"It was a Miata," Logan insisted over the phone line as he jiggled the pencil in his hand, his brain searching for an eight-letter word for inconclusive endings. "No, it was not a Spider. I think I know what kind of car I drove into Lake Rutherford."

Logan set the pencil down on top of the paper and leaned back on the counter stool with an annoyed groan as his friend continued to debate the facts on the other end of the line. "Why am I even arguing with you about this?" he asked. "You weren't even there; you were busy getting kicked out of St. Sebastian's. If you want to get into an argument about what kind of yacht we sunk, maybe then you'd have a leg to stand on."

"That would be a Montrevel," Honor butted in. He heard the sound of the refrigerator opening behind him. "And it cost me 30 grand to pay off the Indonesian Coast Guard."

"Yes but think of how much you saved on all those trips to Jakarta to visit me in prison," Logan shot over his shoulder. He turned back to his puzzle. "Speaking of the South Pacific, who knows the name of the Philippine president who won the Fulbright Prize for International Understanding in 1996?"

Logan never got his answer as he was interrupted by a thud behind him. He swiveled his stool around to see his sister standing in front of the open refrigerator with a wide-eyed look of shock on her face. A carton of Tropicana sat in a puddle on the floor by her feet—a puddle of something very obviously not orange juice, judging by its clear color.

"Colin, I've got to go," he said, cutting off his friend's ramble. He disconnected the call, dropping his cell on the kitchen island.

"Is that…" Logan started, standing up and making his way over to his sister. Honor just nodded. "Okay, umm, are you having contractions?" he asked, going immediately into problem solving mode. Of course, problem solving mode usually involved some sort of fiscal crisis or PR nightmare—not one human being trying to push their way out of the inside of someone he loved. He shoved down the well of anxiety bubbling its way up his chest and tried to focus on the matter at hand as best as he could, even if he had no idea what he was doing. "We're supposed to time the contractions or something, right?"

"I don't know, I mean, I've had some cramping and back pain but…"

"Alright, then…hospital?" Logan asked, guiding Honor away from the refrigerator and closing the door.

She shook her head. "I should call my doctor."

"Good," he nodded, helping his sister into a seat at the kitchen table. "You call the doctor, I'll call Josh."

"Josh!" she said longingly. "Yes, I need Josh."

"I'll get him, don't worry," Logan assured her, handing her the cordless then going back to the counter to grab his cellphone, pulling up his contact list and making his way down to the "J"s.

The phone rang a few times before the voicemail picked up. Logan hung up without leaving a message. He pulled up the full contact info and tapped on the office number.

"Stanley, Kentworth, and Bringham," a cheerful voice answered. "This is Meredith speaking, how may I direct your call?"

"I need to speak to Josh Kentworth."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kentworth is unavailable at the moment. I can leave a message. Who should I say is calling?"

"It's Logan Huntzberger and I need to speak to him, now."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Huntzberger. But Mr. Kentworth is in a meeting. I'll let him know you called."

Logan rolled his eyes. "He may want to wrap that meeting up," he informed the receptionist. "He's about to become a daddy."

"I can't do this," Honor moaned as she settled into her hospital bed a little over an hour later. Her doctor had informed her that the cramps she'd been experiencing were in fact contractions, but they weren't regular enough yet to need to come to the hospital. She'd been advised to stay home and relax until the contractions were coming five minutes apart. Logan wasn't a woman let alone one who'd been in labor before, but he was fairly certain the idea of relaxing was laughable.

Besides, things had moved steadily from there and not a half hour later, Logan had Josh on the line informing him to turn his car around and head to the hospital instead of the house. Logan was doing his best to hold down the fort, but he really wished his brother-in-law would get there soon.

"Of course you can," Logan assured his sister. "Women way less badass than you have been giving birth for, what? Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of years? I'm not that up on my evolution facts but the point is, it's been a really long time."

"No, not having a baby, raising a baby—although now that you mention it, is it too late to ask for a c-section? Like—now?"

"Okay, first of all, you have a birth plan and you're sticking to it. Second of all, you can absolutely do this. You're going to be a great Mom."

"How can I be? This world is a mess, Logan. You just need to take one look at our family history to see that. What was I thinking bringing a kid into it?"

