Baby on Board
Author's Note: Yes, another little fic that my boyfriend and me dreamed up while my computer is gone. This one is about the harrowing tale of Logan babysitting his son while the mommy, Rogue, is out for the day…enjoy! –1LiLRoGuE
Disclaimer: The X-men belong to Marvel, inc.
Pairing: Wolverine + Rogue
Universe: 616 "regular"
"Be a good boy, sweetheart," Rogue said, smoothing back her son's hair and giving him a quick kiss on the forehead.
"Oh, I will," Logan said with a smirk. His wife rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder lightly, then picked up her purse. She was going out for the day with Ororo and Jean, and had decided somehow that this would be a perfect opportunity for Logan to spend some time 'bonding' with his son. The word made him uneasy. Who knows what might be involved---especially since the tot was in his terrible twos.
"I'll be home in time for dinner. Remember, he takes a nap from one to three, then make sure he eats. Everything's waiting in the fridge on the little flower platter." She kissed Logan on the lips, then added as an afterthought, "And Logan, sugar—no beer, for either of you, y' hear me?" She pursed her lips.
"But---" Logan said, a little grumpily. Rogue had caught him trying to introduce his son to the substance about a month ago. It had only been a little sip, but for some reason, she had gotten furious, and had whisked the tot away, then thoroughly lectured the perpetrator for the next few hours.
Seeing the look on her face, he mumbled "Fine," under his breath. Rogue ruffled his hair lightly and then took her leave, with a final "I'll be back real soon. You should have no trouble at all, but you can call my cell if you need me for anything."
Logan and the tot looked at each other in silence as the door closed.
It took Logan a few minutes to realize that the kid was no longer on the sofa beside him. Jumping up, he ran into the bedroom, alarmed by the childish giggles emanating from his closet. He looked wildly around the room before spotting the small toddler simply swimming in the jacket of his X-uniform, holding the flask of whiskey that had been concealed deep in the pocket of his belt strap.
Logan paled as the tot giggled and tossed back a swig. "Fuck, no, no, bad! BAD!" he roared, jumping at the tot and scooping him off the ground. His little son dropped the flask on the floor with a loud thump, and shrieked with babyish laughter, then pounded his hands on Logan's shoulders.
"Anna is going to kill me," Logan said in a hollow voice, shoving the flask out of sight with his toe.
"Woo-ver-een," Murphy, the tot, replied solemnly.
"That's right, kid," Logan said tiredly. For some reason, the tot refused to call him daddy, although he referred to Rogue as mommy. Logan had given up on trying to correct him, accepting the designation; however, he had quickly put an end to the boasts that little Murphy made---about even the boogieman being afraid of his Woovereen.
"Woovereen moo-tant," Murphy continued in his baby babble. Logan's heart softened and he hugged his son gently, hoping that life would be easier to the little tot than it had been for him—and for Rogue. He winced as Murphy tugged sharply on his sideburn.
"Cut that out," he said, and after making sure no one was watching, blew a raspberry into the little toddler's neck. Murphy shrieked with laughter and squirmed happily, and Logan found himself smiling. It was hard not to feel cheerful around someone as easy to please as his son; a simple tickle could make his face shine like the sun.
After squeezing a few more giggles out of the tot, Logan glanced at the clock and made for the crib, deciding it was naptime.
Logan had just opened a can of beer when he realized that he could no longer hear the steady sound of Murphy's sleeping breaths. Suspicious, he got up from the comfortable sofa once again and crept to the tot's room. His heart grew cold as he found it deserted.
"Shit," he mumbled, then tried to calm down. He reminded himself of his keen sense of smell which was practically better than that of a blood hound. For god's sakes, he could track a hare over several mile's range. Why the fuck did he always panic when the tot was involved? Logan berated himself for acting like Summers.
Taking a deep sniff, Logan started to trace the kid through the various levels of the mansion. His alarm grew as the smell entered the elevator and continued on the sub level, which contained the School's underground hangar. "Kid is too damn fast," he said to himself, entering the jet room through the door that still hung open on its hinges.
Unfortunately, Logan entered the hangar just in time to hear a babyish giggle, and see little feet disappearing into one of the X-men's fighter jets.
"NO!" he roared, rushing forwards. Murphy giggled with glee and slapped his hands on the instrument panel, simultaneously starting the jet and lifting the launch pad from underneath the basketball court. Logan just had time to hurl himself on the jet's sleek tail before it zipped off the runway and into the air.
Rogue paused as she searched through a clothing rack. She had a urge to call Logan and see how things were going; but then she shook her head, berating herself for her lack of trust. Her husband was more than capable of handling one small toddler by himself.
