Mademoiselle Morte: In case you're reading this, I didn't mean for my response to be cold. I meant 'don't be expecting more updates' as in I wasn't writing anymore. The story is finished. So, please, don't be looking out for more chapters. I'm letting you know there won't be more coming. Is this explanation good enough? I'm worried you may still take it the wrong way. Just know I wasn't being mean at all.
Chapter Three
Mr. Softy
Logan sat on the steps of the back patio, squinting against the sun while he puffed on his cigar. His eyes followed the toddler as Charlie ran around the flowerbeds, laughing hysterically. Logan never understood how his son could find the simplest things so amusing. He had feared that maybe there was something not screwed right in the head, but Rogue had assured him that it was normal for children to entertain themselves with the silliest things. Logan still wasn't so sure. Charlie's behavior had to be bizarre.
Charlie was rounding a rose bush and slipped, crumbling onto the cement sidewalk. For a moment he looked stunned, then appalled before finally resorting to tears. He peered up at his father; his face wet with salty tears and his lips began trembling. Logan leapt up and rushed down the stairs and over to where his son lay on the ground crying.
Logan scooped the child up in one arm, using the other to dust off his jeans. "You all right, Charlie? Do you hurt anywhere?" Logan lifted up the pants' legs, checking for skinned knees. He sighed in relief. "You're fine. More surprised than anything, uh, kid?"
Charlie sobbed, burying his face into Logan's shoulder. Logan rubbed his back soothingly. "Shh, it's ok, Charlie. You're ok." He carried the toddler back up the sidewalk to sit on the stairs once more. He pulled out his cigar and snubbed it against the top step. Rogue didn't mind his smoking, as long as he didn't do it around Charlie's 'developing lungs'.
Logan patted Charlie's shoulder. "Hey, bud, you want some ice cream?"
Charlie rubbed at his wet eyes, nodding. "Pwease, daddy?"
Logan chuckled. "I bet you fell on purpose, bub."
He took the baby inside.
"Logan!"
Logan whirled around. "Hey, Rogue. Don't worry. He's fine. He just took a little fall. I'm getting him ice cream."
Rogue rolled her eyes. "You spoil him rotten."
Logan shrugged, grunting.
"Don't you grunt," Rogue ordered playfully. "Just say it: Yes, Rogue, I love my son to death and that is why I spoil him rotten."
Logan glowered at her, but she only giggled. "Go ahead," she said. "Let him have some ice cream, but not too much."
"Right. Not too much." Logan walked away, heading for the kitchen.
Rogue watched her two men disappear around a corner, her heart catching in her throat. God how she loved them. It saddened her that Charlie couldn't feel their touch. Whenever he came into skin-to-skin contact, he absorbed that person's pain and in the process healed them. The students had affectionately nicknamed him Tonic. Tonic meaning an agent, such as a medication, that restores body tone or well-being. Neither Rogue nor Logan was that thrilled about it, but it had stuck.
In the kitchen, Logan plopped Charlie onto the island. "Stay," he ordered.
Charlie sat perfectly still as his father got out the ice cream, a bowl, and spoon. He watched Logan put in four scoops, his eyes lighting up with delight. His mother never let him have so much. His tears forgotten, he reached out for the bowl. "Pwease, daddy! Pwease!"
Logan chuckled. "Hold on, kid. I'm gonna give it to you. Just give me a damn, er, darn minute." He put the ice cream cartoon away and then came to stand in front of his son. "Can you eat this without making a mess?"
Charlie nodded, giddy at the promise of the chocolate ice cream. "Yes! Yes!"
Logan jumped onto the counter beside him and then gathered Charlie up, setting the toddler onto his lap. "Ok, but you promised. Don't break it. Got it, kid?" Logan held the bowl in one of his hands, but gave the spoon to Charlie. "Dig in, buddy."
Charlie happily obeyed.
End Chapter Three