Author's note: Hello everyone! It's me, brigid1318 again after a long, long time. I've been puttering around with a sequel to The Beast Within for a good long while now for lack of inspiration and time. I have a one year old baby girl now, and between her and my job things have been pretty hectic! Still, I thought I would throw this chapter out there to see if anyone is still interested to see where Hank, Roxanne, and Logan's journey is headed. Reviews are welcome, but not necessary. Thank you to everyone who gives this story a look!

This Is Home Now

The feral man traces idle patterns on the antique mahogany desk he's seated at with the long claw of his index finger as he waits for his colleague to join him.

Waiting.

For over a thousand years Romulus has been biding his time, laying plans and waiting for them to come to fruition. And now-

Nathaniel Essex enters the office carrying a manila envelope and frowns upon seeing his feral ally gouging claw marks into his desk. "That desk is over one hundred years old, you know," Essex remarks reproachfully.

The feral snorts derisively at that comment. What's a hundred year old desk to a man who watched the rise and fall of the Roman Empire? "Perhaps you shouldn't have kept me waiting, then," Romulus retorts. "Did you get it or not?"

Essex- or Mr. Sinister, as he likes to be called, a rather ridiculous conceit in the feral's opinion- grins smugly. "I did," he replies.

"Where is it, then?"

"In a safe place," Essex says evasively.

Romulus bares his fangs, a growl rising in his throat. "Essex-"

"Oh, relax," the mutate says airily, waving off the feral's anger. "I'm not going to double cross you."

"Good. It won't go well for you if you try."

Theirs is an alliance of convenience and similar goals rather than trust- or even liking. Both Essex and Romulus would each prefer to put a knife in the other's back if they got the chance.

Though it's not like that would do much to either of them.

"Actually, I brought you some happy news," Essex announces, with a nasty gleam in his red eyes that immediately puts the feral on guard.

"What?" he demands flatly.

Essex hands over the manila envelope with a flourish and a malicious grin. "See for yourself."

Romulus glares at him as he snatches it away. He tears into the envelope and examines its contents: a single photograph of a trio of people walking towards a small jet in a snowy pinewood forest. Two men and one woman.

One man is tall and pale, with nerdy-looking glasses. The other is burly and uncouth, with distinctively shaped hair. Romulus recognizes him instantly.

"Howlett," he growls through gritted teeth.

"Look closer," Essex urges him, clearly enjoying his ally's pique.

Romulus peers at the photograph again, and instantly understands the source of Essex's vicious delight.

The woman.

Her long, copper-colored hair, the pointed ears and delicate profile...

She's the very vision of-

"Congratulations," Essex says gleefully. "You're an uncle!"

A familiar figure stands before her, facing the forest beyond. She grins at her brother's tall frame, made strong by years on the logging crew. His longish red hair sticks out from his favorite baseball cap, just like always. Her heart leaps with joy at seeing him again. Her brother, her twin. Her best friend.

"Robert!" she calls out. "Robert! You won't believe what's happened-"

He doesn't turn around.

"Rob? Don't tell me you're still mad," Roxanne scolds. "Come on-"

She grabs his arm to turn him around-

His arm falls off in her hand, as if it had been sliced- or bitten- clean off.

Roxanne gasps in horror as the corpse collapses and falls apart into various pieces. Her brother's glassy, accusing eyes stare up at her out of a half-eaten face.

"Oh God! No-" she moans. "No, no-"

A familiar brown hand touches her shoulder.

"Gramps," she whispers in relief, turning to look-

The flesh hangs off her grandfather's body, revealing the skeleton beneath. The sunken skin of his face twists in a dead man's grin, and maggots pour out of his empty eye sockets and mouth.

Roxanne screams and screams as the corpse collapses-

"Roxanne!"

Worms devour the old man in a wriggling, slimy mass-

"Roxanne, wake up," a familiar voice says urgently.

The Wendigo roars, coming for her the same way it got Rob-

"Open your eyes for me, Roxanne."

