The trees rustled overhead, their branches hanging over the dead, sprawling out as if reaching for them, the life once within them. Though the leaves provided shelter from the rain, they also blocked out the sun's light—a contradiction she pondered while staring up at them. Her eyes were unfocused, thoughts traveling too far to be stopped. But how could they not? She'd had nothing but time to think, reflect, chew and swallow the bitter pills that tainted her tongue.

She couldn't help but notice the resemblance of the vibrant oak before her and the gnarled remains of a tree that continued to haunt her. It was persistent, lingering at the corner of her mind, the memories attached to that image too hard to digest. So much had been revealed yet so little made sense. Even standing in front of her mother's final resting place, her chest was full of unanswered questions—and none of them could be answered by her.

EDITH BARTON
Beloved Mother

A hollow snap echoed out into the gray of the afternoon, a boot stomping through a twig, and it was just loud enough to startle Cassandra from her thoughts. As she turned her head to look, Logan was walking toward her. His hands were stuffed deep into his leather pockets, head hung even as he looked at her, and his features were colored a certain shade of melancholy.

"Hey, kid," he greeted her with a vaguely sore tone. "Been a while."

He was right, she knew. It had been four months since she fled Xavier's school in the middle of the night, a year since the New York invasion—and all that time felt like a spontaneous blip. There were moments of stress and sadness she could pinpoint, using them as a map to travel back through those days to remember the rest. But it had been far too long since she'd last seen Logan.

Cassandra's chest ached, though she wasn't sure which parent had caused it. "Yeah...I've been preoccupied. Keeping myself busy. It helps me not go completely insane," she replied. She was lighthearted, but apologetic.

"Why now? Why...here?"

He tipped his head in a gesture toward the gravestone, and Cassandra shuddered a sigh. "I don't know if you remember...the day of the accident, when she- passed- did you...did you know I was with her?"

Logan stiffened, brows furrowing as he attempted to sift through the blotchy memories of that event. Cassandra had never been something he remembered from that day, the traumatic experience of losing his lover at the hands of his own brother. Without interference, it was something that sticks with you, haunting you until the very end. Yet, still, he had no recollection of his daughter being present.

He shook his head as confusion settled into his features. "No," he answered her, after a moment. "You weren't in the car."

"I remembered it when I saw this."

She reached a hand into her coat pocket and removed it, unearthing the stuffed toad from the box of things her mother assigned to her. The movement pulled his gaze to it and, once he saw it, his head tilted. Logan had seen that stuffed animal. It tugged at something deep within his chest. "I got that for you, for your third birthday," he spoke quietly, fondness and pain swirling equally in his eyes.

Cassandra's shoulders slumped, something unreadable washing the skin of her face pale. "You got me this? I- I took this thing everywhere—it was my favorite."

"An old buddy of mine worked at a carnival. I knew your birthday was comin' up...thought you'd like it. Edith was worried you'd be scared of the eyes. Everythin' terrified you back then. What do you mean you were with her?"

"She was on her way to pick up the boys from school—I was sick, so I stayed home. She took me with her. I didn't see why we crashed...it's all still jumbled...but my head hit the window," her hand absentmindedly floated upward, fingers brushing the skin at the right side of her forehead. "Next thing I knew, I was several yards down the road, in the grass."

Logan's brows were furrowed, creased with concern the longer she spoke. He gave a shake of his head. "I don't remember…."

Cassandra reached into the pocket of her coat once more, this time unearthing a folded square of paper. She stuffed away the toy to free up both hands before unfolding it as best she could, revealing two white papers, and held them out to Logan. "I got a copy of the reports made. The hospital said a dark-haired man brought me in and told the nurses about the crash," she explained.

He took the printer-copy reports from her hand, but Logan was hesitant to read them. Sometimes, remembering his past was a jarring experience. Now, most days, remembering was like a resurfaced thought he'd lost after entering a room for a task. But there remained a few memories that felt like a punch to the gut. Like the memory itself was a solid that hit him at full force, pushing itself through him with no remorse. Though, even reluctant, he allowed his eyes to skim over the words.

