world they had created, his world, hers, all of it, as everything she had ever known, everything she could ever depend on, changed for good.



--

She had wrapped herself up in one of Logan’s flannel shirts, tearstained and distant, her hair still damp from the shower, when she heard Laura’s wary voice from the door.

“ Café con leche , Marie?” the girl was saying. Marie’s eyes opened quietly, and she shakily moved to sit.

“Yeah...c-come in,” she managed, and then Laura was coming inside, handing Marie the mug of hot coffee. It smelled pungent and acrid, and Marie’s stomach churned. Laura looked at Marie blankly, and Marie could do nothing but stare back, blinking.

“Do you need a ride?” she heard herself asking Laura quietly.

“Marie...school’s out,” she said softly. Was it?

It’s been out for a few days now. She could barely make out his voice in the depths of his mind, and she closed her eyes for a moment, desperate for silence.

“Oh… yeah,” was all she said. Laura stood there, wringing her hands, before she murmured something else.

“I’m going to go for a walk,” Laura was saying.

“Ok,” was all she whispered.

Marie, she heard him say again.

She watched Laura walk out, and then she put two hands to her head, shutting her eyes tightly. She lay that way for a long time, trying as hard as she could to will the headache away.

After it had happened, she had panicked, doing the only thing she knew how. She had thrown everything behind a door, and had locked him out. But he was there. Waiting. Waiting for her to be ready. Ready for her to invite him forward. Ready to deal with the onslaught of memories and moods and feelings.

She wrapped the fabric of his shirt more tightly around her, as the image of the dead look in his eyes, his beautiful eyes, filled her mind. Logan. Dead. Logan. Dead. Logan. Dead.

Marie. It’s time.

And then, the ring of the doorbell. Her eyes lazily opened once more as she fumbled for a spare pair of jeans to pull on, and then she was unsteadily making her way to the door, opening it to find a solid, warm woman on the other side, with russet skin and thick black hair, holding a cake.

A cake?

“Jody,” Marie murmured, one hand still on the door.

“Hi Marie. Mind if I set this down?” Jody asked, holding the cake up for a moment, a look of concern still settled on her features.

Marie blinked once, before stepping back, letting the woman walk in to set down the cake carefully on the counter. Marie hadn’t left her spot by the door.

“Where’s Laura?” Jody asked quietly, looking around the cluttered living room. Marie frowned for a moment, trying to recall from where Laura said she was going from the deep recesses of her mind.

A walk, baby, Logan murmured from behind the door.

“A walk,” Marie blankly echoed, and to her surprise, Jody smiled slightly.

“Always a wild one, that girl,” Jody said, through a small laugh and slight shake of the head.

“She’d hike the whole country if I let her. Have to give her some limits,” Marie found herself saying, as she slid her thin fingers into the pockets of her jeans, slowly padding over to where Jody stood.

“What we do for our children, yes?” Jody said through another smile.

Our children.

Marie only blinked at Jody, and then stared down once more at the cake. It had white frosting, with blue icing on top, the loops of someone’s cursive handwriting making out the words: Happy Birthday Laura!

Birthday?

Oh god.

Marie must have been crying, because suddenly Jody was pulling the thin woman into a warm hug.

“You will persevere, Marie. His bedáyíné is at rest, yes?” Jody said seriously, before standing back, looking at her with a bit of concern. Marie stared back at the other woman, the woman she now knew had gone through domestic abuse and divorce, who was now raising her two sons single-handedly, who still worked long hours managing the department store. Who would have never let herself sink this low…

Stop that, kid. Once again, his voice distant in her mind.

“Thanks for the cake, Jody. I’m sure Laura will love it,” she heard herself saying, and then Jody solemnly offered her a nod of her head, before excusing herself. Marie could do nothing more to respond, and the other woman let herself out, as Marie once more stared down at the cake, the smells of vanilla and cocoa beans and shortening greeting her. She was crying again, bringing a hand to her mouth, before gently moving to lay down in their bedroom once more.

It’s her birthday and I forgot, she thought solemnly.

No one said anything.

Logan?

She breathed out once or twice, knowing it was time. Knowing she couldn’t go on like this.

“Ok,” Marie said. “The door’s gone.”

Suddenly, the familiar rush of warmth and terror, of pain and joy, of complex and bitter emotions inundated her mind. Images of women screaming and skin falling off and bullets in another Marie’s shoulder and concentration camps….and...and… him.

His distinct, unique presence taking up space in her mind. So different than the other presences; he felt warm almost. And there...so close. So close she could almost feel him.

Almost.

She had been afraid of this, of him. But why? And then she was trying to apologize.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just...I couldn’t. I couldn’t yet.

It’s alright baby, just breathe.

The memories are awful….

I know kid. Deal with them. Let me help you. Pack ‘em away, at least temporarily, but for god’s sake keep me here. I was bored out of my brain in that place you put me.

Then Rogue laughed, despite herself. “Bored out of your brain?” she asked.

Heh. Glad to see ya laughing.There ya go kid. Now get to work.

It took her hours. Slowly, silently she took armfuls of memories, some long and winding and some short and staccato like, and she categorized them by decade, by intensity. She slowly brought down boxes and stored things away, knowing eventually she would have to go through everything with a fine tooth comb to really be ok, but not right now. Not right now.

After a while, she felt some of the overwhelming rush subside, and she breathed out from her spot on her bed, as she felt Logan’s reassuring presence in her mind.

Good work, kid.

It’s gonna take me years to sort through all your shit, she thought frustratingly. Again, his inward chuckle.

Sorry darlin’. One step at a time.

Marie blinked...wondering if…

Yeah kid. I could still see the funeral. I saw it all.

Was it how you wanted? she meekly asked.

It was perfect, baby. Simple. I liked that.

Marie blinked again...curious. Are you ok…? she finally asked.

Yeah. I think so, Logan muttered.

What...what does it feel like? Do you feel like you?

There was a distinct pause, and it was obvious he was thinking about it.

I...don’t know, kid. Sort of. I’m watching things like they’re on a TV, but I can smell what you smell, taste what you taste, just like you said. But I’m not you. It’s the strangest fucking thing.

You’re just a voice to me, Marie thought sadly.

I know, baby.

I was hoping...I could be able to see you. That maybe with you… it would be different.

Maybe...in time, Logan said from inside her mind. If it helps, I can’t see you either. Unless you look in the mirror, he added through a chuckle

Rogue breathed out through her own bitter laugh. And then...considering….

Can you-

-read your thoughts? Yeah...I can. All of ‘em, even the ones you ain’t quite aware of. I try not to. Give you your privacy and such, but it’s a lot. Still learnin’, kid.

God, Rogue inwardly murmured.

I know.

I can’t read yours, she practically pouted.

It ain’t my head, Marie, he remarked.

What does that mean? she thought frustratingly.

Again from inside her mind, his deep, rich laugh, and instantly she felt warmer.

I don’t know. Felt like the right thing to say.

Marie paused, returning momentarily to the outer world. She watched the ceiling fan above, felt the cool air of the AC kicking on. The room was still fairly dark, the shades still drawn to block out most of the afternoon light, but she found herself curious, and, slowly, her hands traveled underneath the flannel of his shirt, upward to her neck, to that spot where his mark had been, to her now-dry hair.

You feel all that? She finally asked.

Logan was quiet for a moment before answering.

No, not really. Touch… that one’s not the same. Sorta. But it ain’t my body, baby, so it’s not like how you feel it. Not like when I… was alive.

You’re still alive, aren’t you?

Marie. You buried me.

That was just your body.

Marie…

God, I just want you to touch me. I want…I want…you back.

Enough of this.

Enough of what? Marie asked, surprised by his tone.

You need to get up. You need to think about Laura.

Marie closed her eyes, hugging the shirt more tightly to her, fighting back tears.

It’s Laura’s birthday, Logan muttered.

I know. I know that now, she said simply

She doesn’t know that you do.

Marie said nothing.

I told her...she needs to be there for you. But you need to be there for her too. Today, especially, she needs you.

Marie frowned once more. She had been paralyzed these last few weeks. Out of grief, out of fear. Laura, and Laura only, had paid the price.

Make it up to her, kid.

How? Marie asked.

I don’t know baby. But make it up to her. There’s a cake out there with her name on it. Maybe start with that.

I don’t...I don’t want this to end. I don’t want you to leave me... she finally stammered.

Didn’t you hear me before? I’m never leaving you again. Unless you put me in that weird place, you know, in the cheap seats. Don’t do that again.

Marie laughed, despite herself.

Sorry, baby. Never again. First row for you, from now on.

From within her, a strong growl of approval.

Good. Then I’m not going anywhere. No more leaving. Never again.



--

She did the dishes by hand.

She cleaned each one, rhythmically running her fingers over the ceramic and glass, the warm water feeling good on her hands. She smiled at the small post-it note she had found on the coffee maker, Laura’s careful cursive handwriting noting how to brew it.

After washing the dishes, she dried each one, while Logan sat still in the front of her mind, simply content to watch her. Carefully she ran a dry dish towel over each plate and mug, before nestling them back in the cupboards where they belonged. Perusing the fridge, she frowned to find it mostly empty, but then remembered the casseroles she had frozen several weeks ago, and turned on the oven to bake one. It was not coq au vin, but it would do.

She set the table, after a while removing the cake from the fridge where she had put it and now setting it in the middle. She scrumaged around for candles and was lucky enough to find an unopened package, picked up randomly from the grocery store months back. She carefully wedged twelve purple and white candles around the perimeter of the cake, and, for the twentieth time, felt bad there were no presents.

It’s enough, Logan murmured.

She assumed Laura would be back before nightfall, and she was warmed to find she was correct. Logan’s gift of overwhelmingly perceptive hearing picked up Laura’s footsteps long before she finally trudged up the deck stairs, and, taking a deep breath in, Marie turned around to see Laura, boots muddied and jacket tied around her waist, standing in the doorway, assessing the situation.

The young girl frowned, seemingly suspicious of Marie’s sudden change in behavior.

“I’m sorry I forgot Laura. God, hija, I’m so sorry,” Marie murmured. Laura was still frowning a little, glancing down at her boots, and that’s when Marie noticed Logan’s dog tags slung around her slender neck.

Well would you look at that, Logan remarked quietly.

“It’s ok, mamá,” Laura finally murmured. “ I’m sorry too. For not helping you more, ” Laura added through a mumble, standing awkwardly near the door. Marie couldn’t take it, a she quickly closed the space between them, grabbing the young girl and holding her tightly in her arms. They were both tearless, but for a while no one wanted to let go.

“Happy Birthday, hija,” she finally whispered in Laura’s ear.

Tell her I say happy birthday too, Logan said.

“ Oh ,” Marie gasped, as Laura stepped back a little in surprise.

“What?” Laura asked curiously, tilting her head slightly in an exact mimicry of Logan. Marie stopped, forcing a smile on her face.

“Sorry. It’s just...your father says happy birthday too, mi amada ,” she whispered. Laura’s eyes went wide at this, but then, the smallest of smiles on her face, as she reached out and squeezed the woman’s hand gently.

Later, there was music, and dinner, and then Marie had gestured to the cake between them.

“Jody brought it over. Looks good, doesn’t it?” Marie asked through a smile. Laura nodded knowingly, watching her through an interested stare as Marie carefully lit the twelve candles perched on top with the same lighter Logan had used to light their cigars a few weeks ago, the small flames now flickering between mother and daughter, between la mujer y la nina.

Marie sang the song gently, and she realized it had been years since the tune escaped her lips. She kept her voice even and steady, and Laura faintly smiled, staring at the alit cake.

“I’ve never had a birthday,” she finally murmured to the cake after Marie had finished.