She swims towards consciousness, following the voice. She becomes aware of someone shaking her awake as the nightmare finally loosens its grip.

Roxanne opens her eyes and fully awakens with a jerk. She's gasping for air, like she just ran a marathon, and her new retractable knuckle claws are out. Her eyes instinctively dart around, looking for a source of danger.

"It's ok, Roxanne," Hank says soothingly, and her gaze focuses on his face, hovering above hers. "It was only a nightmare."

Reality comes rushing back to her- Robert and Gramps are dead. She's in New York, at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and she's laying in Hank's bed.

Robert and Gramps are dead. They're dead...

Roxanne takes a deep, shuddering breath to fight back the tears welling up because everything she once knew is gone forever now.

Hank reaches out to tenderly stroke her cheek. He looks worried.

"I'm sorry," she mutters. She retracts her claws back between her knuckles, trying not to think about how she could've accidentally stabbed Hank with them in the midst of her nightmare. The idea is too horrible to contemplate. "I'm sure that was a rude awakening for you."

He shakes his head and gestures with a small nod towards the bedside table. Roxanne suddenly becomes aware of the smell of bacon and toast. "I went to get you breakfast. When I came back you were crying out in your sleep."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Hank replies. "I understand. Do you want to talk about it, or-?"

She shakes her head furiously. "I think you can already guess."

He nods in understanding. "Come here," he murmurs, gathering her up into his arms. Roxanne feels herself melt into his embrace as she clings to him.

"Thank you," she whispers against his chest.

She can feel his lips on her hair. "You're welcome."

Finally Roxanne pulls herself together enough to peel herself off of him. "Did you say breakfast?" she asks, glancing over at the bedside table. Sure enough, there's a tray with enough bacon, eggs, and toast for two. "What time is it?"

"About seven-thirty in the morning."

Her cheeks warm. "Wow. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose on you all night."

It was just supposed to be an innocent, pre-dinner nap in Hank's bed, but the exhaustion had apparently taken them both. They slept through dinner, all the way until morning.

Roxanne is definitely glad yesterday is over.

Between her house burning down, the man who raised her dying, and almost losing her own life thanks to a monster (who also happened to be her former employer) and her own racist neighbors, she feels confident in saying that yesterday was, without a doubt, the longest, most horrible day of her life.

After burying Gramps the flight to Westchester in Hank's smaller Blackbird took almost four hours. Roxanne was both so physically and emotionally drained she couldn't even marvel at the beauty of Hank's hypersonic design.

And then there was the culture shock of Xavier's itself.

This whole house- or more accurately, castle- is completely different from the tiny log cabin she grew up in. It's like a museum, all ornate chandeliers, fancy rugs, and expensive paintings. All of the furniture Roxanne has glimpsed so far seems like the type that would be in your grandmother's parlor- so nice that she never lets you sit on it, and too ornamental to be comfortable anyway. As she was shown around Roxanne found herself missing the old sofa in her living room, which was so decrepit she had to patch it several times to keep the stuffing from falling out-

Stop it, she told herself firmly as she stuffed all of her remaining clothes into a laundry hamper, because the small amount that made it through the fire smelled heavily of smoke. This is home now.

She doesn't like her new room. It's larger than both her old one and Robert's combined, with a sitting area that has yet another fancy sofa she's afraid to touch and windows covered in thick curtains that give the overly cavernous room a cave-like feeling. And not in a good way. It almost felt like her mournful thoughts were echoing off the walls, getting louder and louder until she couldn't stand it anymore.

Small wonder that she sought out Hank as soon as she finished showering and put on an outfit borrowed from one of the students. She sniffed out his room easily and took comfort from the way his eyes lit up at the sight of her at his door.

"Roxanne," he said, smiling. "Please, come in."

