Blix: Yeah, that's the whole point really. She's got on really well with Logan when he drove her to New York and stuff and now he's just revealed he's her father. She'll probably feel rather betrayed about it.

Sych: Hehe, I love it when I can stretch my ability to describe. Sometimes it's so limited, but come, a Christmas snowfall in Manhattan? PERRFICK! I too liked the fact that Madeline was all happy for Christmas, though Logan probably did enjoy Christmas at one point. I feel the only reason he probably doesn't is because he had no one he wants to really share it with. I mean, 15 years all alone? It's enough to turn anyone into Scrooge.

Calandra: Yup, it wasn't supposed to happen, not in Logan's eyes. Well, there's no secret to her shock really, like I said to Blix, Logan was really nice to her, then the next minute HE'S the guy that abandoned her mother and her. HE'S the guy that left without a trace.

Kimenomi: Uh oh. What are you confused about?

Chapter 13

There was nothing that could describe the thorough shock Logan felt right now. Surely she was supposed to be happy she had found the man she was looking for? But the unhappy coldness stung at her heart horribly, as did the freezing winds that circled him, slapping drifts of snow into his face cruelly, in mocking. He slowly turned away from the gates Madeline had exited, meaning to go up the steps and into the mansion. But as his boot crunched down upon the snow, something crinkled oddly. He looked down, and saw the photo trapped under the toe of his boot.

Even so slowly, Logan crouched down softly. His hand lifted the photo from its entrapment and brought it closer to his face. Their smiles were water stained by the snowflakes, features magnified and glossy from the bubbles of water that ran down the surface. But it was not just the snowflakes, but also the falling of distraught tears that softly dropped from watering eyelids and splashing down upon the photo.

The photo that had such importance, it revealed so much to Logan. It proved that once he had been happy, that once Roxanne had been happy, and that once, Madeline had a secure and loving family.

But that family, the family that smiled blissfully up from the photo, unaware of the trauma that would begin in a few months time, looked just like any other family. And that was what hurt Logan the most, because once, his life had been as normal as any others, mutant or not.

With a saddened sigh rattling his chest, he closed his fingers around the photo, holding it tightly as if he held too limply it would fade away. The photo was stone cold; it was numb to his fingers. It felt so inhuman and fake, there was no more love coming from that picture, he felt as if it had been drained dry by his desperation, and ruined by her refusal to accept him. His face held a constant grimace, eyes closing and his head shaking slowly to himself. Why did she have to run? Who ran away from things that they didn't like?

I do.. I run away.. I've never stuck around to solve my problems. I just run.

Logan growled softly to himself and he held his head gently as if he were in pain, "Well the only runnin' I'm doing now is to her, to make her see the truth." His determined words floated gently from his lips, being silent to the surrounding blizzard, but he heard it, he felt it. And he would correct his life, starting with Madeline.

Her hand sat nervously around the door handle to the classroom. This was to be her first lesson, her 'taster' lesson. After this day the holidays would be in for the students, the Professor though it would be good for her to get practise and then relax for two weeks to sort out lesson planning. Personally she thought it was a terrible plan. These kids would make mincemeat out of her, too festive and full of Christmas cheer. She blew a sigh through her round rouged lips before twisting the handle and opening the door.

"Siren's here," she heard one of the students whispered as the door creaked softly open, but even its quiet sound brought silence upon the class of students. She made another exhale, softer this time, before taking long and careful strides into the room, noises striking as her heels collided with the wood. The morning sunlight washed softly in long strips of gold lighting across the wooden floor of the classroom. The glow was hazy, misted by the winter aura. But it brought the room alive in a sandy vapour that made everything twinkle expensively, every dust particle of the air. Still her slow strides continued, that same balance of femininity that made every limb movement fluid and graceful. From the rise and fall of her shoulders, to the sultry mesmerising sway of her hips.

The continuous chime of echoing footfalls silenced when she stopped by her desk, lowering her papers down, the needed necessities. The air around her was tense in silence. She raised her head carefully, having not yet looked to the class of mutants. Slowly she did, eyes shifting cautiously upon them, surveying them like she would size up an enemy before attacking, where were the strong points that would be tough to handle, where were the weak spots that could crumble?