“This is one of many. So...make a wish,” Marie quietly insisted, and in response Laura cocked a brow.

“A wish?” she asked.

“Yeah, you get a wish before you blow them out,” Marie whispered through a small grin.

Wonder what she’ll wish for, Logan murmured inside her mind.

Laura frowned a little, but then a peculiar spark in those brown eyes, a knowing smile, and then a quick breath, twelve flickering flames going out, the familiar smell of candle smoke coiling up into the rich, summer air.

Chapter 12: Epilogue

Friday, May 22nd, 2043, Almost thirteen years later

“Just fucking do it!” she shouted into the comm, before quickly ducking a round of gunfire. She dodged to the left, before jamming her claws up into the latest fanatic who had tried to come at her. In her ear, Rictor’s voice over the comm, shouting at her.

“The mission’s been fucking compromised! I can’t… Laura! We gotta get back to the helicopter or everyone’s gonna die but you!”

“Rictor, si no ponemos abajo algunos de estes cabrones ahora, estamos completamente jodidos! Entiendes?”

“LAURA. IT’S OVER. Cut the shit and let’s get out of here!”

“One…more….second!” she shouted into the comm before driving her leather boot into the throat of the bastard with the machine gun. If this mission was going to be a complete failure, she was at least going to end up with a higher body count. Whipping her boot out from the neck of her latest victim, a fresh splatter of blood flew across the room, showering everything in red. Two on her right, another coming from her left. Laura turned, snarling, just as she felt the cold, excruciating slide of a drop point blade in her stomach. She growled loudly in pain before embedding her claws into the sorry fucker’s heart, before ripping the knife out of her side...

Laura woke with a start and a hoarse yell, her body seething. She was covered in sweat in the darkened bedroom, trying to fully regain consciousness. She whipped her head around, breathing heavily, before she noticed the telltale spatter of red on the sheets. Mierda. She retracted the adamantium from her hands and feet instantly before she put a shaky, bloodied hand to wipe her unruly hair from her forehead. A tear in the bedding, coils from the mattress now exposed. Beside her, the copy of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice she had fallen asleep with was now in shreds. Fuck.

She peeled the sheets off of her and moved her legs to the side of the bed before standing, carefully to walk across the hard wooden floor of her apartment bedroom, trying not to get blood on anything else. Slowly, she made her way over to the bathroom, snagging a washcloth off the stack she kept on the counter, wetting it before wiping the blood off her hands and feet. Sighing, she tossed it in the sink, before staring into the mirror tiredly.

A woman in her mid-twenties with long black hair stared back, black tank top running over her thin frame, her father’s dog tags still slung around her neck.

She blinked, tracing her fingers under her eyes, along the too-pale skin of her face. Always with the fucking pesadillas. She checked the time from the watch still strapped to her wrist. Hell. Two in the morning. The teleporter wouldn’t be here to take her to Hay River until seven. Laura sighed, padding back through the bedroom and into the kitchen of the small apartment, past framed pictures of Marie and Kay and Cole and Rictor and Dani, past a degree from McGill University, to where the refrigerator was. Laura opened it with an exasperated sigh. A couple of leftover boxes of Chinese that with one sniff Laura had known had gone bad and needed to be thrown out. A half-empty bottle of ketchup. A little orange juice. A couple of longnecks. Practically empty. It was always empty. Shit. Biting her lip, she closed the fridge and glanced over at the half-empty bottle of wine on the counter. Snagging a spare glass, she indulged, blindly hoping it would help her get back to sleep, knowing that it probably wouldn’t.

The nightmare had been spot on, almost an exact replica of last week’s mission. The one that had failed miserably. A bad lead on top of some sloppy prep work. Laura wasn’t in the habit of going ahead with a mission without rock-solid tactical strategy, but thing had developed quickly, and the team had made the joint decision that the risk was worth it, even if the opportunity to strike had been in a terribly narrow time frame. And of course, of course, it had been a set-up. The lead had been rotten, and the fringe human rights group they had been targeting had easily trapped the small band of mutants now parading around as the freshly reestablished X-Men. They had come under heavy gunfire, only had narrowly escaped with their lives, and now Rictor was sporting a shallow bullet wound in his shoulder and Dani a broken arm because of it. It had been all Laura’s fault. She could practically hear her father’s voice in her head, the sharp judgement of I told you so and sloppy tactics always lead to disaster, kid. Laura frowned deeply, drinking again.

They had decided a break was necessary. A little time off, and not only because Dani would be in a cast for six weeks and Rictor was at home in Ontario healing. They needed to reassess what they were doing, plan more properly. And she needed to go home. As busy as she had been, Laura hadn’t seen Marie in a few months, and now felt guilty about it. A couple of years ago she would have made it a point to visit Marie weekly, but since the move to New York, it had been less often. Laura toyed with the wine glass in her hands, considering. Ever since Alpha Flight had acquired the deed to abandoned X-Mansion, Laura had been insisting on scrounging up the money to have at least part of the mansion renovated so Marie could move to New York and be closer to Laura. Marie had flat-out refused to do so on several occasions, however.

Too many memories, was all that she would say. Laura sighed. Marie certainly had a point there. She now had the entirety of Logan’s memories along with her own inside her mind, and while she certainly had a hold of everything now, neither Marie or her father’s constant presence inside Marie’s head had shown no interest in moving anywhere. They seemed perfectly content to stay in Hay River, at the edge of the earth, indefinitely.

Initially, Laura hadn’t wanted to leave Canada either, but the United States was a mess, and she felt some sort of strange...allegiance to Charles. To fix things, to pay it forward, to restore some of his former ideologies, see out some of his dream. So far, it wasn’t going well. All she had was an abandoned, dilapidated X-Mansion now discreetly in her name, a non-functioning Blackbird and a bunch of incredibly outdated technology in the basement of the place. That and three uniform-less X-Men. If they could even call themselves that. Laura frowned again, staring at her watch. 2:15am. So in Hay River...it was only a little past midnight...Laura bit her lip, considering, before she was helplessly murmuring the words “Call Cole” to the apartment’s computer system.

“Dialing” it said back, and after a few moments, Cole’s tired voice filled the room.

“H’lo?” he asked. Shit, he’d been sleeping. Laura closed her eyes softly in regret.

“Hey,” Laura said, still cradling her glass of wine and resigning herself to plop down on the pull out couch in the living room.

“Laura? You still up?” he asked groggily. Laura frowned again.

“Uhh yeah…headed your way in the morning. Or I guess it sorta is the morning already...so later today. Sorry to wake you. I thought you might still be up. Shit , did I wake Sandra too?” Laura asked.

“Uh, no. She was already awake.”

Cole now worked as an indigenous rights lawyer and lived in Yellowknife with his wife Sandra, just a few hours’ drive from his mother Jody, who still resided in Hay River. Jody was getting older, but his brother Danny and his partner lived closer, which Cole was grateful for. Danny had also been in the habit of checking in on Marie every so often, something now Laura was grateful for, too. Laura breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t been too disruptive to Cole’s night and took another sip of the dry red wine.

“That baby kicking too much?” she asked through a small smile.

“Heh. Always. He’s constantly waking her up,” Cole said. Laura frowned slightly, before closing utting to the chase.

“How is Marie?” Laura asked.

“We went down last week. She’s good. She and mom played chess,” Cole’s voice said. Laura snorted a this a bit, and smiled through another sip of wine.

“Your mom plays chess ?” Laura asked incredulously, tucking her feet up underneath her on the couch as she did so.

“Marie conned her into it somehow,” Cole said through a tired laugh. There was a lull in the conversation now, and Laura considered letting him go. A part of her didn’t want to though. The truth was she had been more than a bit lonely since the “break” had started a few days ago, and she was feeling purposeless and anxiety-ridden. Lost in thoughts about the mission once more, Laura barely caught Cole’s next question.

“So how’s…. what’s her name?” Cole asked carefully. Laura sighed as she drank deeply from her glass.

“Uh, didn’t work out,” Laura said, glancing to the broken lamp in the corner, random pieces of ceramic still scattered across the floor that Laura hadn’t had the gall to sweep up quite yet. Paige had thrown a book at Laura and missed. The lamp had been collateral.

“Damn. Sorry Laura,” Cole said quietly, and Laura tried not to squirm in discomfort at the sympathy in his voice.

“Not your fault,” she muttered, hoping for a change in subject.

“So…you’ll be there in the morning?” Cole asked.

“Yeah. Still planning on lunch Saturday with the crew at Marie’s?”

“Heck yeah. Haven’t see you in…jesus... a few months right?” Laura’s eyes flew to the darkened windows and the lights of New York City that lay beyond them.

“Right,” Laura said quietly. A few moments of silence passed between them before Cole spoke again.

“Laura...are you ok?”

Laura paused, staring down at her empty wine glass and then back at the broken pieces of lamp. The blood spatters here and there on the floor leftover from her knuckles and feet. The punching bag she used for workouts in the morning hanging from the ceiling, practically in the kitchen. The stacks of books in the corners, unorganized but well-read. The empty refrigerator. The empty bed.

“Sí. Yeah, of course, Cole. Look, I don’t mean to keep you. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Or I guess if it’s already Friday--technically--I guess tomorrow,” Laura said.

“Don’t fuck with my head like that. Just say ‘later’,” Cole joked, and at that Laura truly laughed.

“Alright then. Later.”



--

The lakehouse’s siding needed pressure washing. It was the first thing she noticed after materializing in Hay River, the teleporter already gone. Laura’s black boots hit the familiar gravel of the driveway, and her eyes immediately and instinctively flew over the house, quickly inspecting it from the outside. Alpha Flight typically saw to the lake house’s routine maintenance, although, considering the initial restoration had been completed by Logan, it rarely required much upkeep. Laura’s eyes settled on the sturdy deck, the wooden steps and slats her father had installed with precision and care over a decade ago still in amazing condition, and she smiled slightly. Still though, Laura made a mental note to request the pressure washing to JP. As she slowly walked up the drive, Laura felt her nervous energy begin to dissipate. Laura smiled as she spotted Marie’s self-driving Volvo in the driveway, air freshener visible through the window. Marie had never gotten used to that part of Logan’s acquired mutation and was always diffusing essential oils and lighting candles, anything to ease up the onslaught of other scents. As Laura’s boot hit the first white step, she smiled once more, picking up the pace and shedding her black leather jacket in the warm sun, happy to see that spring had finally settled into the sleepy town Laura often still considered home.

She knew Marie was already anticipating her visit. Laura had intended to stay in town for a few days at least, and beyond that the older woman would have likely already heard her, but Laura still knocked. As her knuckles rapped on the white wooden door, she felt the last of her anxiety about seeing them both leave her. Then, the door was already unlocking, swinging open, and a woman who hadn’t changed in physical appearance one tiny bit in the last thirteen years looked back at her, offering Laura a wide grin. Laura couldn’t help but smile in return as she stuttered a, “Hi Marie,” and her adoptive mother collected her into a close hug through a relieved and grateful laugh.

“That was too long, Laura,” she muttered, as she stroke the back of her daughter’s hair. “You hear me? Too fucking long. ”

“I know,” Laura murmured, feeling the sharp pang of guilt as Marie released her only slightly to grasp Laura by her two thin arms and surveying her properly.

“Let me look at you,” Marie said, before slightly frowning, shaking her head with a sharp tsk. “You’re too skinny, hija. Ve si come lo suficiente, aunque sea solo por mi propia cordura, por favor.”

Laura sighed. She had known there would have likely been a comment about that, and she muttered a, “ Ah, vaya. No me molestes. Estuve ocupado.”