The first report was from the hospital. It described her injuries and the treatment given. The second report was from the police, detailing five-year-old Cassandra's version of events. They'd wanted to make sure it wasn't a case of abuse—or that the crash wasn't intentional. Considering Cassandra was the only one alive to answer any questions, they were forced to ask her them and subject her to even more stress.

It was ruled an accident, the crash, and the children were taken into custody by child services. However, neither report mentioned an identity of just who brought Cassandra in—and the police report stated he was never found. The man dropped her off, into the care of the hospital staff, and disappeared. "I've been having night terrors since I was a kid," Cassandra's voice tugged his eyes away from the reports, up to her face. "I could never figure out why an old tree and some blood would scare me so much...but that tree's where I was, after the crash."

"You have no idea how you got there?" he questioned, rhetorically.

She shook her head, shrugging up one shoulder. "My guess? I teleported. A lot of mutant powers come through really early during traumatic events, so...it makes sense."

"If that's true, I don't think you were sick," Logan said. "You probably had too much energy stored up, didn't know what to do with it. Edith woulda recognized it and kept you home."

Cassandra's eyes shift right, darting over the empty graveyard before settling her gaze on the grass. Her mind was racing, a vibrant combination of questions and theories and realizations, strobing in and out of the forefront of thought in red neon too bright to focus on. "You said you talked to her while she was still alive. What did she say, exactly?" she swallowed thickly, eyes remaining downcast.

"She kept sayin' not to worry about her, that you needed me more. Asked me to promise to protect you and the boys. There wasn't time for anythin' else."

His shoulders shrugged subtly as he recalled that horrific moment—the seconds before a part of him shattered. And although he'd spent so long trying to put those pieces together, there was always something missing. Moments came and went, fleeting glimpses of who he used to be, the life he used to have, and they left an achingly bittersweet taste on his tongue.

On one hand, if he hadn't gone through all the traumatic things he'd suffered throughout his life, he might not have ended up here. Who's to say he and Cassandra would be close if he'd helped raise her? Who was to say that he would've even had her, or met Edith? There were so many little differences that could've erased them both. On the other hand, if those things hadn't happened, he just might feel whole. He might not feel pain every waking moment of his life and be plagued with gruesome nightmares.

It was easiest to simply avoid the comparisons, the 'what if's and the 'might haves' and the 'maybe's. To keep them out of his mind and, therefore, out of his chest cavity. Cassandra exhaled a shaky breath, giving a small nod. "Sorry to bring all this up," she apologized, guilty-colored eyes finally flitting back up to meet his. "I just never remembered that day—at least, not like that. Now there's so many more questions."

Logan's lips quirked up, a knowing look to his features. "I know how you feel, kid."

Cassandra's expression mimicked his, but her eyes were glossed with a shade of sympathy—the knowledge that he experienced this kind of revelation far worse than she did creating a dull ache in her ribs. The leaves continued to rustle above them, the breeze picking up ever so slightly. It was a reminder, with its loud crinkling and clattering in the wind, that reality had not yet ceased. Life was still ever present, continuously moving, and never-ending.

But it was also the sound of the apple trees as she sat in the grass behind the house, their leaves dancing and swaying as her mother reached up to retrieve the ripe fruit hanging from their branches. She would gather what she needed and help Cassandra toddle inside, setting her up on the kitchen floor with toys while she peeled the apples, preparing them for pie, sauce, and butter. Sometimes, when she had a large enough harvest, she made cider and shared it with the somewhat-nearby neighbors.

She could remember them all—her parents and her brothers—acting unsuspicious at the neighborhood gatherings, the barbecues and yard parties thrown for everyone within five miles. Given that the area was full of farms, that didn't include too many homeowners in such a short distance. But her family was always presented as wholesome and sickeningly innocent, and the neighbors bought it like the peaches at the Sunday market.

"I should get going. I've got a meeting with a lawyer this afternoon," Cassandra blinked herself from her thoughts, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

"Lawyers are gettin' involved now?" Logan raised a brow.

But she shook her head. "It's just for advice. I wanna see if he's worth as much as Clint says he is before I do anything drastic."

"Barney still looking into the leak?"

