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Author's Chapter Notes:
Finally a new chapter!! :D Sorry, work and life have been catching up to me, but I should have time to get my fics updated more often! :D

Enjoy, let me know what you think :)

Suggested listening: "I'm Yours"

I reckon its again my turn, to win some or learn some
But I won't hesitate
No more No More
It can not wait
I'm yours
“Some assembly required my ASS, you SONOFABITCH!” Logan swore, chunking the screw driver he held clean out the open window of he and Marie’s bedroom. Pieces of some sort of baby-bouncer that Jean had made Scott buy as part of a peace offering in exchange for the return of their tapes lay scattered across the floor, bolts, washers, and various pink plasticy pieces adorned with frolicking hippopotami in several different piles according to what Logan thought they might be for.

Of course, he could have had directions to put the damn thing together, instead of going by the picture on the side of the box. Unfortunately, he had made the mistake of setting the paper on the floor next to baby Marie, who was nom, nom, nomming on some sort of stuffed animal that vaguely looked like a cross between a baboon and Juggernaut whilst sprawled on a cutesy baby blanket covered in dancing polar bears. Having chewed Juggaboon’s tail into some sort of gummy, baby saliva pulp, Marie had promptly reached out and clenched the five-languaged paper in her chubby little hands…

And poof. Pew. Bazzam.

Destruction.

One Jubilee-Cyclops mutant eye beam short of a set of directions, a drenching from the mansion’s sprinkler systems and one visit from an incensed fired department, and Logan was up shit-creek-assembly line without a paddle. Not to mention the terrified, osmium coated, one hundred pound baby he was trying to tote out of the building.

Unfortunately, Marie had also taken it upon herself to use the restroom during this excursion, which resulted in a ten pound baby poop made out of metal.

He’d heard of shitting bricks, but this? Fucking hell.

Logan turned the box on its side and tilted his head at a ninety degree angle. If he looked at the picture that way…He plucked the nearest piece of the playkit from the ground, eyeballed its size in regards to the tiny picture, and then set about finding three other pieces that were vaguely the same size as well.

Tongue sticking out of his mouth, he set about attempting to screw the various pieces into holes they seemed to fit in, attaching washers, mix-matching screws, and slicing the edges off of certain pieces with his claws as he constructed what finally looked something like the play pen bouncer in the picture.

“Well, it’s only a little crooked,” Logan groaned, mentally tallying the time before Marie woke up from her nap inside her steel reinforced crib.

Fifteen minutes.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Logan tip toed as quietly as he could towards Marie’s crib. Her plump little baby tummy, full of mashed parsnip and potatoes, rose up and down steadily, her head sticking out at an angle that couldn’t possibly be comfortable – but Hank had explained to him that babies didn’t really have necks until a certain age, so he was sure that must be why she hadn’t gotten a neck crick yet. One chubby baby arm was sprawled ungracefully behind her head, the other squishing one of the pink polar bears dancing across her favorite blanket.

Sound asleep.

“Yes!” Logan hissed, and using every available ounce of stealth that he possessed, he crept towards the door, which was propped open with one of his work boots to try and alleviate the smell of burnt tray ceiling and paper.

Opening it as quietly as possible, Logan hoped the faint sound of the oscillating fan by the window was enough to distract Marie, who had developed the annoying tendency of waking up as soon as he left the room, and subsequently deafening him by sobbing incessantly. He didn’t see how any human baby could have ever survived before the concept of civilization was first contemplated, any predator within a hundred miles would hear that and knew it meant fresh meat.

Slipping into the hallway, Logan vaulted over the banister, rolled on the next landing, then vaulted down into the first floor entranceway, rolling again to push himself up on his feet. Shadowcat phased through him with a screech, and shaking off the strange feeling it left him with, Logan made a mad dash for the liquor cabinet in the professor’s drawing room.

Jerking the doors open, Logan reached blindly for his favorite island companion, Captain Morgan, but instead pulled out a bottle of Bacardi. Wrinkling his nose distastefully, Logan was lifting a rather large bottle of Maker’s Mark out of the cabinet when a light rap on the door made him whirl around abruptly.

Ororo stood there, holding a bottle of baby food, a burping rag slung across one shoulder, a bottle of formula in the other, “Logan… what exactly are you doing?” she asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically, “If you’re going to go on a binger, you need to hire a babysitter, and while I’m happy to bring Rogue her afternoon snack, I’m not babysitting an out of control mutant infant.”

“It’s not what it looks like ‘Ro,” Logan grumbled, walking past her. The weather witch followed him as he stalked back upstairs, “And she’s not that out of control,” he shot towards her over her shoulder.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as ‘Ro covered her nose with her hand.