Marie frowned slightly but ushered Laura inside still, through the living room and into the kitchen. Laura’s eyes quickly flitted around the place, not surprised to find it unchanged from the last time Laura visited. Well, unchanged since the three mutants had moved in fourteen years ago. Same furniture, same dishes, same bedding, all properly maintained and taken care of, down to the chessboard on the coffee table, which seemed like it was in the middle of a game. Marie was already shuffling about the kitchen, while Laura flopped down on a stool next to the kitchen island, smoothly and intuitively falling into the old habits of home.

“So, ocupado, eh? How busy?” Marie said, as she bustled about, and Laura noticed there was already a full pot of coffee and Marie was grabbing two mugs. Some of the tension inside Laura uncoiled a bit more, and she sighed in pleasure at the smell of hazelnut and espresso beans. Laura’s thoughts flew mournfully to her mainly-empty refrigerator, which Paige had always been getting on her about. God, it felt good to be taken care of again.

“I know you don’t want to hear about it,” Laura grumbled, although she offered Marie a small smile as the older mutant slid a mug of steaming coffee her way.

“Oh no, I do. I wanna hear about all of it. Just…how about you take a sip of that coffee first?” Marie said through a grin, walking out of the kitchen into the living room. Laura dutifully followed her to sit in her spot on the sectional.

Laura noticed a few incredibly detailed and beautiful nature sketches of insects and flowers on the coffee table next to the chessboard, and she smiled a little as she picked up a completely accurate depiction of a honeybee.

“These your latest?” Laura asked. Marie blushed a little, rolling her eyes a bit

“Yeah. The shop’s been slow. I got bored,” Marie said, taking a sip of coffee. Laura carefully set the sketch down, before sitting back on the couch.

“Ok. So before we talk shop, how’s Paige?” Marie asked, throwing Laura a careful glance from across the living room. Laura bit her lip, unsure of how much to share, and then realizing there was no point other than to be honest, because Marie had methods of finding out the truth when it came to Laura anyway.

“Uh, Paige is no more,” Laura mumbled into her coffee cup. Marie’s eyebrows raised in mild shock, and she looked off distantly for a moment, before she surprisingly and uncharacteristically chuckled. Laura must have shot her an incredulous stare, because after another moment Marie’s gaze refocused on Laura and she had that guilty look of being caught.

“Sorry, hija. It’s just Logan,” Marie smiled, and before Laura could respond, Marie added, “Your father says that was a long time coming.” At that Laura’s frown deepened, before she took another swallow of coffee. Perhaps it was because of the recent anxiety Laura had been feeling or how miserably she had been failing with revitalizing the X-Men practically single-handedly, but Laura felt oddly susceptible to an age-old jealousy, a familiar feeling of envy that now didn’t quite settle right with her.

“That’s all he said?” Laura asked, through an arched brow. Marie smiled even more so, through a slight tilt of the head.

“Well, plus a few expletives and something about her being crazy.” At this Laura groaned. Her father had never approved of the women Laura dated, and of course Paige was unlikely to be an exception.

“She wasn’t…crazy,” Laura tried to defend herself. The truth was Laura hadn’t let herself think of the breakup, not with all that had happened recently with the job. So what if Laura was good at avoiding the portions of her life that weren’t working? Although recently, that seemed like everything. “Paige just couldn’t handle the X-Men stuff. I was gone all the time.”

Marie only faintly smiled, before adding, “Well I’m sorry, amada. Break ups are always hard.” Laura practically snorted at this, although she was polite enough to abstain from voicing the fact that Marie hadn’t probably gone through a break-up in a very, very long time, and now physically couldn’t with Logan permanently nestled in her mind. Laura seemed to realize the acerbic nature of these thoughts, however, and she frowned out of guilt. More jealousy.

“Well, I’m thinking of just giving up. Maybe I’ll just be alone forever,” Laura said as she set down her mostly-empty coffee cup on the end table, moving to grab a throw pillow and hug it closely to her. Marie laughed a little at this as she watched Laura knowingly from across the couch.

“A little on the dramatic side, considering you’re only twenty four.”

“Twenty five next month,” Laura grumbled.

“‘Bout time you could rent a car,” Marie said through a smirk.

“That you or him talking?” Laura said tersely. Marie said nothing, only smiling, while Laura frowned.

“No one rents cars anymore,” Laura said tiredly. “They drive themselves. Even up here at the end of the earth.”

“Well then, you have your answer. You know he doesn't bother keeping up with that stuff,” Marie said through a wave of her free hand, and then, noticing Laura’s coffee cup was low, Maire moved to stand and take it into the kitchen for a refill. Laura stared ahead for a few moments as Marie did so, until her gaze settled on the partially completed game of chess on the coffee table, reminding her of this morning’s conversation with Cole.

“Cole says you’ve been playing with Jody,” Laura remarked, gesturing to the board, as Marie handed her a fresh cup of coffee and Laura smiled slightly in appreciation.

“Nope. Well, really not me anyway. I’m just trying to get her to unknowingly play Logan. Your father’s sick of playing me.”

Laura snorted, glancing down at the game, before offering, “I’ll play him while I’m here.” Marie sat down once more, throwing a grin at Laura.

“He says you don’t have the patience for chess. You should be better after all this time, kid, but you’re not. His words, not mine.” Laura scoffed momentarily, although she couldn’t help but smile at the nickname Logan used with both of them. Another sip of coffee, as Laura fiddled with the edge of the throw pillow.

“Yeah, well like I said...been a little too busy to brush up on my chess-playing skills,” she mumbled.

Marie stared at her intently, but before she could speak, Laura cut her off. “I know what you’re going to say. What he’d say…about all of this still being a terrible idea,” Laura mumbled.

“I didn’t say anything,” Marie muttered through a shake of her head. “Although he wants a full report on the mission. I’m assuming, since we hadn’t heard from you…it didn’t go well?” Laura’s stomach flipped over, the sharp and tearing memories of last night’s pesadilla still fresh in her mind.

“Bad lead, like he thought,” Laura murmured. Logan had warned Laura via Marie that throwing together a mission in only a couple of days was always a bad idea even if she had had the team’s support, especially when your sources about the authenticity of the tip hadn’t quite checked out yet. But the possibility of targeting a whole human rights’ group at once who were known for their hate crimes against families birthing new mutants again…Laura had jumped at the opportunity to eradicate them. She had been too eager. And she knew Logan knew it.

“Anyone get hurt?” Laura heard Marie ask. Laura sighed, running a tired hand over her face. “Rictor got tagged. Dani broke her arm.”

Marie’s brow furrowed then, and Laura’s guilt tripled in intensity.

“I know,” Laura muttered.

“You should’ve triple checked your sources, like he told you to,” Marie said quietly.

“I know, I know. The rule of three,” Laura was saying, setting down the coffee mug once more, helpless but to glance over to a framed picture of Logan, Laura and Marie. It was from the day they had moved in. Marie had forced them all to take a selfie, and Laura’s and Marie’s tongues were sticking out while Logan had a forced smile on his face. Laura frowned as she stared at the picture, before turning back to look at Marie hopelessly. Marie’s lip turned downward as well, before she suddenly stood, tilting her head to the door.

“How about a walk, hija? The weather’s beautiful.”



---

She doesn’t have her shit together.

Cut her a break. At least she’s trying.

She’s too thin.

I already TOLD her that.

Marie listened to Logan growl inside her head, as she followed Laura on the trail they typically hiked that made its way around a portion of the south side of the lake. Marie hiked this path almost every day now that the weather had grown warmer. She liked it because despite the tall pines, there was a decent view of the lake for most of the walk, and lately the sounds of the lapping water and the call of the returning summer birds had been soothing to her. The smells were always overwhelming, but the sounds…the sounds she loved.

Up ahead, Laura had put her black leather jacket back on and now walked with her hands in her pockets. The image of her daughter made Marie’s heart lurch.The fact was that Marie had been desperate to see Laura. They both had. But Laura had been tied-up, as hard as she was trying to establish the X-Men, all without a Charles Xavier or a Scott Summers or an Ororo Munroe around to help her.

Or Chuck’s money, Logan added smartly.

Alpha Flight had helped where they could. They had deftly acquired the deed to the X-Mansion right before the old home had been scheduled for demolition. Now, all of it, the house, the abandoned labs, even the Blackbird that still sat in the bowels of the basketball court, was all in Laura’s name, whatever that meant. Laura was especially obsessed with getting the Blackbird airborne again, one of her many projects. Marie could only assume the technology, much like that in the rest of the house, was horribly out-of-date. That fact, plus the years of neglect the Blackbird had likely suffered, had made the project remarkably challenging. Laura was still trying to recruit enough people to join the X-Men, and so far she hadn’t run into any aviation specialists particularly skilled in fixing twenty-year-old off-the-government-record technology. Technically, Logan and Marie knew how to fly the plane, but they didn’t know the first thing about repairing it.

All of this shit’s crazy, Logan muttered. She’s got too much going on. Marie inwardly sighed, but didn’t respond. Even with the recent uptick in mutant births since Transigen had been completely disassembled, the X-Men had mostly faded from the public’s mind. Laura had considered this to be a boon, wanting less attention on what she was trying to do, what she was trying to establish, especially considering the influx of new anti-mutant hate groups reminiscent of groups like Friends of Humanity had been cropping up once more. Mo’ mutants, mo’ problems , Laura had bitterly joked a couple of months ago. Inside her mind, Marie could practically feel Logan crossing his arms stubbornly.

She’s in over her head. And she’s too young for most of this shit.

I was only eighteen on my first mission.

Yeah, but you weren’t in charge. And she just biffed that last one. Sloppy and rushed planning. What did I tell you?

Cut her a break, sugar, Marie thought, even as she watched Laura walk up ahead. She’s got a lot going on.

Exactly my point. I’m glad she shook that Paige chick, though. She didn’t understand Laura. Besides, Laura only liked her because she had a nice ass. At this, Marie snorted.

Oh come on. Laura’s not that fickle, Marie began to argue.

Kid. Be realistic. She’s just like me, right down to her taste in women. I didn’t fucking settle down until...well… Logan trailed off.

Until you were 191, Marie smartly pointed out. Inside her mind, Logan’s rich and vibrant laugh.

Heh heh. Yeah. That’s right. Took me long enough.

Marie only quietly chuckled at this, and while no one else might have heard, she noticed Laura had whipped her head around once more, peering at her mother suspiciously.

“What’d he say?” Laura asked through narrow eyes. Marie exhaled, hopping over an exposed tree root as she caught up a bit with her daughter and hiked deeper into the woods.

“Just tottering off about how worried he is about you,” she said. Laura looked a little surprised at that and stopped in the middle of the trail, crossing her arms in an exact imitation of her father.

“And?” Laura asked.

Marie sighed. No use in hiding it. Marie had decided long ago that she would communicate truthfully what Logan was saying in her head to Laura if he wished Laura to hear it, no matter the cost. She owed it to both of them.

You better damn well tell her, Logan said flatly.

“And that you only kept Paige around because of her…physical features,” Marie finished. Laura practically snarled at this comment, opening her mouth to speak, but then shut it promptly, suddenly walking forward once more.

Ya see? Bingo. I’m right, Logan quipped.

Marie only rolled her eyes, although she quietly acknowledged from Laura’s response that he was, in fact, probably correct.

You better believe it, darlin’. Ask her about how funding’s coming along.

“He wants to know about funding, Laura. Did any patrons result after last month’s efforts?” Marie asked, walking more quickly to keep up. At this, Laura turned once more, but didn’t stop walking.

“Yeah… still working on it.” In her mind, Logan was already shaking his head.