"Yeah. The task force is investigating the claims, mostly just because kidnapping, dissecting, and killing mutants is against federal law," Cassandra grinned bitterly through her sarcasm. "They probably won't do much about the sentinels, but now the public knows. So, there's that."

Logan briefly tilted his head in a gesture, an eyebrow rising simultaneously. He assumed there would be no real consequence or action to be taken for the crimes committed. After all, on this scale, it would take transparency and a lust for justice spawning from the top of the food chain—the White House. Though, it was easy to assume that. There was no instinctive hope in the idea of Cassandra releasing what she knew to the public.

The news and source information was spreading around social media, weaving its way into every corner of the internet, and it had begun to spark a debate between multiple opposing groups. Democrats and republicans. Mutant advocates and exclusionists. Pro and anti government. The revealed reality was being attacked from all sides. Less than a week after the initial story broke, the Eddie Brock Report was cancelled. A vague statement was given—simply announcing the network was no longer working with him.

However, it was obvious what had done it. At least, to Cassandra. Guilt-stricken, she called Eddie to apologize, to ask just what the next step would be for him and if she could somehow help. It went to voicemail. That was almost two months ago. Since then, the incident at Alkali Lake and what Stryker was doing there had become public knowledge, the information released by the FBI and it's Mutant Task Force. Namely, an Agent Charles Barton.

A smear campaign began in the press. Tony Stark, as expected, denied any and all involvement in the sentinel program despite the mounting evidence. His publicist suggested that reporters instead be more concerned with his accuser's past. Wasn't Cassandra Barton charged with murder and domestic terrorism? Why would anyone listen to the word of a known terrorist over a philanthropist, humanitarian such as Tony Stark? Had anyone truly verified her sources?

They were overly expected questions, and Cassandra was all too familiar with a sour color attached to her name in the public eye. But her brothers insisted she get a lawyer and, potentially, sue Tony Stark and his publicist for slander and defamation. After all, weren't her crimes pardoned by the president of the United States five years ago? She'd done nothing but help the public since. There was no reason to genuinely assume the worst of her—unless, of course, you held prejudice against mutants already. Then, it was perfect.

After an inhale, Logan jutted his chin toward Cassandra. "Blonde again, huh?"

"Two bleach treatments and four hours later. It's still not quite right, but close enough. I'll cut it as it grows out anyway," she nodded with a brief shrug. Then, she paused as her features flattened seriously. "Thank you for coming. I didn't know if you would—with the way I left."

"I'll always come for you, kid."

He'd said it so matter-of-factly, as though it were as simple to say as taking a breath, but genuine to the core in a way that tightened her chest to hear—and his eyes attempted to convey the love he could never truly express aloud. Cassandra took steps forward before wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders, a lump in her throat almost too thick to swallow. Logan didn't hesitate to reciprocate, his thick arms engulfing her small frame and held tightly.

It was true, without question, that he would go to her when she called. Whether that be in a graveyard in Waverly, Iowa, or a makeshift lab within a home in London, England. After all, she seemed to be spending most of her time in those places as of late. But the promise he'd made to her mother held no weight—he'd known Cassandra too long, too well since his amnesia took over to not feel some kind of attachment to the girl. He'd wanted to protect her since they met.

Though their relationship was not without its hiccups and sharp downs, it was always stronger on the other side of them, and it was a choice. They'd chosen to continue caring, to invest, to be involved. And that was a much more potent poison. It kept them coming back, kept them caring, as though it were possible for an antidote to be a person. Maybe it was? Maybe that was why Cassandra held on a little tighter before letting go?

Whenever she pulled away from him, there was an emptiness that took its time in filling up again, that space reserved for only a few special people. "I'll try to be better at returning calls," she said, stepping back from him to once again shove her hands deep into her coat pockets. "Just keep leaving messages, okay?"

"Didn't plan on stoppin' anytime soon."

Logan gave a nod with a small, closed-mouthed smile and Cassandra involuntarily returned it, an absentminded reaction to the warmth beneath her skin. She didn't want to say goodbye. Leaving was never quite as hard as saying those words, something she'd held a small phobia of since she was a child. So, instead, she simply nodded back before disappearing within windblown wisps of lavender and electricity. It was less formal that way. Less permanent.