Logan sat down in the chair next to the bed and grabbed her hand. "You were thinking that, yeah, this world is messy, and complicated, and harsh, but it's also full of promise. Things can get better. You can help make them better. And you can start by raising a kind, kick ass kid."

Honor squeezed his hand back. "I'm so proud of you, you know that—right?" she replied.

Logan gave her a sanguine smile. "See," he said. "That's how I know you can do this."

"Okay, time to check your cervix," the doctor said as she walked into the room.

Logan's eyes went wide with horror. "But you're going to have to do this part yourself," he informed his sister with a grimace.

"Oh yeah, you are so not staying here for this," she agreed.

Logan made his way out of the private birthing room and into the waiting room just in time to see Josh hurrying down the hallway. "Where is she?" he asked in a panic fit for a man about to have his first child. "Is she okay? Am I too late?"

"You're fine," Logan assured his brother-in-law, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She's right over there…room 204. The doctor was just checking to see how far along she is."

Josh stopped for a moment, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Thanks, man," he said.

"Please," Logan scoffed. "Driving your laboring wife to the hospital is the least I can do considering you two are the reason I'm not living in a tent under the Brooklyn Bridge. Or worse—at Finn's."

Josh laughed. "That would be a fate worse than homelessness," he joked.

"Go," Logan smiled back at him. "Go have a baby."

Josh nodded his head and disappeared down the hall to his wife's room. Logan took a seat, pulling out his laptop. He hadn't heard from Jackson since their meeting the previous week and as anxious as he was to move this little project along, he knew it would take time and patience to do it right. He'd just have to distract himself with the actual paid work he had to do for Hugo.

But it was hard to concentrate. Being here, in a maternity ward, waiting for his niece or nephew to arrive…Honor was right. This world was screwed up and he worried about the mess these babies would be inheriting. He felt more sure than ever that his father needed to pay for his sins; that men like him and Peterson needed to know their actions were not beyond impunity; that the world at large needed to see that that type of behavior would no longer be tolerated.

Getting a third-party writer involved was the right thing to do. And he'd gotten a good vibe off of Jackson. But it still killed him to just sit back and let someone else handle it.

"Hello, Logan." He took a deep breath at the sound of the familiar voice, mentally preparing himself to face the speaker. It was an interaction he'd been avoiding for a while, but of course, given the circumstances, he knew they would come face to face today.

He looked up and forced a smile. "Mom," he greeted.

"Where's your sister?" she asked, her face expressionless; he wasn't sure if it was the Botox, the prescription medication, or an actual lack of sentiment that kept her from emoting. He never knew with her.

"Right down the hall," he nodded. "Second door on the left."

"And the baby?"

"Still inside her."

"Good, good," Shira nodded. "She has a private room?"

"She does."

"That's good."

"Where's Charles?" he asked, referring to his mother's third husband.

"He's at the office, of course." Of course. It was enough of a miracle his mother had shown up, he didn't know why he'd expect his stepfather to. The man probably wouldn't recognize him or Honor if he passed them on the street.

Shira stood there awkwardly before finally taking a seat—three chairs down from Logan.

Logan looked from his mother to the hallway that separated them from his sister and back to his mother. "You're not going to go check on her?" he asked.

"Oh, Logan, that's such distasteful business," she replied, as she pulled a tube of lipstick out of her purse without looking at him. "The doctors are taking care of her and they'll let us know when she's ready for visitors." Logan rolled his eyes as he watched her touch up her makeup. He tried to summon some form of affection for his mother—especially now, after knowing what she'd been through. It was no wonder she was shut down. But then he thought of Rory and the glint he'd seen in her eyes that day at her house, and the way she agreed to help him expose Mitchum. He thought of Honor and the way she still had enough love for Josh and the child she was currently bringing into this world, even after being beaten down by her high school boyfriend. They had found a way to survive their trauma and hold on to their humanity. Shira may have been a victim, but that didn't excuse her passing her pain down to her children.

"Right, having a baby—very distasteful. Good to know you see it that way."

"Oh Logan," Shira sighed, "that's not what I meant. Must you take everything so personally?"