This whole thing is a clusterfuck. She shoulda put that literature degree from McGill to better use instead of playing superhero, gettin’ a wild hair to go diggin’ up graves, unearthin’ things that should just stay dead. At this last comment, Marie physically winced, holding her arms closer to her chest. Realizing the full extent of his words, Marie could feel the shower of Logan’s regret in her mind.

Sorry baby, Logan muttered. Wasn’t thinkin’.



--

Laura and Marie had spent the rest of Friday cooking in anticipation of tomorrow’s lunch Marie was hosting for Jody, Cole and his wife, and Laura helped where she could, knowing, of course, that her culinary skills were limited at best. The tone remained light; there wasn’t really any more time to think about anything else, and Laura was grateful for both the distraction and the reprieve. By the time the cooking was over, Laura was exhausted. She felt mildly guilty, she knew Marie was still up doing some baking, but the early morning had finally caught up with Laura and she had retired upstairs, walking blindly into her old room and dropping onto the covers of the twin bed in an exhausted heap.

That next morning, Laura had helped Marie with prep again, so much so that Laura had barely managed to sneak upstairs for a quick shower before the company showed up. She tried to soak it in, the decent water pressure and the soothing water on her skin, but still her mind wouldn’t quiet down, wouldn’t quite settle. She sighed as she stepped out of the shower, drying off and wrapping her long dark hair up in a spare towel. Laura hadn’t brought much with her, and she was ever thankful Marie kept a stock of clothes for Laura here when she came to visit, although the options were definitely less edgy than Laura’s current style. Resigning herself to her choices, Laura settled for a pair of jeans and a hunter green v-neck, along with a pair of wool socks and hiking boots. She dressed quickly in the bathroom, and without any makeup at her disposal, she suddenly felt like a younger, less volatile version of herself. She frowned slightly at the reflection in the mirror, before undoing her hair from its towel and walking around the bedroom, running her fingers through her hair as she went.

It was the first time she had really taken in the room since she had been here, and, as she did so, her frown remained. Just like the rest of the house, little to nothing had changed. The same orange and purple curtains. A fuzzy orange lamp. Posters advertising bands that had lost popularity in the mid-to-late thirties. Everything, the same. It hadn’t ever bothered her before, but now, for reasons she hadn’t quite explored yet, she was feeling increasingly perturbed.

The only thing that was significantly different was that most of the books were absent from the still-present bookshelf, Laura having taken practically all of them to college with her and then to her apartments both in Hay River and in New York. A couple of the “kid books” she had chosen to part with when she had turned eighteen, however, remained, and now Laura couldn’t help but idly thumb through the small stack of them propped up on the third shelf. Harry Potter, A Wrinkle in Tim e, and...Laura froze, eyes settling on the spine of the first in a series of adolescent books she had read years and years ago. A Series of Unfortunate Events. Carefully, with a slightly shaky hand, she plucked its tattered spine out of the stack, turning the book around to look at the front cover. She was greeted by a picture of the tall, gangly villain and the sad faces of the three Baudelaire orphans. Laura’s grip on the book instinctively tightened. This was the first book she had read in Hay River. Kay had given it to her that first day, the day when Laura had asked about the waterwheel on the road sign, and Logan had decided that was a good enough reason as any to stay there, in Hay River. Those first days. Back when it was just him and her.

She and her papá.

She loved Marie more than she could possibly express, but Laura often looked back on those two short months with just Papá as a sort of magical time. In fact, in the past, Laura had often considered those two months the gold standard by which she compared the rest of her life. And, so far, no other experience had been able to surpass it. From the moment she had laid eyes on Logan in the cemetary through the back of Gabriella’s car to everything that followed. Laura’s memory of those months had always been exceptionally clear. Those few precious days with Charles. The horror at the Munson’s farm. The way she had leaned into her papá after she had realized her friends had disappeared from the lookout cabin in Eden and how he’d put his arm around her. And later, in that tiny apartment above Kay’s shop. The movies they’d watch. The desk he bought her. The burgers they shared. The way he’d spend his weekends dutifully working at the lake house, before he had even owned the home. Suddenly, Laura wished she had helped him more. Wished she hadn’t done all that exploring out in the woods like she had on so many occasions. Why hadn’t she spent every moment with him when she had it? Helped him saw wood and hammer nails? Why hadn’t she realized, even though she had already known, that he was truly and really dying?

A hot tear on the cover of the book now. Laura shook her head, cursing her feelings as she wiped her eyes and tossed the book back on the shelf. There was no fucking reason to get so emotional now. He had been dead for years. Or gone. Or body-less. Or whatever the fuck he now was.

All this stupid goddamn X-Men glory. That’s why she was emotional. Laura had been so blinded by her goals once she had made the decision to do something about them that she had been able to see little else. She’d stop coming around town, had dropped off talking to Cole and the rest of her friends. Spent too many nights in the little guardpost that resided on the perimeter of the dilapidated X-Mansion, the only building that had been partially remodeled, crunching numbers and drawing up schematics and trying to will the X-Men back to life. She’d stopped seeing people, stopped seeing everything the same way, or at all. She certainly hadn’t seen Paige, except maybe as a woman Laura could fuck when it all became too much at work. And that was it, wasn’t it? She hadn’t seen Paige as a real person, and that had given the other woman more than enough reason to walk out on Laura. The Logan inside Marie’s mind was right. Paige had been a warm body, and little else.

God damn him. He was always fucking right. Especially when it came to her.

She realized, in that moment, that all of it was getting to her more than she’d let on, the hopelessness of what she was trying to accomplish. And this house. This fucking house. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, coming here. Laura had been trying to seek solace, peace, and if she was being honest, trying to erase a bit of guilt she had been harboring about not seeing Marie enough, but so far, it seemed the lakehouse was intent to haunt her, remind her of all the old wounds that hadn’t quite healed right. As if such a thing was even possible with a mutation like hers.

Laura frowned again, glancing around the room, before she picked up on the rumbling of a car outside. Fuck. They were here. Laura sighed, moving away from the bookshelf and quickly whipping her partially-dried hair up into a high ponytail, before closing the door to the old bedroom firmly behind her.



--

Laura descended the stairs to the view of a beautiful woman nearly eight months pregnant, and the searching eyes of Cole, who’s gaze stayed on Laura as she made her way into the living room. She smiled brightly at them both, moving to offer Cole a giant bear hug, which he happily returned. Laura then turned her gaze toward Sandra, offering her a gentler version of the same hug, minding her protruding stomach, which Sandra laughed at and replied, “Don’t feel like you need to be gentle. He surely isn’t.” Laura smiled and looked up to Cole once more.

“You gotta name yet?” she asked him. Cole returned the smile, and said, “Yeah, but it’s a secret.”

Marie had already greeted Jody, and now the five of them hovered around the kitchen island as Marie put out snacks and hors d'oeuvres, Laura taking drink orders. The liquor cabinet was where it had always been, and Laura suppressed a memory of her papá taking up the same job that Laura found herself now occupying. She threw a glance Sandra’s way.

“Want me to make you some sort of fruity fake cocktail creation?” Laura asked through a smile.

“ Please. Thank you, Laura. If you could somehow make it at least taste like alcohol, that would help,” Sandra added. Laura smiled and went to work.

Later, Jody had said a short Athabascan prayer, and they all had dug in to a meal of baked ham and roasted vegetables, whipped potatoes with melting pads of butter and freshly baked bread. For the most part, the conversation remained light and airy, almost to the point where Laura felt relief from her previous moment of weakness upstairs, but as lunch progressed, Laura started noticing Marie more. Laura now sat at the head end of the table, to Marie’s opposite. It was Logan’s old seat. It hadn't been a conscious choice on Laura’s part, but a couple of years ago she had fallen in the habit of doing it, especially when they had company over. Because of this, she was able to look at Marie head-on, and, this afternoon especially, Laura wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.

Everyone knew that Laura and Marie were mutants. Cole also knew Marie had absorbed Logan, but Jody and Sandra didn’t. It was obvious to Laura that Marie was trying to stay present, but every once in awhile Laura caught the older mutant staring off into the distance, and for the hundredth, thousandth time, Laura wondered what Logan was saying to her. Over the past few years, especially as Laura had gotten older, Marie tried her best to reiterate what Logan said or didn’t inside her mind, which Laura often appreciated, even if she didn’t fully understand it. Laura also knew that Marie could, in fact, let Logan take control of Marie’s body if he ever felt so inclined, but, from Laura’s experience, that seemed to rarely, rarely happen. Laura assumed that, for one, it had to be fucking weird, and for two she new that the Logan in Marie’s mind had serious ethical problems with disregarding mental autonomy. So, often, if Laura was “talking” to Logan, Marie played interpreter, qualifying and softening phrases with “Logan says” and “he’s telling me to tell you.” Not for the first time, Laura wondered how much they had discussed protocol about what would happen while the real Logan, her papá, was still truly alive. But those last few weeks had been so messy, chaotic, and terrible, so Laura doubted they had. But who really knew? The main problem was that Laura knew Marie would have long and unyielding conversations with him. Marie could sit for hours staring off in the distance, and from the outside it simply seemed she had left her body for a while. This, especially when Laura was in high school, had been what had made Laura jealous, what still got her caught up in a swarm of envy. She was supposed to be over it, that incessant feeling of being left out. But was she? Laura frowned a little, forcing herself to look up from the food still on her plate.

Cole was sitting to Laura’s left, and now was openly staring at her in concern. Laura sighed, before flashing him what she hoped as a reassuring smile.

“You gonna eat?” Cole asked, gesturing to her full plate and stating the question loud enough to where the conversation between Jody, Sandra, and Marie had quieted and everyone was now looking at her.

“Uhh, yeah, sorry,” Laura murmured, stabbing a steamed carrot with her fork and dutifully bringing it to her mouth. Awkwardly the conversation returned to normal, although Laura was sure to notice Marie’s gaze lingered on Laura for longer than it probably should have.



--

After lunch had ended and Laura had helped with the dishes, they had retired with sherry and a sparkling cider for Sandra in the living room. Marie put on a Louis Prima record, and they talked about Cole’s job and Laura’s life in New York and how well Marie’s garden was coming along that year. Throughout most of this Laura instinctively noted that Cole’s eyes often never left her, and Laura found herself becoming a little uncomfortable. He had been her friend for over ten years, and although she always assumed he still had some sort of unresolved thing for her, usually that rarely got in the way of their friendship. What the hell was up with him? As the conversation dwindled, and Sandra mentioned maybe going back home to Jody’s to nap, Cole cleared his throat, and Laura realized she was about to get her answer.

“So...uhh...I know we have to leave soon, but, Laura? I wanted to let you know before we did so, I think we might have found one,” he said simply. Laura perked up a bit at this, her tired mind churning, hoping Cole was saying what she thought he was.

“You mean...Bill…?” she asked. For the last year or so, Cole had been working with an old law school buddy who just happened to now be a very, very powerful lobbyist with close ties to both the Canadian government and the deep pockets interested in expanding efforts to protect mutant rights. Very discreetly, Bill had been sniffing around, planting bugs in ears and making efforts to garner potential donors who would be interested in funding a newly revived X-Men team in America. If Laura had any lingering questions as to why any Canadian money be interested in American mutant rights efforts, they had been answered by witnessing the terrible impact of the political fallout in the past twenty years in America, that had left the country crippled and unstable. S.H.I.E.L.D had been disbanded years ago, and certainly the government was not able to be trusted, and many Canadians were worried that with the resurgence of mutant famlies and children, America would respond rashly and with selfish interests. And that shit always had the potential to bleed over into Canada. At least, this was what Bill was telling people.