To be in New York City once again was a whirlwind of contradicting emotions. Cassandra loved the city wholeheartedly—she'd found so much of herself within it. But she couldn't help a heavy shove of guilt to her back at the sight of the construction still taking place. The city was still in recovery after what the Chitauri had done. After what someone made Loki do.

She found her way into what she could only assume was the right building, based on the address she'd been given over the phone. Not a week prior, Cassandra called a number Clint supplied and she got a woman on the phone. Cassandra scheduled an appointment for a legal consultation but, from the sound of it, the law firm wasn't exactly booked up. They were a fairly new firm—moved into this very building not more than a handful of months ago at most.

It was hard for her to see just what Clint saw in the lawyer he claimed was just as good as any Tony Stark had on retainer. And the sight of a handwritten sign taped to the office door didn't instill much confidence. Still, she rapped her knuckles on the wood beside the glass before twisting the knob, pushing the door in as she eased her way inside. The room it revealed was small and quite bare. A lone table and chair sat at the back of the room with a blonde woman sitting in the seat.

She perked up when Cassandra entered the office and was on her feet in an instant. "Oh, hi! You must be Cassandra?" the woman greeted her with a wide, polite smile as she approached.

Cassandra nodded. "That's me. And you must be Karen? We spoke on the phone?"

"Yes, I am," as Karen confirmed her identity, a man stepped out of an adjoining room to the left. He wore a suit and tie, along with a jovial smile, and Karen was quick to introduce him. "This is Franklin Nelson. Foggy, this is Cassandra, our consult."

The man—Foggy, as Karen had called him—stepped forward to hold out a hand and Cassandra was quick to pull one of hers free to shake it. "Hi there, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm the Nelson of Nelson and Murdock, but please just call me Foggy," he told her.

"Nice to meet you. Cass, is fine. So, you guys are new to the area?" Cassandra asked, as she retracted her hand, in an attempt at conversation.

"The firm is fairly new—but that only means we're able to dedicate all our resources to new clients," Foggy bobbed his head in a nod with an ear-to-ear smile, and it was clear just what was happening. He was trying desperately to distract from the lacking image of the law firm. They were hurting for business, she assumed.

"We grew up in the city," a second male voice sent a jolt through her, however her only outward reaction was a somewhat quick turn of her head. Her eyes landed on another man in a suit and tie, this one exiting a room to the right, with red-tinted sunglasses and a walking stick in hand. "We're trying to get our firm up and running, but we've been practicing law for a while now, if that helps ease your mind."

His smile was softer, warmth radiating subtly from the polite but genuine expression as he came to stand near Karen. "You're the Murdock of this equation? My brother recommended you, actually," Cassandra admitted.

The man's eyebrows rose slightly as his head briefly tipped in a gesture. "Really? Was he a client?"

"No, um- I'm not sure if you know him. Clint Barton?"

"You're Clint's sister?" he questioned her rhetorically, eyebrows now permanently raised in a bout of surprise. Cassandra was unsure if his reaction was positively or negatively inspired, but she nodded, and he continued, "I wasn't aware he had siblings. I'm Matt, by the way. It's great to meet you."

He removed a hand from his cane to hold it out to her and she clasped it with hers before giving it a shake. "Likewise. I'm Cass," she replied.

She could tell, however vaguely, that everyone in the room was aware of who she was. What her case might be. Maybe that was why they were so quick to shower her in politeness? Maybe they weren't desperate for a case—they were desperate for a high-profile case that would bring them as much exposure as hers? There was blood in the water, and the sharks present were acutely aware.

How could they not know? And with none out of the three saying so much as a word about it? The combination of it all was a dead giveaway. As she retracted her hand, Matt stepped back and instead gestured toward the room he'd exited. "Why don't we take a seat and get started?"

"Sounds good," Cassandra agreed, and started into the even smaller room.

There was another table inside, the space acting as a kind of conference room. She lowered herself in the chair closest the door. Matt and Foggy took seats in the chairs to her right, with Karen nabbing a pen and pad of paper before sitting at Cassandra's left. "Why don't we start at the beginning?" Matt spoke first. "What brings you in?"