Apparently, he must, because he felt the intense desire to flee the company of the woman who found his very existence so distasteful. He folded down the lid of his laptop and stuffed it into his case. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee. Do you want anything?" he asked.

"No, thank you, dear." That was good, since he was only asking to be polite—for Honor's sake. He nodded his head as he stood from his seat and without another word, he wandered off to find the cafeteria.

It was a marvel—how big a sound could come out of something so small. Josh took the red, wrinkly faced little girl with the wisps of fine, dirty blonde hair from her exhausted mother and bounced her gently. Her eyes were scrunched closed, her tiny fists balled up.

"Maybe she needs a diaper change. She hasn't passed her meconium yet."

"Honor!" Shira cried out in shock; interesting how not all sentiments were outside his mother's range of emotion.

"What?" Honor shrugged. "Meconium," she repeated. "It's a medical word. Like vagina or penis."

Logan might actually have found the horrified look on his mother's face amusing if he wasn't almost equally appalled. It wasn't that he had a problem with those words, he just preferred not to hear them coming from his sister's mouth.

"I don't smell anything," Logan stated, trying to direct the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"Meconium doesn't smell," Josh informed him. "It's sterile. Newborn baby's intestinal tracts haven't been colonized by bacteria yet." He unraveled the loosely wrapped blanket around his daughter and pulled back her diaper. "Nope," he stated. "Nothing yet."

"Honestly," Shira shook her head. "This is not appropriate conversation for guests."

Logan rolled his eyes. "You're not a guest, you're her grandmother. And you're in a hospital. If all this medical stuff is so distasteful to you," he stressed the word, "you should have waited a day or two to visit."

"I wanted to meet my grandchild, is that such a crime?" Shira huffed, crossing her arms over her chest petulantly.

"It is when all you do is complain."

Honor's eyes bounced back and forth between him and their mother. The tension between he and Shira was palpable and he felt an immediate sense of guilt over giving his sister one more thing to stress about.

"Fine," she replied haughtily, "since my presence here clearly isn't welcome, I'm going to go take a walk." Code for stress smoke, he was sure.

"Mom," Honor said, trying to placate their mother.

"It's fine," Shira replied unconvincingly as she stood up and made her way to the door. "I'll be back in a little bit."

The room was quiet for a minute until they were sure Shira was out of ear range. Honor, Josh, and Logan let out a collective sigh of relief.

"I wish I could go wander off for a smoke," Honor confessed.

"Yeah, that won't be happening any time soon," Josh informed her with a pointed eyebrow raise.

"Jeez, I know," Honor grumbled. "I gave them up for the last nine months, didn't I? That doesn't mean a girl can't wish."

The baby, who had settled to a low-level fuss in her father's arms once again let out an ear-piercing wail. The kid was half-Huntzberger after all, it wasn't a surprise she would accept nothing less than being the center of attention.

"You think she's hungry?" Josh suggested.

Honor shook her head. "She just fed not even two hours ago, and the lactation consultant said she did good." Honor turned her attention to her brother and beamed a cheeky grin at him. "Maybe she just wants a chance to meet her favoritist uncle, Logan."

Logan immediately clammed up. She was so tiny and fragile. "Oh, no, that's fine," he shook his head adamantly.

Honor rolled her eyes. "Stop being a wuss and hold the damn baby, Logan."

Josh shot his wife an exacerbated look but then turned back to his brother-in-law. "She's got a way with words, your sister," Josh admitted. "But she's right, she's heartier than she looks, and I have full faith that you won't drop her on her head. Besides," he looked at Honor again. "You are apparently her favoritist uncle, which I'm sure my brother will be happy to know."

"You snooze you lose," Honor shrugged. "If Brant wanted to be the favorite, he should have been here sooner. It's not my fault he lives in Virginia; he should live closer."

"Well, when the alternative is our guest bedroom, even Port Washington is far away."

"Hey!" Logan held his hands up. "Don't be fighting on my account."

Honor and Josh chuckled simultaneously. "Go wash your hands," Josh nodded towards the sink.

Despite the gnawing crater of apprehension telling him he was going to somehow screw up this perfect, unmarred, little human, Logan headed over to the sink, lathering up and scrubbing his hands thoroughly. He headed back across the room and took a seat in a chair; he figured being dropped from chair height would be less likely to cause a traumatic brain injury to the baby than being dropped from standing height. Josh bent down and placed the fussy child in his arms.