“Yeah. Private donor. Bill doesn’t have the complete ID, but my guess the donor’s one of the mutants from the old days that’s never quite outed themselves, but has secretly funded private efforts. I guess he was broken up over the Westchester incident. Was a real big proponent of the way Charles used to do things. Alpha Flight already collects a hefty check from him as it is.”

“If the donor’s even a ‘he.’ We don’t even know that for sure,’” Sandra deftly added, to a nod of approval from both Marie and Laura.

“How much, Cole?” Laura found herself asking through narrowed eyes. She was instantly suspicious of people with money or too much power, mutant or no, a personality trait, she assumed, she inherited from her father.

“Apparently...practically endless. The money would act as a rotating endowment. As much as you need, was the quote. Enough for renovations, specialists who can work on the equipment, maybe even get the systems in the basement or that freaking plane Laura’s been rattling on about back online. A new virtual security system, the works,” Cole said.

Laura could hardly believe her ears, and didn’t until she heard the sharp intake of his breath, Cole’s heartbeat speeding up just the slightest bit, and she realized there was more.

“What’s the catch, Cole?” Laura asked, just as Marie shot her a wary, cautious glance.

“Hardly a catch at all. Most of this comes with no strings attached. Well, save the one.”

Laura frowned. Suddenly, she didn’t like where this was going. Backers with conditions were, of course, to be expected, but a backer with only one condition, well...typically that meant something big. Something Laura may not be able to deliver on.

“The condition is that, along with all the efforts to thwart injustice in both Canada and domestically, the X-Men also use the mansion for what it was intended for,” Cole said.

“And what's that?” Laura asked, looking intently at her childhood friend, her first ‘date’ before she knew what she truly was, and the only boy she had ever kissed. Cole caught her stare, and smiled slightly before responding.

“A school.”



--

“So he wants to know what you’re gonna do,” Marie said sleepily, looking a little bored as she moved Logan’s bishop to a new black square. Laura frowned, finding it practically laughable that Marie didn’t understand how good and complicated a move she had just made regarding the chess game, although, of course, it hadn’t been her move to begin with. Laura bit her lip, she hadn’t made a decision yet about what to do, regarding bishop or the money.

“I can’t very well start a school with only three X-Men,” Laura mumbled. “Plus, I don’t have an education degree. Plus, who would run it?”

“I didn’t have a degree back in the day,” Marie murmured to Laura.

“I guess that’s a good point,” she said thoughtfully, moving a pawn forward. “And I know Papá sure as hell didn’t.”

“Doesn’t,” Marie corrected her, and Laura looked up sharply to the older woman, before Marie, or Logan maybe, snagged another one of Laura’s pawns.

“Sorry,” Laura muttered. “Still, I’d need more teachers. Heck, I would need students .” Marie considered this statement carefully before responding.

“Well, the first wave of mutant children born after Transigen are just hitting puberty now,” Marie remarked. “The timing couldn't be better.” Laura considered this for a moment, before responding.

“Another good point. But, heck, I’d need books, supplies, a working X-Jet, not to mention Cerebro…” she trailed off.

“Why would you needta mess with Cerebro?” Marie said, and then, blinking once or twice added, “Sorry. His words, not mine.” Laura stared at Marie with a bit of concern for a moment, before trying to clarify.

“Just getting it back online...that’s the point of it right? To track other mutants, to find them and to bring them to our doors?”

“ Our doors?” Marie suddenly asked. The question threw Laura for a loop, and she suddenly wasn’t so sure who she was talking to anymore.

“Egh, you know what I mean,” Laura grumbled. Meanwhile, Marie was moving quickly across the board, and was positioning her queen threateningly in front of Laura’s king.

“Check,” Marie muttered.

“So what does Logan think?” Laura asked, carefully considering her next move.

“He’s not opposed to the idea of a school, but he doesn’t like you tied up in any of it. Especially tangled up in any sort of contract with a backer with conditions…” Marie said, before biting her lip and then adding, “Or with the X-Men in general…” Laura rolled her eyes at this, willfully moving her king out of harm’s way.

“He hated the idea of me fighting at all,” Laura grumbled.

“ Hates the idea,” Marie corrected again, and Laura sighed.

“Look, I’m desperate. It’s overwhelming to think about, but I don’t know what else to do. America needs the X-Men, and they probably need Charles’ Institute too. And there’s no one else who’s gonna lead the charge. At least not right now. Enough time has passed that...well...our PR problem has lessened, too. And I’d start up a three ring circus in the grand foyer if it meant enough money to get the Jet up and running,” she grumbled, as Marie swung a knight a few spaces forward.

“But?” Marie asked… and only then did Laura realize that there was a ‘but’, that she was considering giving the backer any answer other than yes.

“The likelihood of help,” Laura muttered, moving the queen a few spaces left diagonally and immediately regretting that decision. At least she still wasn’t going to lose. Not yet. Laura looked up once more to the older woman in front of her with the platinum and brown hair in her lounge pants and gray cable-knit cardigan, and she wondered once more about the amalgamation that was, and forever would be, Marie. She missed her mother.

“Why won’t you move to New York?” Laura asked softly. Marie frowned and was quiet for a long moment, obviously lost in some sort of inner conversation, and Laura waited patiently for the woman to return to herself.

“My place is here,” Marie said softly, before positioning her queen in front of Laura’s king again.

“Check,” she muttered.

“Your place was there though, for decades,” Laura said softly. Again, Laura moved her king out of harm’s way.

“Not anymore,” Marie said, And then Marie swiftly moved a rook across the board, killing Laura’s queen. Laura sighed, resigned to really losing now, especially with her right hand woman now down for the count, and resorted to standing.

“Fuck,” Laura cursed, stretching as she did so. “You mind if I open a bottle of whiskey?” she asked. Instantly Marie looked uncomfortable, her eyes running up Laura’s thin body once more.

“He says you should cool it with the drinking if you’re gonna do this for real,” Marie said carefully. To this, Laura only snorted, shaking her head a bit in disbelief as she padded over to the liquor cabinet, cracking open a fresh bottle of the good stuff.

“Well,” Laura said through another shake of the head as she filled an empty glass way too full. “You tell him I follow by example, or at least I did. You know. When he had a body. And he could drink.”

“You don’t need me to tell him, he can hear you,” Marie said evenly, and then followed it up with, “And watch yer tone, kid.” Laura whipped her head back over to where Marie was sitting, sick and tired of guessing who was speaking, sick and tired of all of it.

“Well this just in. I’m a grown woman, and I’ll do whatever I goddamn please,” Laura said, bringing the glass to her lips before plopping back down on the couch. “And forget I asked for your help. I can do it myself anyway,” she grumbled, through another heavy gulp. Marie had one eyebrow cocked, and Laura a challenge in her features even as looked back to the chessboard before her. Marie was still frowning, and Laura noticed she wasn’t relaxed anymore, sitting up as straight as she was, body tense.

“This is serious ,” she finally said, pointing a finger in Laura’s direction. “Opening a school, becoming an X-Man, that’s serious business. There used to be a certain... pride in all of it. It’s not something to talk about so lightly.”

Laura laughed a bit cruelly before taking another drink of whiskey, its dulling effects just now breaking through her body’s healing factor. Her anger was growing. Beneath the surface, she could feel el animal pacing, feeling both confused and threatened. “Like everything I’ve been doing these past few months, practically on my own, is just a bit of light fun and games. El hecho de que ustedes vienen ocultándose aquí no significa que el mundo ha dejado de girar. Ustedes se quedarían en shock con las cosas que he visto.”

The fact that you two have been hiding here does not mean that the world stops spinning. You would be in shock with the things that I have seen.

“The things you’ve seen?!” Marie said in a dangerous whisper. Laura ignored her, pressing on.

“Yeah. Dani nearly had her arm ripped out of her socket the other day. Rictor was shot,” Laura touted off, forcibly picking up a knight and shoving it forward on the board as the older mutant rounded on her.

“They got hurt because of your carelessness! Wise up, kid! Yer not ready for this shit. Yer a little girl paradin’ around with her daddy’s briefcase and title, thinkin’ that somehow qualifies you to make grown up decisions about things yer only startin’ to understand. This thing, it’s bigger than you. Oh and fuckin’ check.”

Laura simply blinked at Marie, as it was obvious her tone, cadence and natural rhythm of her speech had changed. There was no question left now. In these moments of anger, Logan had taken over, finally resolved to truly give Laura a piece of his mind. Laura let out a low, threatening growl in response.

“Says the invisible, parasitic man who lives inside a middle-aged woman who can’t do shit about shit ,” Laura snarled.

“Watch yer tongue,” Logan’s words still flying out of Marie’s mouth. “What yer doin’, it’s bigger than all of us, kid, so you better wise up and make careful and informed and sober choices if you’re gonna do this thing right, if yer even capable of that.”

Laura now blinked back tears, wildly staring at the two most important people in her life, the two people who now, for better or for worse, occupied one body. None of it made any fucking sense. They wanted her to lead; they didn’t want her to lead. They wanted her to do it right, but wouldn’t bother instructing her on how to do it properly.

“Then why won’t you move to New York and help me?!” Laura finally settled on, her voice breaking as she spoke, fumbling with moving a pawn blindly across the board, but Logan was already shaking Marie’s head for her.

“I won’t sacrifice Marie so you can run off and live out some fuckin’ childhood superman fantasy. The X-Men were dead, and you shoulda left ‘em that way. You started this mess on yer own, so you deal with it on yer own,” Logan growled through Marie’s voice. Moving the pieces easily, Logan was suddenly grasping Laura’s king in Marie’s hand, before grumbling “Checkmate.” Laura only growled in response, and, suddenly wanting to be far away from everything, she stood up, throwing one more nasty glance at Logan or Marie or whoever the fuck it was, before stalking out of the room, leaving them both behind.



--

Laura stared up at the darkened bedroom ceiling, lost deep in thought. There was no hope for sleep tonight, not with what had transpired. God, he could be such a stubborn asshole Laura thought, and then she frowned again. He was so much like who he was, and yet, inherently not. Her papá had been reading glasses and whiskey and newspapers. He had smelled like leather and aftershave and the woods. Even when he was painfully ill, he had been a tough sonofabitch, and he had loved Laura and he had always listened to her. Laura knew, without a doubt, that the man she had known would be right alongside her, helping her do this thing. The man that resided in Marie’s mind, not that he was a man at all, was way too attached, too close, too obsessed with the woman he’d loved. Laura frowned, throwing the orange comforter off her. It was sleepless nights like these that she missed him the most. And...especially this time of the year. Laura’s eyes were dry, but the threat of tears bubbled up again and she pushed it all back down.

In total, she had had eleven months with her padre. Eleven, but not quite twelve.

Laura sighed, sitting up and holding her arms close to her body. And then, realizing it was probably a decent enough night for it, she arched a brow and snuck a glance over to the tiny desk, the one that he had bought her and still was perched on the other end of the room. She willfully stood and stalked over to the desk, rifling through the bottom drawer. As a part of its contents, a cardboard box of decent cigars and a bottle of mostly full Maker’s Mark from where she had left them last time. That’s more like it, Laura. She pulled out both items, tucking them under her arm, meanwhile snagging her black leather jacket from off the back of the desk chair.

She walked down the stairs and through the darkened house silently, noting that Marie had gone to bed. Laura was grateful for it, hoping to avoid an awkward run-in, and now crept out of the walk-out basement, past Marie’s garden, to where the woods began, edging the property line. She deliberately put a wide berth between her and her father’s grave, instead walking toward the southwest portion of the the woods. The night was alive in that summertime way already, the sounds of nocturnal life humming around everything.