Meanwhile, things just got worse and worse. The jet continued to rise in elevation, Murphy continuing to giggle and pound his fists on the intricate instrument panel. The jet performed various pre-programmed tricks---loops, spins, twirls and nosedives. Logan popped a fistful of claws and jammed them into the ship's hull for leverage, the adamantium slicing through the steel like a hot knife through butter.
He struggled against the wind that sought to rip him from the sleek X-jet. He started to move towards the hatch on top, finally close enough to rip it open and with a last exhausted effort, heave himself inside.
The inside was warm and cosy compared to the exterior of the X-jet. Getting to his feet, Logan strode purposefully to the door of the cockpit and yanked it open. He headed straight for the captain's chair and extracted the giggling, rosy-cheeked toddler with a drawn-out growl.
"Bad baby," he said, tapping the little butt with his index finger. No matter how serious the crime, Logan could not bring himself to spank the tot—even though he believed in "Spare the rod, spoil the child". One look into the oversized eyes that looked so much like Anna's, and he found himself instead administering cuddles.
Logan realized that he'd better take control of the plane before they crashed. He shoved Murphy quickly in the seat and drew the over-large seat belt over the small tot's head, making sure at least the waist strap was holding him in place. Then he settled himself in the Captain's chair and studied the panel before him.
"SHIT!" Logan roared, seeing the mountain looming up not a quarter mile away. Not much time at all to react. Yanking frantically on the controls, he cursed like a sailor and tried to pull the jet out of harm's way, finally succeeding at the last moment.
"I'm going to kill that bitch for his complicated programming," Logan muttered to himself. To his horror, Murphy decided that it was time to learn a new word.
"BITCH!" he squealed, clapping his hands with delight.
"Aw, hell," Logan groaned. He knew that Murphy loved to tell all his new words to his mom, usually in front of Logan, too. And somehow he just couldn't keep the guilty expression off this face, which made Anna glare at him and start off on a whole new lecture about "raising little ones".
"No trouble at all, she says," he said to Murphy, flicking various switches to keep the jet out of turbulence. He looked at the tot and felt himself smile slightly. The kid reminded him of himself, in a way; liked to get his hands dirty, and stubborn as his namesake, the wolverine. Not to mention very energetic. "Should have known better than to accept a complete suicide mission, huh, kid?"
The buzz of the radio caught Logan's attention, and he frowned. Turning the dials, he adjusted the frequency and put the headset on.
"YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF RULE 347 SECTOR B OF NATIONAL AIRWAY BYLAWS. DESCEND NOW OR PREPARE FOR HOSTILE ACTION."
What the hell? Logan thought, scanning the air around the jet for aircraft. Then he realized. They were in one of the stealth fighters, a modified government prototype used for extreme situations by the X-men when air cover fire was needed. This jet alone packed four AIM-7F and AIM-9 sidewinder missiles, plus a nice array of artillery fire. It was easy to see why the US Air force would mistake them for a hostile enemy aircraft---
"What's wrong, Anna?" Ororo asked, putting her hands on her friend's gloved one. She smiled; it had taken her a long time to get used to calling the southern girl previously known only as Rogue by another name.
"Oh, nothing," Anna answered, eating another forkful of her chicken salad. She wrinkled her nose and sighed. "Okay, so I'm worried about Murphy and Logan. I know, I know, Logan is a grown man and is—or should be---capable of handling a small toddler. But he ain't the most diligent being for all his senses."
Jean smirked beside her, obviously remembering the previous babysitting adventures of the unusual pair of dad and toddler. In one, they'd found Logan sitting in a corner, crying and holding a soiled diaper on a pair of tongs. It had later been proven that Logan's senses had sent him into a kind of neural shock at the overload.
"Why don't you just call him then, child?" Ororo asked in response. Anna shook her head. "I want him to bond with Murphy. He hardly spends time with him, bein' so busy with the X-men and all. Rest of the time he spends in the garage or watching TV and either drinking or smoking." She sighed and took another bite.
"I'm sure they're fine," Jean added. "As you said, Logan's perfectly capable of taking care of a toddler, now that diapers aren't involved. After all, how much trouble could little Murphy get into?"
Anna nodded, not much relieved.
"Y'all are probably right," she agreed.
"Think, think," Logan said frantically. They usually had a powerful psionic aboard the craft when they took it out, to manipulate anyone that might jump to conclusions—such as this. Frowning, he pulled up the microphone.
"This is the pilot of the F117 Nighthawk," he said, pressing a button on the panel that displayed the model's statistics. It suddenly hit him that this model was something only the government would possess; and that they probably thought he had stolen the aircraft. He winced involuntarily. Damn kid.
"Er, don't suppose you would accept this as an accidental launch?" he asked hopelessly. He knew they were in a life-threatening situation right now, and while he would undoubtedly survive, the same could not be said for the little toddler giving him the wide-eyed look from the seat beside him. Cripes.