Surprisingly to Logan, the infant did relax in his embrace. Her squished up eyes fluttered open revealing light, copper-colored irises. Her cheeks were a mottled red with glimpses of a pale, peachy complexion underneath the newborn flush. Her lips were drawn tight into a pout that seemed so scream 'don't mess with me, Buster.' Logan found it almost reassuring. This was a girl who was going to take no crap from anybody.

"Hey there baby girl," he whispered in awe. "I'm your Uncle Logan. What's your name?" he asked. "You wanna tell us, huh? Because Mommy and Daddy won't spill the beans."

"We can't decide," Honor admitted. "And the last thing I wanted was Mom's opinion because if we didn't pick the one she liked, we'd never hear the end of it." She rolled her eyes. Logan let out a breathy chuckle, knowing what Honor said was no lie. Shira would bring it up every opportunity she got, just to point out how unfair her life was and how no one ever listened to her. She'd take any opportunity to play the martyr. She'd likely insist that they picked the other name just out of spite.

"Well, Grandma's gone now," Logan replied in his best baby voice. "You want to tell Uncle Logan?" He glanced up to see Honor and Josh wordlessly look at each other to confirm they were okay with it.

"We were originally going to go with Charlotte, but it just doesn't feel right," Honor admitted.

"We were thinking maybe Penelope instead…" Josh finished.

"Penelope," Logan repeated. "Penny, like her pretty copper eyes," he added in a high-pitched lilt. "I like it." He nodded. "What do you think, kid? Little Penny Lane? Does that sound like your name?"

"Penelope Lane…" he heard his sister repeat, her voice full of approval. Logan glanced up to see her looking at her husband with a spark of acknowledgement in her own eyes.

Josh nodded. "Penelope Lane Kentworth," he agreed.

Logan felt an overwhelming swell of emotion as they agreed to the moniker that he had said so off-handedly. He smiled wistfully down at the child in his lap. "Welcome to the world, Penny Lane."

Logan buttoned up his jacket, securing the strap of his laptop case over his shoulder as he made his way down the hospital corridor. The lactation consultant had come by to assist with another feeding, and Logan figured that was as good a time as any to make his exit. It was an added bonus to get out of there before Shira came back.

Of course, his relief at escaping his parents' proximity came to a swift conclusion at the disturbance he heard from over near the nurse's station.

"She's my granddaughter," the voice roared.

"I'm sorry sir, but you're not on the visitor's list. And visiting hours are over in twenty minutes anyway."

"Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Well, since you've told me three times, Mr. Huntzberger, I'd have to say I do."

A fire breathed to life in Logan's gut. How dare he show his face. Before he could stop himself, Logan was stamping over to the nurse's station. "What the hell are you doing here?" he spat out.

"Oh, well, I thought I'd stop by for a spot of lipo—my thighs were starting to look a little flabby," Mitchum deadpanned. "I'm here to meet my granddaughter, what the hell do you think I'm doing here?"

"Well, you might want to head to the surgery floor, because you're not going anywhere near that baby."

"And you're going to stop me?" Mitchum rolled his eyes and moved to walk around Logan.

"Yes," Logan admitted, stepping in front of the man and blocking his way. "I am going to stop you."

Mitchum clicked his tongue and shook his head, almost pityingly. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I know it. Honor doesn't want you here, I don't want you here. No one wants you."

Mitchum leaned in close and Logan felt his whole body shudder. When his father spoke, it was in a low whisper. "And what about Rory?" he sneered, "Who does she want?"

"Not you," Logan hissed, feeling the fire in him flare with excruciating heat.

Mitchum rocked back on his heels and let out a short, mirthless chuckle. "And yet she chose me over and over and over again," he articulated each word pointedly. "While you fawned at her feet like a lovesick little puppy. To think you actually believed you had a chance. She'll never choose you. Rory knows what's good for her; she'll choose me again."

Logan felt sick to his stomach. "She fled the state to get away from you. She wants nothing to do with you. And if you go near her; if you go near Honor; if you go near that baby; if you go near anyone I care about, I will know about it."