Okay, so the upstairs did smell really bad.

And his eyebrows still hadn’t quite grown back.

And it did look like he had been treated to a poor hair-plug treatment as sporadic patches of hair grew back in from his catastrophic shopping trip almost a week ago.

And there was that broken high chair in the kitchen that had the bottom knocked out of it when Marie turned all Colossus like every twenty minutes or so.

Maybe she was a wee bit out of control. But not that much, right?

Grumbling under his breath, Logan kicked the door to their suite open. ‘Ro coughed and waved dust away from her mouth, “I think you need to sweep up that charred paper,” she said, “Can’t be good for either your or Marie’s respiration.”

Rolling his eyes again, Logan crept towards the crib, setting the liquor down on the windowsill. Peeping in the crib, he reached into the chair next to it to put on a pair of rubber gloves. Checking to make sure his boots were indeed rubber soled, he gently leaned in to pat his sleeping baby Marie on the cheek.

Her soft brown eyes opened, and she cooed delightedly, “Hey little girlie,” Logan baby-talked, fingers wiggling towards her tummy. She kicked her feet in the air and squealed, one hand grabbing a bare foot and sticking it straight in her mouth.

“Okay, toesies are not for eatin’ darlin’,” Logan growled, “But I guess that means you’re hungry.” Hand underneath Marie’s head, Logan lifted her wobbly self and waited while Storm got herself situated in his leather chair.

“Alrighty Storm, make sure you don’t touch her skin, got it?” Logan said. He positioned Marie on Storm’s lap so that she was nestled in her arms. Storm held the bottle up to Marie’s mouth, and she latched on eagerly, eyes wandering as Logan went back to attempting to assemble the goo-goo-ga-ga get up shindig in the corner.

Logan crept underneath the baby walker and rolled onto his back. He’d decided downstairs that he was going to treat this thing like a junk car. Check underneath to see what was missing – couldn’t put Marie in a faulty baby seat – what with her spontaneously weighing one hundred pounds or shooting eye beams from hell, and now that he was thinking of it, he needed one o’ those phase mutation blockers so she couldn’t slip out using Kitty’s skills…

“OW! SHIT!”

Lost in thought, Storm’s yell made Logan sit up abruptly. His face slammed into the hard plastic of the baby bouncer, splitting his chin open and blacking his eye. Marie wailed, her siren call making Storm’s eyes turn blindingly white as she covered her hands with her ears. Outside, black clouds roiled as the weather witch attempted to shake Marie’s mouth off of her ungloved hand.

“Ro, stop with the weather working, would ya?” Logan snarled, his speech slightly slurred as his lip knitted itself together while he was talking.

“I’m not controlling the weather!” Storm shrieked, finally shaking Marie’s mouth from her bare finger.

“Then who is?” Logan growled.

They both turned to stare at Marie, who had maneuvered herself into a sitting position on the carpet. Tears ran down her cheeks, her mouth opening to reveal two tiny teeth peeking through the tops of her gums.

“I think she’s teething!” Storm yelped, hands still over her ears as a maddeningly loud clap of thunder vibrated the massive windows of the mansion. A sound like a freight train roared in the distance, and Logan paled as a massive tornado touched down on the black top, tearing the students’ basketball goals from their moorings and flinging them towards the weathered stone walls of the mansion.

One of the poles shattered the window nearest to Storm and Rogue, and Logan flung himself in front of both of them, shards of glass embedding themselves in his back. Hissing in pain, Logan looked down to find Captain Morgan on the floor at his feet.

Almost blown away by the torrential force of the tornado’s wind as it crept steadily towards the mansion, Logan grasped the bottle of rum and dragged himself towards Marie.

“Logan, now is not the time to be drinking!” Storm shrieked, her eyes glowing pulsar bright as she attempted to slow Marie’s roaring gale-force winds.

Popping the cap off the bottle, Logan splashed rum on his hands, making sure his finger was thoroughly coated, then reached into Marie’s mouth rubbing it gently along her gums.

Little Marie hiccupped in surprise, and the tornado evaporated, bright sunshine and fluffy white clouds suddenly covering the sky for as far as the eye could see.

Storm collapsed in an exhausted heap, sweat pouring down her skin as she heaved for breath.

“Holy…shit,” Logan panted, pulling his shredded shirt from his back. He’d have to get the glass out before the wounds healed around it, “Marie, you’re lucky I love you.”

Marie just giggled and clapped her hands until he reached down and lifted her onto his lap.

“I hope she grows up soon,” Storm gasped hoarsely.

“You and me both,” Logan growled.
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