"REPEAT: DESCEND NOW OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE. YOU ARE SURROUNDED."
Murphy had grown bored by this time. His eyes flickered from Logan to an interesting looking knob before him. Giggling, he grabbed at it and pulled it towards him.
Logan nearly choked as he saw his toddler yank down on the missile deploy lever. Moments later, the missile launched towards the preset coordinates---straight behind them. He put his face in his hands and bit his palms, knowing whatever chances of a peaceful resolution had just gone down the toilet.
Or, to be more literal, the potty trainer.
The air was alive with artillery fire. They tinkled against the reinforced steel hull of the plane, denting but not penetrating. Then a missile was launched, but thanks to a quick manoeuvre on Logan's part, it missed by a hundred or so yards and exploded in the air.
"You are in so much trouble, mister," Logan roared at Murphy, guiding the jet into a pass between two mountains up ahead. Thankfully, the jets behind where larger than the sleek stealth fighter, and so were delayed in their chase.
"Da-ddy," Murphy said gleefully, and Logan's heart melted. All thoughts of disciplining the toddler disappeared at hearing the kid acknowledge their relation.
"Now, we're gonna go on home and have a quiet afternoon, hear? I am going to lock the door and sit beside your crib, staring at you. No more high jinks." Logan patted the toddler's head and began to turn the jet around. Of course, his eyes left Murphy for a moment, to plot the course the jet would need to take.
In this single moment, Murphy began to play with the other headset—which unfortunately had a microphone. His thumb played with the setting switch, turning it to "All Broadcasting frequencies".
"What the---" Logan said, noticing that Murphy was giggling mischievously. "Give that here, you little snot! Damnnit, why the fuck did I let Anna talk me into children?"
Prying the microphone out of Murphy's hands, Logan set it back in the holder, unaware of the damage that had been done.
Anna paused, shock freezing her as she heard Logan's voice blotting out the music on the radio, cursing her for 'talking him into children'. The rest of the store was laughing, but Jean and Ororo both shot her anxious glances.
"Time to go home," was all Rogue said.
Logan had just managed to land the sleek stealth fighter in the X-hangar when his sensitive ears caught the sound of Anna's Porsche pulling up the driveway. His blood pulsing at what seemed to be 500 beats a minute, he scooped Murphy out of the co-pilot's seat and made a mad dash through the mansion to his and Anna's private quarters.
He'd just put Murphy in his crib and run out of the room when the front door opened and Anna walked in, her face beat red. One look told Logan that she was seething.
"Why the hell did I hear you denouncing our family on the radio!" she hissed.
Logan closed his eyes. For the love of god, this just wasn't his day. Taking a deep breath to control the tidings of feral rage that threatened to overwhelm him, he opted instead for a simple explanation.
"That wasn't me," he lied, and kicked himself.
Anna's eyes narrowed, and she slowly stripped off a glove and held her hand out towards him. "I can suck it outta yah, you know. I don't have to take your BS like all the other women you'd rather be playing."
Logan opened his mouth to protest, but at that instant Murphy toddled into the room. Anna's face brightened and she said "How's my little man? Did daddy take good care of you, sugar? Can you tell me my name?"
Murphy giggled, stretched his arms out, and cried "BITCH!"
Logan let out the first sob in the part of his life that he could remember.
Silently, Logan collected his clothes from the closet and stuffed them into a bag. Anna had gone up and down on him for what had seemed like hours before she calmed down enough to tell him to just go---leave---that she couldn't look at his face right then.
At the door, he nodded to Anna and reached for the knob. Murphy let out a little howl, then toddled up to his leg and wrapped his arms around it. "Daddy," he sniffled. Logan looked down awkwardly and patted the toddler's head.
"I gotta go, kid," he said, gently prying the small limbs off his knees and kneeling down to look him in the eyes. "You be good and take care of your mom for me, 'kay? Try not to use that new word. She don't like it much."
Murphy looked disappointed. Then he brightened, remembering something Logan had taught him before. Giggling, he pointed at his father. "Asssss-hole," he pronounced, making the hole sound like howl. Logan smirked.
"That's right," he said approvingly. "But better not call anyone but me that." Tugging the toddlers nose gently, he then rose and opened the door to go. "Wait," he heard Anna say. She put her arms around his waist and hugged his side.
"I'm sorry. Please don't go. I was angry and I said some things I didn't mean, as I'm sure you've done." Logan lifted her chin with his fingers and kissed her softly, making no verbal reply, but meaning the same thing.
"Fuck!" Murphy said enthusiastically, and Anna's eyes shot open, but this time she smiled slightly.
"I guess he takes after you," she whispered.
The End