She drifted into his room, examining the space that has been his for over fifteen years now. Hank's king-sized panel bed, side tables, and bookcases are all antique mahogany, to match the wooden paneling of the otherwise cream-colored walls. Instead of an ornate sofa in his sitting area there's a much more comfortable-looking overstuffed love seat. The upholstery is wine red, to match his comforter. His bookcases- so numerous that the walls are barely visible- are full of books.

It probably didn't surprise him when Roxanne immediately made a beeline for the bookcases. A quick perusal showed her that Hank has all the books she had and then some- his own private library.

"I'm impressed," she announced, smiling over her shoulder.

"Thanks."

She sat on his bed, which was probably very presumptuous but she was just too tired to care. "I like it in here," she told him honestly. "It's very comfy. Not too big, not too small."

The space also reverberates with his comforting presence, almost like a big hug, but she kept that to herself.

Hank hesitantly came over to join her, sitting close enough that their knees touched. "I'm glad you like it."

"I have to ask, though- black out curtains?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Sometimes when I'm in the middle of an experiment my sleep schedule can get a little... erratic," he explained.

She chuckled at that. "I guess that's why you've been able to operate so well on so little sleep," she murmured, thinking about the way he piloted the jet here after everything that happened within the past twenty-four hours. She gestured to his curtains. "We use them during the summer, when the sun pretty much never goes down."

"That's hard to imagine," he mused, and she knew he was thinking of the almost perpetual night he experienced while in Alaska.

"I know," she said. She wondered if she'll ever see the woods of her childhood again, or the sky that never fully darkened in the summer or watch the Northern Lights as they danced among the stars. She took a deep breath, trying to loosen the sudden knot in her chest.

Hank took her hands in his. "I know it's a lot to take in, Roxanne, but just give yourself time. I know you felt like you had no other choice than to come here, but I hope you'll be happy-"

She frowned. "'No other choice?' You think I only came here because I thought I had to?"

He nodded slowly.

Roxanne shook her head. "I wanted to come here, Hank," she explained truthfully. "To teach, to be with other mutants. To be with you-"

He smiled, though his cheeks were turning adorably pink.

"It's just... like you said, it's a lot to take in."

"I know," Hank agreed. He squeezed her hands gently. "But- you know I'm here for you, right?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Just tell me what you need, Roxanne."

"Honestly?" she asked, and she could feel the heat rising in her face. "I'd like it if you just held me for a while."

"I'd be more than happy to oblige you," he replied. He made no effort to hide his enthusiasm for the suggestion.

When Roxanne kicked off her shoes he did the same, following her lead as they lay down in his bed. Hank laid down on his back with the feral girl tucked against his side, her head on his chest and her hand over his heart.

They intended to lay there for only a little while, but exhaustion and the comfortable position got the better of them both. The pair slept from dusk all the way until dawn- a peaceful, hopeful end to what had otherwise been a horrific day.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Roxanne," Hank says now. He gestures towards the plate again. "Are you hungry?"

"A little, thank you," Roxanne replies. She can almost hear what Gramps would say to this- Breakfast in bed? Sure sounds like a keeper to me. The thought makes her grief hit her like a ton of bricks and her appetite vanish completely.

Hank sets up the tray between them on the bed so they can dine together in companionable silence, though Roxanne would be lying if she said she wasn't eating just to be polite now.

After a few minutes she asks, "so what's the plan for today?"

"That depends. Moira mentioned taking you shopping to replace your wardrobe, since most of your things were destroyed," Hank explains. "And then Charles mentioned running a few tests for you and Logan, to see if you're related."

Oh, right. Logan.

Meeting the man who could possibly be her biological father in the midst of yesterday's tragedy and horror was honestly the least impactful part of the day for Roxanne. For one thing, she's spent her entire life thinking her birth parents abandoned her for being a mutant, and her desire to ever meet them has therefore been minimal. And more importantly, after everything else that happened yesterday she simply didn't have the emotional bandwidth to spare for the crusty feral man.

But still- with the choice between interacting with a mystery family member and shopping for clothes, her choice is pretty clear.

"Let's start with the genetics tests, then."