Another breath in for confidence, then an exhale for fear. It was a no win situation. She suddenly found the need to brush herself down, clammy hands smoothening the front of her powder blue shirt. It's square neck drifted neatly above her bosom, the hollow of her neck exposed as her softly tousled hair of blonde had drifted off her shoulders and down her back. Also, a short black skirt clothed her hips. It hung at a satisfactory level at her knees, legs bare, but slim black shoes slipped daintily on feet to complete the look.

All of the class were looking at her, waiting. Each one expectant. Some were getting frustrated and were beginning to turn and talk to their neighbours, some looked sympathetic, and some didn't seem to care either way. But before the noise level could exceed an unsuitable level, she quickly clapped her hands together once. This sudden and sharp sound struck loudly through the classroom like a whip upon leather, and all heads spun back to her at once.

"Good morning!" she called politely through the room.

The class seemed to shuffle uncomfortably, only a few murmurs of 'yeah..' and 'hello..' drifted weakly through the air.

Siren smiled gently, placing her hands on her hips, "Now, that's not a good start, is it?" she asked softly, "Come on now."

At last a rather muddled response echoed to her, "Good morning."

"Good, good," said Siren, nodding her head gently, "Right.. I'll er.. We have to take a register, don't we?" She nodded some more, stepping back and looking down at the desk where someone had helpfully left it ready for her. She pulled back her chair to the desk, it scraped loudly before creaking as her weight lowered into it, "D'accord.." she whispered to herself, lifting the leather front, "Just answer to your names when I call them."

"But, miss?"

Siren's head rose slowly to stare at a girl on the front row, "Yeah?" she answered somewhat too casually.

"What do we call you?" the girl replied with a shrug.

Siren raised a brow, "Call me Siren, what else?"

"Well, Miss. Munroe is called Storm isn't she? But she wants to be called Miss. Munroe instead."

"Oh." Said Siren quietly, "I do not mind what you call me, whatever you prefer. But inside lesson, Mademoiselle is adequate." Her eyes glanced around the room, there appeared to be no objections, "OK! Register!" she said, lifting open the front and staring down at the grid. But there was a little yellow note stuck to her register page and she blinked nervously a moment before reading it.

Adrienne,

Professor Xavier wished for someone to mentor your first French lesson. I am up for the challenge! Don't worry about it! I'll make sure they go easy on you! Expect me at your door at 10.30.

Scott Summers.

Siren took a moment to smile wistfully at his name, reading carefully over his surname, "Summers.." she repeated aloud, raising her eyes steadily to see the class looking somewhat perplexed. "Er.." was the only sound she managed to says before she heard the door knock with an important sounding rap. "Oh.." she murmured helplessly, "Come.. in?"

The door slowly swung open and there was Scott Summers. Her hero. She wouldn't have to face the lesson alone! She grinned widely to him, tempted to jump out of the chair and run over with hugs and thanks. But that probably wouldn't look very professional. They were work colleagues now..

"Hello.. Mr. Summers.." she said awkwardly with a twitch of a cringe to her face, feeling rather foolish at addressing him so. But the class had swivelled their eyes open the new entry, and looked undisturbed by Siren's greeting form.

Scott smiled to Siren, bowing his head gently in a nod, "Good morning Miss. Le'Beau. Have you yet taken the register?"

"Er.." Siren said softly, "Not yet." She frowned a little, his formality felt all too alien to herself. But she scolded herself inside. What did she expect, him to swan in with open arms? Scott was doing his job correctly; he knew how to act around students and staff.

To her response Scott just nodded, "Alright, take the register. I'll just sit at the back of the room and monitor you. Pick up on anything. If you need me, just say." He smiled widely before turning on his heel and walking down the centre of the classroom, down through the tables. The students watched him carefully. None of them were stupid enough to question Siren's authority now he was here.

Siren stared across the room, at how they all seemed to stiffen and tidy their slouches when he arrived. That was respect. Something she'd never get. She shook her head gently; she was putting herself down before she could even begin, "Alright!" she cried, students' eyes snapping back upon her, "Billy Adams."

"Yes, Mademoiselle."

"Cassandra Argon."

"Yes, Mademoiselle."

