Disclaimer: I don't own Xmen. If I did, I would be very happy. I already am, but I'd be even happier than I am now. Do you know why I am happy? HARRY POTTER! Hehehehe... I won't say any more, I don't need to, after all it was 21st June only a couple of days ago *sighs dreamily*

Can I think of anything else to say...? Nope, can't. Ok, onwards.

This chapter is dedicated to Xiowolfe for commenting so much :D Ty! Lots of Logan and Salla in this one, hehehe.

-----o(O)o----

Logan glowered at the door for a good five minutes after Remy and Siannagh had left. He didn't trust this new mutant. He was shifty; he wore a trenchcoat and had shown neither hide nor hair of any real powers, except of course his eye colour. He seemed to be able to control them and he was fully-grown, so why was Xavier letting him stay here?

Of course, it wasn't his problem, but if that man did anything to hurt anyone, especially Siannagh or Salla, he swore he'd rip his throat out.

Salla, who was gurgling happily on her playmat, distracted his thoughts. He leaned down from his chair and picked her up.

"How about I take you to the park?" he suggested, and she giggled. He took that as a yes and dressed her in a little pink dress; it was a nice sunny day outside and he didn't want her overheating. "Come on then."

He walked there; it was only a few minutes walk to the nearest one. When he arrived, he realised with dismay that it was full of friendly looking women with big dresses or tight jeans, holding their young children over sandpits and pushing them on swings. He groaned, and turned to go back to the mansion, but Salla gurgled in a sinister fashion as he attempted to do so. A sucker to those big puppy dog eyes, he walked to the least crowded part of the park.

He placed Salla on the ground and adjusted the bandana he had placed on her to hide the little horn. The black stripes one her cheeks were still quite obvious, but he figured that if he painted the rest of her face in some way, people would just think it was part of the facepaints.

------o(O)o------

Fifteen minutes later, Logan was sat down with a little paintbrush and novelty sponge, drawing designs on Salla's face. He really, really hoped that no one he knew would pass as he finished the clown design on her little, still gaunt face. Even Logan had to admit it looked meltably adorable.

Now to keep her away from the others. Couldn't have a one-year-old child speaking full sentences in a god-knows-how-many-years-old man's voice.

She sat on the grass, peering up at him with slight bafflement.

"How about I take you to the park?" she mimicked, repeating the same words he said to her before. He couldn't help it; a smile spread slowly over his face. Once again, he glanced around nervously and to his horror he saw a young looking mother with two children in a double buggy approaching him with a smile on her extremely motherly face. He avoided eye contact in desperation.

"Hello," she said in an insanely girly voice as she sat on the floor beside him. He stared, and didn't say anything. The two children, one male one female, promptly attacked Salla with grins and giggles. Logan felt far too overpoweringly protective and had to look away, which either meant staring at the coffee shop across the other end of the park or talking to the woman. He chose the former, to the mother's annoyance. Her voice was a tiny bit sharper when she spoke again. "Is she your daughter?"

"Yes," he said to simplify things. "In a manner of speaking."

The lady looked mildly baffled at this, but said nothing. Instead she turned her attention to the three children, who were whacking each other amiably with twigs. Salla stood up wobbly on her little legs and smacked the youngest one, the boy, full on in the stomach. Logan didn't move, but the boy's mother looked scandalised and grabbed her children away from the violent little girl, who had now flopped back on the ground with a huge grin.

The woman looked as if she was expecting Logan to say something, but he was barely paying attention.

"What?" he growled when she finally grabbed his attention. He looks down at Salla, who is grinning widely. "Well, her mother's a bitch, what do you expect?"

The lady, needless to say, walked away as fast as her legs would carry her.

-------o(O)o-------

Remy had not stopped grinning since he left the mansion. Siannagh, once her bad moods were lifted, was full of giggles. Everything she said made him laugh. They sat beside each other at an old fashioned bar in an old fashioned pub, on old-fashioned stools that rubbed against his back awkwardly.

"...So I said to him," she continued. "I said 'No! Give me back my cheese!'"

Remy stared at her. She had been previously talking about the time her father attacked her in the basement, and this statement was completely unrelated. She chuckled and poked his shoulder. "Don't be so dull," she ordered him, and for the first time Remy noticed her voice was slurring slightly.

He picked up her glass, which he was sure contained orange juice or at least that's what he ordered for her, and took a sip. The sharp taste of vodka invaded his mouth and he pulled a face at the unexpected aroma of it.

"Siannagh!" he chided, smirking slightly. "Y' naughty girl...Dis is vodka!"

"I know," she chuckled. "Isn't it fun?"

"Wha' would dose Xmen say?" he asked, a grin now on his face. "Y' shoul'n' drink any more, y' drunk."

"Bugger off," said she, for Buffy had invaded her screen the night before in the form of a very Spike-based episode. "Bloody. Bugger."

Remy just looked bemused.

"They're English swearwords!" she said in the voice of one talking to a very young child, just more slurred. "Come on, like you never watched Buffy."

"Well, Remy don' t'ink so," he said, still looking mildly confused about the spinning conversation. "I migh' have watched one on dat big spiky haired man..."

"Angel?" she asked. He nodded with the slightest of shrugs. Siannagh laughed so loudly a couple of people turned to face her, and waved an accusing finger at him. "You're stuuupid. Angel is a completely different programme now! Even I knew that, and I've been locked in a basement."

"Say't loud enough?" he asked, glancing nervously around the bar. Only one man was watching them, and he was too far away to hear. "I don' watch dat much TV."

"You should."

"Pr'aps." He sighed, exasperated. "Come on, Remy's getting' y' home, chere."

"D'accord, Remy," she said in a flawless French accent. "C'était amusant. Merci beaucoup, mon ami."

Remy laughed. "Y' speak French."

"Un petit peu," she admitted. "I learnt it in a school a few years ago, not a lot though. I can, however, tell you what's in my pencil case. 'Dans ma trousse il y a un stylo, un bic, un gomme..."

"Dat'll get y' far in life," he laughed and took her arm in his as he began to lead her out of the pub. "Professor Xavier's gonna kill poor Remy," he muttered as the now singing young woman nearly stumbled down a curb. To think, it was only midday.