She smiled when she saw it, hugging the bottle and the box she still carried closer to her. Tucked under a large pine tree was the rusted Bronco, in the same spot Marie and Laura had laid it to rest all those years ago. It had given its final chug up the hill to the house that following winter after her father had died, and with no one wanting to get rid of the car, here it sat. Years had passed, and most of the engine had been hollowed out for spare parts, but the back cabin remained a hide-out of sorts, and Laura noted the fresh clean blankets stored in its trunk and the little AM/PM radio that Marie had picked up from Kay’s shop well over a decade ago, that looked itself to be from the nineteen nineties. Laura smiled once more, snagging the radio and flipping it on, while laying out a couple blankets, before climbing in and sitting in the back with her feet hanging off the side. She then took out the box, grateful for the lighter nestled there, and lit the first cigar, inhaling deeply, while popping off the cap to the whiskey bottle and indulging. As the croon of a Nat King Cole song hit the night air, she settled in and reasoned that if she couldn’t be with her father, she could at least smell him in the air and pay homage to everything he had been, everything good and real.



--

She called me a fucking parasite.

I think the words were, “Invisible, parasitic man,” Marie thought through a smile.

Hell, Logan swore, and Marie practically heard the exasperated sigh that accompanied it.

She thinks we’re freaks. She doesn’t wanna think I’m the real deal, Logan said, and Marie could feel the hurt note in his voice.

She’s just upset...and I’m not so sure she doesn’t have a point about needing help, Marie thought.

Well that’s for fuckin’ sure. She’s ignorant about the whole thing, darlin’.

And who’s fault is that? Marie questioned.

Logan didn’t say anything from inside her mind, and it was Marie who outwardly sighed, turning over once more in the dark of their bedroom. It was going to be impossible to sleep, but her body, even with Logan’s healing factor, still felt tired and lying down helped.

This is so much harder now than it was when she was younger, Marie thought. She’s so willful.

Ya think she’d be anything but? Logan joked, Marie feeling his soft chuckle in her head. Marie laughed outwardly a little as well, but, remembering the more bitter events of the evening, she frowned once more.

You shouldn't have taken over without my permission, Marie argued. That goes against everything we’ve fought for.

For a while, he was remained silent. She knew that he knew that he had broken the cardinal rules, and there was really nothing they could do about it now. It had actually taken Marie quite some time to get used to having a fully conscious presence in her mind constantly, even if it was Logan. But they’d had over a decade’s worth of practice now, and the internal relationship they now had seemed to work. During her most intimate moments or when Marie needed space or he himself needed some, Logan now knew how to retreat to the far recesses of her mind, releasing his consciousness from her senses and letting her be alone. She’d call him back though, always, and he’d return. And tonight...well. Tonight had only been the third time in a little less than thirteen years that he had taken over her body without her permission—and one of those previous times had only been to move her out of the way of a falling tree limb— and the effect was wholly... unsettling.

She needed to hear the truth, he finally settled on arguing.

At what cost? Marie shot back. Sugar, she’s as stubborn as you. She’s not gonna listen to anything she doesn’t want to hear. Marie could once more feel Logan tiredly sigh in her mind.

Do you think Laura is really doing the wrong thing? Marie asked softly after some time. Reviving the X-Men?

Kid, I don't even know anymore. What yer askin’...it’s complicated, yeah? Does the political climate suggest somebody should do somethin’? Yeah, I think so. Do all those mutant kids who are likely to get thrown out of their homes all over again deserve someplace to go? Yes to that too.

But? Marie whispered quietly.

S’about being practical, you know? Laura needs to be realistic about what she’s able to do.

Marie couldn’t help but chuckle at that particular quip.

Why are ya laughing at me, kid?

It’s just...always you and the realism. You always say you’re loyal to practicality and practicality alone, but you’re still every bit as idealistic as I used to be. And Laura’s just like you.

As you used to be? Logan asked, catching her slip, and Marie buried her face more deeply into the pillow.

I’m tired too, you know, Marie said blankly.

Logan paused for a long moment, obviously deep in thought. Meanwhile, Marie’s eyes kept fluttering closed sleepily, and she was about to drift off when she finally heard him again.

I did this, he was murmuring to her. Her eyes snapped open.

Did what? Marie asked.

Laura’s right. I am a fuckin’ parasite. So goddamned selfish. Had to drink more than my fill, stay around long after I shoulda gone. Marie’s heart wrenched at his defeatist tone, and she found that she was outwardly shaking her head.

You think I’d want it any other way? she asked softly.

You don’t think I’ve...stalled your life? Logan asked.

There was hardly a life left to stall, Marie thought quietly.

Even when I…

When you what?

When I was dyin’, kid?

You’re not dead.

Yeah I am.

No, you’re not.

No one spoke for a long time, and Marie realized that her face was wet from the tears springing from her eyes.

Fuck. Don’t cry, baby.

Sorry, Marie whispered. Sometimes, god. Sometimes I wish you could hold me.

There was no answer for a moment, but then Logan’s voice was in her mind again, even and thin.

We’re workin’ on it kid, Logan thought.

That, at least, was true. Recently and without Laura’s knowledge, Marie had found and had been visiting a telepath in Yellowknife who’d been working with Marie on mind projection. To Marie, it was the holy grail of mental ability, the very idea that Marie could create physical space inside her own mind and place Logan and Marie there. So that they could touch each other, hold each other. As of late Marie could only catch glimpses of him in any sort of physical form, but it was something, and when it had happened, it had been revelatory.

We’ll get there baby, Logan always said, and because they were getting better at it, it practically felt like a whisper in her ear. Some time passed, and Marie watched the ceiling fan toss the air about the room. Logan mentally sat there with her, refusing to go anywhere, and took in the same sounds and sights and smells as Marie as she lay there, breathing.

Just then, the sound, as quiet as it was, of Laura’s feet from upstairs. The rustling about in a drawer. And then she was coming down to the first floor, then to the basement. The sound of the back door opening and closing, the smell of the night air.

There she goes, Logan said wearily.

Off again, Marie agreed. Think she’s headed to the Bronco?

Hell yeah. Couldn’t you smell the Maker’s Mark? She’s got cigars too.

Marie said nothing, hesitant.

She misses the real thing, Logan muttered.

You are the real thing, Marie argued.

She doesn’t see it that way. Give her ten minutes, and go after her, he thought.

You think? Marie asked.

Yeah. You need to talk this out with her.

Marie frowned at that.

Uh uh. You’re not getting out of this one. You need to as well. I’ll play interpreter, but you’re not keeping quiet for this conversation. It’s too important.

A beat of silence, and then the sound of his voice once more.

Fair enough.



--

Marie could hear the scratchy chords of “Folsom Prison Blues” coming from across the yard, and she hugged the cardigan she had thrown on more closely to her as she walked out of the house and through the dark. This time of year days even this far north were comfortable, even warm, but nights were still often oddly cool. The smell of rich cigar smoke got stronger as Marie walked the short distance to where the Bronco was. The air was crisp and just a little bit warmer because of the smoke. Taking a deep breath in, Marie sighed in satisfaction.

I get why she does this, Marie said.

Yeah, was all Logan offered in reply.

Marie was sure Laura had known she was coming, but Laura did nothing to show it. She was now laying in the bed of the bronco, one slender leg still hanging out the back of the open trunk, sipping whiskey from the bottle and still listening to Johnny Cash. Marie smiled as she laid eyes on her daughter, the earlier tension of the evening dissipating as she murmured a “Hey” in Laura’s direction.

Laura raised her head slightly, propping herself up on her elbows, offering Marie a quiet smile, before sitting up completely and handing the bottle of Maker’s Mark to Marie, snubbing out the last of the cigar as she did so. The older woman took the bottle from Laura, quietly sitting next to her daughter in the bed of the Bronco. Taking a moment to quietly relish the whiff of oak and anise, the burn of the liquor in her throat instantly warmed her, even as the night air enveloped them both.

Fuck, that tastes good, Logan muttered. You don’t drink enough whiskey.

I’ll drink whatever I damn well please, Marie thought, although she took another generous sip of the stuff before setting the bottle down between them and surveying Laura more carefully.

“I’m sorry,” Marie finally whispered to her after some time, eyes still cast downward toward the sneakers she had slipped on and the darkened grass beyond them.

Apologize for me too kid, Logan said.

“He’s sorry as well,” Marie added.

Laura let out a breathy, bitter laugh, before picking the bottle back up from between them and taking a long pull.

“It’s more than a little weird,” Laura finally said through a small shake of her head, “...whatever it is you two have got going on.”

“You have no idea,” Marie grumbled.

“What’s...it like?” Laura muttered, and Marie paused, considering. It wasn’t the first time Laura had asked her this question, and had in fact asked it periodically over the past decade or so, and Marie was still never entirely sure how to respond, how to get her to understand.

Why’s she askin’ about this again, right now? Logan asked.

She misses you, like you said, Marie responded simply. She wants to feel closer. She only heard Logan sigh frustratingly.

“Maybe like...I dunno….” Marie began, trying to form some sort of acceptable answer for her daughter. “Maybe like having someone on the phone constantly, but they can still put down their own phone and walk off if they want, even if they rarely do,” Marie murmured.

Marie expected Laura to solemnly accept this answer, but, instead, Laura cocked a brow, a devilish look dancing about her features as she handed Marie the bottle once more.

“So you two ever like...you know...have phone sex?” Laura asked playfully. Marie almost spit out the sip of whiskey she’d been drinking, and afterward couldn’t help but throw a guilty grin in her daughter’s direction, even as she listened to Logan’s stream of protests.

Where the fuck does she get off askin’ those kinds of questions?!

Marie chuckled a little, glancing to Laura. “He’s freaking out right now.”

Laura grinned. “That’s why I asked,” she muttered, and, looking at Marie more closely she added, “Pay back, dad. Checkmate.” before snagging the bottle from Marie once more.

Marie smiled again, even as Logan was grumbling still in her mind. Shivering a little, Marie grabbed a spare blanket, turning slightly and pressing her back up against the side of the Bronco, glancing out to take in the sight of the lakehouse beyond them.

“Remember when you were...heck, I don’t know, fourteen or fifteen... and you decided you were in love with Mia Williams?” Marie said with a grin. Laura only rolled her eyes through a sip of whiskey, before setting the bottle down between them once more.

“God, please, don’t remind me,” she said, but Marie continued on.

“You said you’d gladly rip out your own heart-- me arrancaría mi propio corazón-- to kiss her. Think you might’ve even wrote than in a sonnet,” Marie added through a grin, and she watched Laura cringe at the memory.

Where you goin’ with this, darlin’? Logan was asking, but Marie momentarily ignored him.

“Yeah... and?” Laura asked, staring at Marie quizzically.

“That kinda...obsession. That feeling of being lovesick? That’s sorta how I feel about your father. Certainly how I felt about him at seventeen. Still pretty much do,” Marie murmured.

Laura smiled softly, but then cast her gaze downward, shaking her head slightly in what seemed to be partial disbelief over such a notion. “How did you...?” she trailed off.

“How did I what?” Marie questioned.

“Find someone to love like that ?” Laura said.

Oh hell, she could hear Logan say, and now he was the one practically squirming. Candid conversations like these between mother and daughter were usually times when he’d make himself scarce, but Marie had asked him to stay present tonight, and they both knew he’d keep his word.

Marie ignored Logan and just shrugged her shoulders. “Wasn’t easy. I spent a lot of years alone.” Marie could tell Laura was thoughtfully considering this, even as she was drawing her knees up closer to her, resting her folded arms on her jeans.

“You know… I never understood it. Papá never seemed the type to settle down. It was like his whole thing with you was some sort of….strange anomaly,” Laura said quietly.