Isn't it obvious? she thought. But she didn't speak. Her hand moved silently into the fold of her coat, fingers grasping at the folder inside, before tugging it free from the inside pocket. "Everyone's seen the news. But this is the original evidence," she said, as she placed the file on the table and nudged it toward the lawyers. "There's a mutant I know, a shapeshifter. She gathered this information and it was given to me. As you'll see in the file, the government has been testing on and dissecting mutants like high school lab projects to improve their new sentinels—and they contracted Stark Industries to build them."

Foggy had eagerly opened the file folder as she'd begun to speak, but now his face had soured, eyes subjected to the autopsy photos of multiple mutants inside. "Dear god," he mumbled quietly, sifting through them. Karen wrinkled her nose from across the table, attempting to avert her eyes.

"And Stark is suing you for defamation?" Matt asked.

Cassandra answered, "He's gearing up for it, yeah. That, and I punched him in the face. He came to the only mutant school in the country and offered to pay us to be guinea pigs so we could better his weapons, the ones being designed to kill us. So, I hit him."

"Were there any witnesses to this?"

"Yes. But they'll all testify it was self-defense."

"And these are all original photos and documents?" Foggy asked Cassandra for confirmation as he finally removed his eyes from the imagery, his features still tainted as though he'd eaten something bitter.

She nodded. "Straight from a government facility. There's proof Stark is connected with the project in there, as well."

"Well, if it comes to a defamation lawsuit, it'll be thrown out of court. As for the assault, there's no proof that it happened. If you have witnesses that will testify on your behalf, anyway, it's not likely to succeed," Matt explained, confidently. "However, the way you acquired this information may be what causes trouble."

Foggy added quickly, "You might be forced to name whoever got these, and they could easily be prosecuted. I'm assuming, since they're a shapeshifter, they impersonated government officials? Not to mention theft, breaking and entering, trespassing, I'm pretty sure this qualifies as treason- was anyone harmed getting these? It all adds up, and the government doesn't play around."

"I'm not naming names," Cassandra shook her head, sitting back in her seat as she absentmindedly began to wring her hands in her lap.

"If you had prior knowledge that this person was doing these things, you will be charged with obstruction," Foggy told her. "They may not go down, but you will." It was a gentle kind of prompt to change her mind. A small warning. But she only continued to shake her head, thumb nail digging into the scar on her palm.

"Then I'll go down, I guess. We haven't always been on the same side of things, but I owe them a lot—besides, they've escaped several government facilities already. Arresting them would do nothing," she stated. Foggy's eyes shifted to Karen's and they shared a moment's look across the table, but Matt remained silent, his glasses obscuring any view of where his eyes landed. It was a difficult situation to navigate.

They had in fact done their research before meeting with her, and they knew all that had been thrown around in the press about her questionable actions of the past and how they reflected poorly on modern day. But, despite them, it felt wrong not to pursue justice for her and the mutants who lost their lives so heinously. Representing her in the instance of a lawsuit could mean more than losing the case. It could mean losing their licenses. Their firm would no longer be able to exist and neither Foggy nor Matt would be able to make a living in the profession they'd spent so many years studying to have.

Even still, the information uncovered needed to see the light of day regardless of crimes committed to unearth it. A necessary evil. "It's still under investigation," Matt spoke after a brief moment of silent thought. "For now, there's no action Mr. Stark could take that could affect you. If the government pursues this, we would be honored to represent you in court."

Cassandra blinked. It was not quite the response she was expecting. After all, no one would expect a law firm this small to attempt something so daunting and full of risk. Yet there they were, nobly accepting before there was even a request made. Perhaps this was the reason Clint had suggested this lawyer in particular? "Thank you," she replied slowly, in a bout of silent shock, as she forced her shoulders to relax.

She couldn't help but notice the slight apprehension, the nervousness coloring Foggy's features as he looked at his colleague, lips pulled thin—but he was quick to wipe it away, masking it with faux confidence as he nodded once and forced a smile. "That's what we do here at Nelson and Murdock," he said. "We fight for the little guy."