Scott sat on a chair at the very end of the classroom. He was beyond the last row of students, just so he could keep an eye on those few troublemakers. He had quickly put himself up for the role of helping Siren, he felt more suitable for the task. He remained politely quiet, watching Siren take the register. She had now stood to her feet, walking slowly to the centre of the room.

"Well, you all know who I am.." she said softly, her French accent sounding more stressed. Nerves probably. "I'm here to introduce a new subject to the school which Cha – Professor Xavier has wisely thought up." She scanned her class slowly before adding, "French." She glowed with pride for a moment as she saw some faces brighten with an enthusiastic expression.

Scott sat with a small smile on his face, listening to her words with such an enraptured expression. Since her introduction she had moved on to establishing the class with basic greetings and farewells in French. The class repeated them together with her, each one administering it fluently. Scott could see how pleased she was, her eyes sparkled enchantedly, her smile exceedingly proud.

But the repeats of words silenced as Siren issued them books to copy from. Scott peered to one of the student's books to see them writing each phrase learnt and a definition from the book. He'd missed what she told them to do, he was staring at her the whole time, but her lips seemed to move silently as his eyes locked on hers. But now, since the room was silent and working, he saw Siren walking down the middle of the aisles and towards him. Scott coughed quietly, smiling to her encouragingly. However, Siren's and his attention was caught when a sharp noise rattled upon the floor behind her.

Siren spun around to see a pencil rolling gently to a halt behind her on the floor. Must have slipped off someone's desk. It had, she saw the girl beside her now moving, readying to shift and pick it. However to save disrupting the class with noisy movement, Siren rested her hand gently on the students arm and shook her head, "Non, I'll get it."

Scott craned his head gently to try and see what the problem was, but the next thing he knew, Siren had turned away from him and lowered to the floor. His smiling face seemed to go limp and his eyes widened a little. She was only a few feet in front of him, doubled over. He made a nervous cough, but sounded more like a gag and he quickly stared at the blackboard at the opposite side of the room. His eyes accidentally moved back, and he found himself blatantly staring at her positioning. The skirt had never looked nicer. God.. He felt his face going hot. Oh damn. What was his problem, why was he like some stupid schoolboy?

It's not your fault.. said a voice soothingly in his head. She's just so damn..

Scott shook his head gently, quickly trying to get those thoughts out of his head. He chanced a sneaky glance back towards Siren. She had straightened now, placing the pencil back upon the desk for the student who smiled and thanked Siren.

Scott nervously coughed again, straining to keep his eyes anywhere other than on her rear. He was being such a fool now. He could control himself. He could.

"So, did I do alright?" came a soft voice in his ear. Scott jerked gently at feeling the warm breath upon his earlobe. He turned to see Siren sat beside him, waiting for his response.

The air was silent for a moment, before Scott simply said breathlessly, "You were amazing."

Siren remained still, frowning, "That's a bit exaggerated isn't it?"

"Uh.." Scott murmured, looking around. Ok, now he had to get himself out of this little hole.

The others were all in lessons that morning. There was no one to talk to. He brooded alone. He was always alone. Why did he never have anyone? With a sigh Logan lowered his head to his hands, refraining from anymore aimless staring out of the window. He had been sat there, in the recreational room, for a good few hours trying to think up of a good way to persuade Madeline that he wasn't some selfish lout and that he did care about her. But this was something he'd never had to think about before, before he was selfish and he was, unfortunately, a lout. He could admit it. He knew what he was. But surely, what he felt for Madeline now, the way he worried was something he never did in those past fifteen years of loneliness. He yearned for it, oh God yes, he yearned for that source of love and belonging so badly. But never did he feel it would come true.

And that was another thing. He would have to tell her just why Roxanne wasn't answering her emails, or her letters, or any other form of commutation Madeline had tried. He wasn't looking forward to that, not at all.

Logan tightened his hands around his face, issuing a depressed moan and a weary sigh. His hands covering his eyes closely, blocking outthe wintry sunlight.

How on earth do you tell a seventeen-year-old girl that her loving mother died in the arms of her unknown selfish lout of a father?

Thank you for reading this chapter. I'd love it if you reviewed for me!