She’s worried about herself, Marie was surprised to hear Logan interject. Wonderin’ why she’s got all that thirst, why it seems impossible for her to do the same. She forgets how fucking young she is. She’s got too much of that wild animal in her still, too much she’s got to satiate.

“Your father thinks it’s gonna take some time. That you’re….young yet,” Marie translated. At this, Laura looked up sharply to the older woman.

“Does he now?” Laura asked carefully. Marie exhaled slowly, picking up the bottle once more between them and dutifully drinking, now intent to get at the main reason why she had come out here in the first place.

“Look, Laura. It wasn’t fair what happened tonight. To you or to me. Or...come to think of it, to Logan. He took over without my permission, but I can understand why he did so. He’s worried about you--”

“--he doesn’t trust me,” Laura interrupted.

Couldn’t be farther from the truth, kid, Logan thought.

“He says you’re totally wrong about that,” Marie interjected quickly. At this, Laura stared up at Marie, eyes wide and dark.

“I just… then why? It’s more than a little infuriating. You both keep contradicting yourselves. You say you want me to make my own decisions, to live my life, but when I decide how I want to do that, you’re mad at the choices I make. You tell me to be careful to resurrect the X-Men, but other than a couple random pointers here and there, you won’t exactly tell me how to even go about doing that. I’m just not sure...what you want from me.”

Marie’s brow furrowed at this.

‘What we want from her?’ Fuck. She’s still aiming to please us, Logan muttered, even as Marie began to speak.

“Look, Laura, you might have a point. Parenting….it’s super difficult stuff. And I’m sorry if we’ve been...all over the place. The X-Men, well, there was a time it meant something very important to us both, so if we seem a little protective over the notion of reviving that particular brand, that’s why. But whatever the X-Men mean to us, you mean more. And...in the end...when it comes to your life, it’s not about what we want. You have to do what's best for you. It’s as simple as that,” Marie muttered, but she realized Laura’s frown had only deepened.

“What would be best for me is if you would move to New York, help oversee restorations to the X-Mansion,” Laura said.

Marie frowned a bit at this and said nothing.

“Everything you’ve got is inside of you. All the memories. So holding on to all this… here, even this damn car ,” Laura paused, patting the side of the Bronco, “doesn’t make sense. It’s dead, but it’s like you’re still trying to keep it all alive. This place is starting to feel like a museum,” Laura said flatly. Marie scowled slightly at that, her daughter’s words cutting her more sharply than she wanted to admit to. Inside her head, Logan was quiet.

“It’s not... dead. I still live here, hija. Everything I do, every choice I make, is real. I’m real, and so is he,” Marie added wearily. Laura crossed her arms, frowning slightly in disagreement.

“Sorry, but...it’s such a waste. And I’m not...idealizing you like I used to. I understand you’re not about to zip on a leather uniform and repel off a building. But you and Logan... you’ve got decades of memories, of tactical strategy and wisdom at your disposal. You don’t think we wouldn't benefit from that? Hay River garners nothing from you sitting around in Kay’s shop...or from sketching honey bees and growing herbs. The world, those children, benefit from you showing me how to revive the X-Men, how I could make things work. Plus…” Laura stopped herself, and Marie cocked her head.

“Plus what, hija?” Marie found herself asking. No point in not being honest now.

“Plus you might be alive for a long time, Marie,” Laura guiltily murmured, looking down at her hands. “He gave you that. You really think you wanna live here forever? Even after Jody goes? Do you really want to stick around, watch everyone you love slowly die?”

Marie exhaled exasperatedly, growing steadily more uncomfortable as Laura clawed at the truth of something Marie didn’t quite want to face. Watching people die had always been Logan’s modus operandi, and ever since absorbing Logan, Marie still wasn’t sure how to quite face that particular fact. So far, she had simply been avoiding it.

Kid’s got a point, Logan finally muttered. Inwardly though, Marie was shaking her head. It was more complicated than that. There were a lot of ways, a whole lot of ways, you could watch someone die. And while Laura had a little experience with Alpha Flight, she certainly hadn’t had to endure many moments like that yet.

I don’t like where you’re goin’ with this darlin’, Logan growled softly.

Laura doesn't know the whole story. Maybe that’s part of the problem.

She doesn’t need to.

She does if she wants to be an X-Man.

“I’ve already watched plenty of people die. And so has your father. Heck, he’s had to watch people die more than once,” she murmured.

“What do you mean?” Laura asked.

Baby. Don’t. She doesn’t need to hear this shit. Not now. Marie ignored the voice in her head and continued on.

“It’s one of the reasons why he’s so protective of me. Of you,” Marie murmured.

“More than once...” Laura said, considering this thoughtfully. “You mean...what? Because of the multiple timelines?” The jump had rarely been discussed neither before or after Marie had absorbed Logan, and Marie could feel Laura’s curiosity spiking at the insinuation.

“I stayed back,” Marie murmured.

Darlin’...

“What do you mean…’stayed back’?” Laura asked in the dark. Around them, the night had quieted somewhat, but the crickets nestled in the grass still sang their song, while the radio dutifully replaced the music of Johnny Cash with Tom Waits.

“We had inhibitor collars around our necks. His healing factor was gone because of it. They were torturing him, and he was dying. I knew...if I could only get to the head scientist and touch him, I could get the codes to undo Logan’s collar. So I did what I had to do. I...removed mine. The collars shot a poison in you if you just ripped them off, you know? You’d be dead within minutes...but minutes were enough. I managed to absorb enough of the man with the codes, brought your father back, and we were able to escape, get them all safely to the Blackbird,” she muttered.

“Them ?” Laura asked quietly.

“The other... we never told you this?...the other children. In the medbay,” Marie said, blinking at her slowly.

What’s the use in telling her all this baby? Logan asked.

If she’s going to be an X-Man, she has to know what it means. Really means, to watch people die, to give people up, Marie reasoned.

She already does, Marie. She watched me die. Gave me up. Again, Marie ignored him.

“I wasn’t the same...person. But I have enough memories to know what it was like. Watching your father run ahead of me, a little mutant girl wrapped in his arms…” something in Marie’s voice broke as she felt that other woman’s pain, and she tried to blink back the nascent beginnings of tears. “All while...while the fucking world fell apart. They were gonna bomb the place, and I knew I was dying. So when Blink opened the portal I...I... just stopped,” Marie ended. Laura looked up to her, carefully meeting her mother’s eyes.

“You knew you were dying, and you didn’t go through, did you?” Laura asked.

“No,” Marie murmured, and Laura was already shaking her head.

“ God. You must’ve broken his fucking heart.”

Marie listened out for Logan, but he had gone completely quiet.

Did I, sugar? She asked the blank space in her mind.

No answer. Marie sighed, continuing on.

“He spent eight years without me,” she said quietly.

“While the world went even more to shit,” Laura said bitterly.

“Laura...they tried,” Marie argued back. Something in Laura had shifted though, and there was a newfound, fiery resolve in her voice as she spoke once more.

“And what’s to say that won’t happen again? Won’t happen now?” Laura asked, and an involuntary shiver shot down Marie’s spine. The truth was, America was shaping up to look strikingly similar to how it did around the turn of the millennium in the original timeline. Things right now seemed, delicate, volatile, as if one wrong move could make the nightmares of a time forgotten come alive once more.

“You know,” Laura muttered bitterly, before looking up to Marie. “Or, perhaps…” she trailed off, still holding her gaze with the other mutant. “Logan...are you still there?”

Tell her I am, kid, Logan said to Marie, and Marie herself was surprised that he was.

I know I’ve been quiet, but I ain’t goin’ anywhere, he murmured.

“He-he’s listening,” Marie said softly, eyes locked onto her daughter’s own now.

“Logan... Papá…. Remember that morning in the basement….during our kata a few weeks before...well…” Laura drifted off.

Tell her I do, Logan said.

“He remembers,” Marie muttered.

“Remember when you said that I needed to protect Marie? You said, of mutantkind especially, that things ‘always have a way of going south’?” Laura asked, and both Marie and Logan were quiet for a moment, letting their daughter continue on.

“This is me...protecting Marie. The United States, hell, even Canada, they need the X-Men. This is how we keep everyone safe,” Laura said simply. For a moment, Logan was absolutely silent, before he began to trip over his words.

Tell her...fuck. Goddamnit, Laura. Tell her….

“What do you want us to say?” Marie breathlessly asked.

“That I’m right,” Laura said. “That...that you both know you should help me, but you can’t because you’re caught up in all of this,” Laura argued, gesturing about the cabin of the Bronco and the house beyond. “That you’re still grieving. That his death-- and he did die, Mom -- that it hurt you. And that all of this feels like playing house, like not dealing with it. You’re cut off from the rest of the world here, from everything real, and even though he’s with you, you’re not with us,” Laura finished softly.

Jesus christ, Laura…. Logan murmured, while Marie was openly crying now.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Marie finally said softly. “How can I grieve him, mourn him, when he’s so real? When he’s right here? ” she asked, gently tapping her temple as she did so.

Laura frowned at this, a pained expression on her features as she climbed toward her mother, taking Marie’s hand and threading her fingers in Laura’s own.

“Mom... “ Laura said, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Laura stopped, sighing. “Look. I’m not asking for my parents to take care of me. I know, trust me, I know, my personal life’s a wreck, but what I’m doing here...it’s not wrong. And I can’t do it without your help. I don’t need my parents; that’s not what I’m asking for. I need X-Men,” Laura said resolutely.

Fucking hell, Logan muttered. Marie could practically feel Logan’s resolve bending to Laura’s will, and Marie started inwardly protesting. No. No. To go back there, to that place...to leave behind everything safe and good...

“Laura….I’m sorry…” Marie murmured, and Laura grimaced, tears welling in her eyes as the walls sprung up once more between them.

“It’s fine...I--” she stopped, moving away from Marie and hopping out of the Bronco.

“I won’t bring it up again,” she said, her hands hugging her thin arms tightly. “I’m gonna...go inside now,” she said quietly. “You should too.”

And just like that, Marie watched her daughter trudge quietly back up to the lakehouse, head hung low in the dark.



--

The buzzer rang, and Laura frowned. She was currently pouring over debriefing paperwork under a single lamplight at her dining room table. Dani had managed to get the security footage from the facility, and Laura was now reviewing it over and over on a tablet, along with the transcriptions from the comms, trying to come to terms with everything that had gone wrong, every mistake she had made. A couple of days had passed, and she was back home in the cramped New York City apartment. Alone.

Pero no más. Laura sighed, grabbing her Molson off the table and stalking over to the door at the ring of the buzzer, opening it. A short, curvy woman with blonde hair thrown back in a ponytai currently sporting pajama bottoms and Ugg boots stood there, staring at her.

“You still have half my records,” Paige said curtly, brushing past Laura. Laura sighed, letting her pass, trying to put the intoxicating smell of body butter and expensive shampoo out of her mind.

“You coulda called,” Laura grumbled as she shut the door behind her, following Paige into the cramped living room. The younger woman was already flicking through the records in the corner, picking out Duran Duran and Arcade Fire, and Laura frowned. Mierda. There had been more than one occasion where Laura had hoped Paige wouldn’t notice those were missing.

As she picked through Laura’s collection, Paige glanced over to the right, and noticed the still-broken lamp in the corner. Frowning at it, she turned around back to Laura, who was still standing in the kitchen, cradling the Molson.

“You wanna beer at least while you’re here?” Laura asked. Paige sighed, and then nodded slightly, turning back around to the task at hand.

Laura exhaled tiredly, stalking over to the kitchen to pluck out the last longneck, noting she still needed to throw away the Chinese food. She easily popped off the cap and slowly walked over to where Paige stood, carefully minding the shattered pieces of ceramic that still littered the floor. Laura put a quiet hand on Paige’s shoulder to get her attention since Laura moved so silently, and Paige turned.

“Thanks,” Paige said, taking the drink from her, resigning to set the records down on the small coffee table off to her right. “I think that’s all of them.”

Laura simply tilted her own mostly-empty beer in Paige’s direction in mock-salute, before plopping down on the couch. Paige was still glancing about the room- probably to see how bad off I am without her, Laura thought grumpily--and her eyes settled on the mess of paperwork and still-illuminated tablet at Laura’s tiny dining room table/desk.

“You haven’t given up all that... superhero stuff yet?” Paige finally said, still standing as her worried blue eyes looked to Laura once more. Laura noticed she hadn’t taken a swallow of the beer yet and the Laura could only grumble in response, throwing one boot up on the coffee table, barely missing knocking the records over.

“Nope,” Laura said through a frown and another swallow of alcohol. Paige sighed, finally sitting down next to Laura on the couch and taking the first swig of beer.

“You don’t seem well,” Paige murmured after some time, fiddling with the sweating glass in her hands, sneaking another glance at Laura as she did so.

“That’s because I’m not,” Laura muttered.

“You manage to get funding yet?” Paige asked, looking back over to the table.

“Yeah,” Laura said. That caught Paige’s attention. At this, she turned to more directly face Laura, a small smile on her lips.

“Really?! You should have texted me!” Paige exclaimed, but noticing Laura’s deep frown still, her lips suddenly turned downward once again too.

“And why would I do that?” Laura growled, suddenly feeling the need to stand and walk back into the kitchen.

“ God, Laura,” Paige said bitterly through a slight shake of the head, before setting down her beer on top of the records. “You can be such a bitch when you wanna be.” Laura only snorted a bit at that, reaching now for the Emergency Bottle of Bourbon she kept on top of the refrigerator. Two-thirds of the way gone already. Damn.

“I don’t think I needta remind you who walked out on who,” Laura grumbled, sloppily filling up a glass and bringing it to her lips. At this, Paige stood.

“You drove me out,” she said, walking closer to Laura. So close in fact that Laura wasn’t so sure if it was the first taste of bourbon or Paige’s scent that was making Laura’s head spin.

“Yeah, I did,” Laura said quietly. At this confession, Paige seemed surprised, looking up to Laura quietly. Laura sighed, setting down the glass and carefully running a finger down the side of Paige’s cheek, frowning a bit as she did so.

“It’s my fault. I’m not...a healthy person to be around right now. And it’s not just the X-Men stuff,” Laura grumbled, even though she noted Paige had leaned into her touch, and el animal under the surface growled a bit approvingly in response.

“I knew that,” Paige muttered. Unable to help herself, Laura stepped closer, snaking a hand around Paige’s tiny waist and pulling her in, breathing deeply, planting her lips close to Paige’s neck, right at the base of her ear. “It was right for you to leave,” Laura murmured, even as she felt Paige’s pulse quicken, the smell of her arousal seeping into the air. God fucking damn. That scent.

“Y-Yeah,” Paige muttered, finally backing up a bit. Laura sighed, dropping her hand from her ex-girlfriend’s waist, and picked up the glass of bourbon once more.

“Take your records and split,” Laura muttered. “And if there’s anything else you forgot, just call next time.” Paige blinked at Laura, the beginnings of tears in her eyes, before she stalked back over to the records, removing the beer from where she set it on them, and then grabbed her bag.

On her way out though, she stopped in front of Laura once more, looking the mutant over carefully. She then quietly murmured, “You need help, Laura.”

Laura let out a quiet, bitter laugh, muttering a, “Kid, you have no idea. Now, sal de aquí,” through another swallow of bourbon. Paige only frowned, shaking her head slightly as she opened the door and forcibly closed it shut behind her, the reverberations making the punching bag lightly swing back and forth.

Laura groaned then, setting down the liquor once more and putting her face in her hands. She stayed like that for a while. Finally, her gaze slid upward, eyes settling on the swinging punching bag. Quickly shedding her jacket, Laura let out a yell as she struck it. She breathed heavily as it took the force of her hit, and, realizing she felt the tiniest bit better, she hit it again. And again. With each strike, she yelled out, uncaring of the fact her neighbors would likely complain again, and because of this she almost didn’t catch the ring of the buzzer once more. Whipping her head to the right, she snarled, stomping over to the door and shouting, “God, Paige, what else could you have possibly left? Because you sure as hell can’t take back your virginity. I own that shit now.” And as she swung the door open wide she saw Marie, several bags in hand, staring at her amusedly.

Laura immediately turned a deep shade of red, as Marie’s smiled widened.

“So...Paige was here?” Marie asked, and then, taking one sniff of the room, confirmed it.

“She was just picking up a couple of things she left behind,” Laura mumbled.

“Of what she could take back,” Marie teased. Again, Laura blushed.

“Please tell me Logan was off in some cabin in the woods deep in the recesses of your mind,” Laura muttered.

“Nope,” Marie said through a wicked grin, but didn’t elaborate, and Laura winced. It was then they both noticed that Laura’s hand was still on the door, still blocking Marie’s path.

“Why are you here?” Laura muttered.

Marie lifted up the bags in her hand. “Why do you think?” Laura simply blinked, staring at her.

“Are you gonna let us in?” Marie asked through a smile, and Laura sighed, standing back and letting Marie finally pass her to go inside.

As Marie glanced around the place, taking in the messy notes and open bottle of bourbon and Paige’s half empty beer bottle and the broken lamp and still-swinging punching bag, she stared back at Laura as she lowered her bags to the floor.

“Wow,” Marie muttered.

“ What?” Laura asked, looking around the room.

“Suddenly my life doesn’t look that bad,” she said through a devilish grin.



--

It was a long night. Hell, it had been a long few days. After Laura had left, Marie had immersed herself deep in her own mind, closing up the shop and locking the doors to be left alone, to have a long and important conversation with Logan about Laura. At several points Logan had specifically requested whiskey and cigars, and as Marie obliged him they went over their options. They both played devil’s advocate at times, but no matter what arguments they tried nothing could change either of their growing intuitions about what the right thing to do was. It was time, then, to return to New York. To return to Westchester. To return to the X-Men.

As Marie conveyed some of these sentiments to Laura, she was mildly surprised to note that Laura wasn’t acting happier about it. Instead, she listened carefully to Marie’s perspective, especially concerning how she should go about establishing the mansion as a school once more, and Marie realized, at some point, that Laura was being exceptionally mature about the whole thing.

She’s acting more like a leader, Logan had said. She’s serious about this.

As the hours crept by and they found themselves talking past the sunrise, both Laura and Marie decided that they would visit Westchester later that day, take inventory of the state of the place, and go from there. Marie knew that parts of the building were officially condemned, but they decided they would take their chances.

Now that it was light out, Marie hadn’t been able to sleep, even as she lay out the pullout in the living room, mulling over everything that had happened in her mind. Logan was quiet, he typically was when he was trying to offer Marie a bit of rest. Now, though, as she heard Laura snoring from her bed behind the thin wall that divided one room from the other, she tugged the blanket up closer to her chin, calling him forward.

I’m nervous, Marie thought firmly.

I know kid, Logan mumbled.

I haven’t set foot in that place since...well… since it all happened.

Neither have I, Logan muttered. Marie glanced around the tiny apartment from her spot on the bed and sighed.

I didn’t realize how….hard she was trying, Marie thought.

Hasn’t been able to get far though. Like she said, she needed help. Marie bit her lip a little at this.

She needs to get out of this place. She needs a decent headquarters, more mutants, hell even humans willing to help her, Marie added.

Yeah, she does, Logan said. Marie was silent for a bit of time.

I’m glad you left Hay River darlin’, he finally added. Marie frowned slightly, moving to sit up in the darkened living room.

Well, it’s not like the place is gone. JP is taking care of things, and Jody said she’d take care of my plants. At this Logan chuckled a little bit inside her head.

Yer leaving a lot behind. Sacrificing a lot to help her.

Again, Marie said nothing as she listened to the man she had loved practically her entire life, to the man she could no longer see, but felt with every fiber of her being.

Yer a good mother, kid, Logan said simply. Marie breathed out steadily, and she could feel the hot sting of a tear creep down her cheek.

Well, we still both have a long way to go, don’t we? Marie asked.

Maybe, Logan said. But at least it will be all of us, doing this thing together.

Like it used to be.

Yeah. Kinda like that.



--

Laura stared up at the stone and marble and the tangle of weeds and ivy strangling the entrance to the X-Mansion, and frowned.

“I’ve only been up here a couple of times,” she murmured. “We usually hang out in a little guard post on the far perimeter,” she clarified, before glancing over to Marie. Marie’s arms were crossed, and Laura noted that in the black leather jacket she had borrowed from Laura, the older woman appeared sharper, reminiscent of time long since past.

Finally, Marie breathed out, looking back to Laura through her sunglasses. “Welp, the damage won’t inventory itself. Let’s do it.”

A few minutes later, they were inside the main foyer, and Laura grimaced. The sharp scent of mildew filled the air, and several water stains marred the high ceiling. A collection of odd pieces of furniture had been covered with long, white sheets, and the floor was filthy.

“Damn, it’s worse than I thought,” Laura mumbled, but on turning back to her mother, Laura realized Marie had walked forward several steps, inexplicably drawn to the stairs.

“Mom….?” Laura asked, but Marie said nothing, quietly ascending the steps. Laura was silent then, content in simply following the older woman through the house. As they made their way through the long hallways, they walked past piles of rubble, more dilapidated furniture, and water damage that was making the plaster give way. There must be busted pipes all over this joint, Laura thought defeatedly. Laura was becoming incredibly overwhelmed by it all, tottering off a list of contractors she would need to hire in her head: plumber, heavy demolition specialist, mason, carpenter, probably a restoration professional to boot , she thought, and while doing so practically bumped into her mother when Marie came to stop by one of the heavy oak doors that was firmly shut closed.

“Mom?” Laura whispered again, glancing to the door.

“That was it,” Marie whispered, staring at the wooden frame.

“You mean…?” Laura trailed off. Their room. Where Marie woke up, realizing everyone had died. Where he had left her, thinking she’d gone.

Laura’s eyes rested on the room once more. “You wanna...go inside?” Laura asked, but Marie was already shaking her head no. “Neither of us want to,” Marie murmured. But, even as Marie made her way further down the hall, Laura still stood there, staring at the heavy oak frame, considering.

What did that mean? That her parents didn’t want to go in? Laura knew she couldn’t begin to understand the intricacies of the past, and yet, her mother stopping there, staring at the divide was instantly one of the moments that Laura knew would stay with her always. Laura glanced up at Marie as she continued before turning back to the door, frowning. A part of her wanted nothing more than to open the door, explore the life the two of them had shared that she had never known. She wanted it badly, more than she would care to admit. But it wasn’t her space, hadn’t ever been. That door, that passageway, was a firm divide between then and now, between real and not. Suddenly, Laura’s thoughts flew to a book she hadn’t read in a very, very long time.

I put it down on paper and then the ghost does not ache so much. I write it down and Mango says goodbye sometimes. She does not hold me with both arms. She sets me free.

Friends and neighbors will say, What happened to that Esperanza? Where did she go with all those books and paper? Why did she march so far away?

They will not know I have gone away to come back. For the ones I left behind. For the ones who cannot out.

Laura thought, then, maybe she understood. Or could learn to, in time.

She then looked forward, noticing her mother had turned down the far hall, and walked more quickly to catch up with both of them. Marie glanced up at Laura through a smile, as Laura now matched her pace.