"Will you now?" Mitchum asked, his demeanor morphing into one of amusement. He pursed his lips together thoughtfully. "Then I guess I should be careful about where I go and…who I talk to."

A strange feeling came over Logan; one he couldn't quite place. Whatever it was, he refused to let Mitchum see his words had had any impact on him, even if he didn't know what that impact was.

"You are not welcome here," Logan reiterated. "That little girl may have your blood, but that is all she'll get from you. You are not her family. You have no family."

Mitchum shrugged. "My family's been nothing but a disappointment anyway. But hey, congrats on the new job. I mean, a byline on a blog, very impressive. And that Facebook you wrote about…fascinating stuff; a website that allows you to tell the entire world what you ate for lunch and when you went to the bathroom. It's sure to be a global revolution."

If Mitchum thought his dig would get under Logan's skin, he was sorely mistaken. In fact, for the first time since Logan had heard his father's entitled voice echoing through the halls of the hospital, Logan felt like he had the upper hand. Social media was the future. The spread of information was happening faster than ever online—for better and for worse. Facebook had an immeasurable impact on the last election through its thousands of political groups. In fact, political activists across the globe used it to organize their movements. Not to mention the staggering amounts of revenue companies could make through Facebook's platform.

But Mitchum was too stubborn to see any of that; to admit that newspapers may very soon be nothing more than a relic of an entirely different era. Mitchum thought the internet was just a silly game that people would grow bored with. And by the time he figured out how wrong he was, it would be too late.

Not that it would matter. If things went the way Logan planned, Mitchum might go into March like a lion, but he'd end it like a lamb going to slaughter. Once Jackson got their article to print, Mitchum would be lucky to escape with nothing more than being Howell Rainesed by the board. His career in journalism would be over. And if Logan had it his way, that would be just the beginning of the man's demise.

"A revolution is coming, Mitchum; you can count on it."

Mitchum shrugged. "Tell Honor and the baby I send them my best." He looked up over Logan's shoulders. "It's good to see you, Shira, you're looking…" he looked his ex-wife up and down, raised a critical eyebrow, and let the end of his sentence go unsaid.

Logan turned around to see his mother standing there, with panicky eyes as she tugged her mink coat tighter around her. She said nothing as Mitchum strode past her back towards the exit.

Logan and Shira stared silently at each other for a few moments.

"Did you call him?" she finally asked.

"Does it look like I called him?" Although that certainly begged the question of who did. He was sure it wasn't Honor. While there had never been any official kind of falling out, they'd barely had a relationship since she'd graduated Yale. Even financially he was pretty sure there was no connection any longer. Josh was more than capable of keeping his sister in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed. In fact, the wedding may be the last thing Mitchum paid for other than the birthday and Christmas presents he had someone else buy for her every year. The wedding was also possibly the last time Honor and Mitchum had been in a room together.

"You have a new job?" she asked.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Congratulations on being the last person in America to hear about how the dashing, young Huntzberger heir left the family business and cut off all ties with his father."

Shira's mouth fell into a small 'o' of surprise for the briefest of moments before she forced it closed and let her eyes dart anxiously around the room.

"I'll be right back," Shira informed him, turning to proceed in the direction her ex-husband had just left. But Logan knew she wasn't going after him. She'd given him enough of a head start that she wouldn't be likely to cross paths with him again.

Logan took a moment to contemplate what to do next. He owed this woman nothing; after all, that's what she'd given him his entire life; nothing. The only thing she'd every done for him was bring him into this world—an act which she herself found distasteful. And yet, that look he'd seen in her eyes as Mitchum breezed past, not more than a few inches from her—it was the same look he'd seen in Rory's eyes the day he'd learned the truth about his father; the same look he could almost remember seeing in Shira's eyes when he was a child.

And so, with a defeated sag of his shoulders, he followed after her. He found her in a small, snow covered courtyard. A tiny patch of ground just outside the door had been haphazardly shoveled away, leaving just enough room for a couple staff members to sneak a quick smoke break. Shira held a cigarette in her left hand while the frozen, shaky fingers of her right fumbled to spark the lighter.

She turned to acknowledge his presence, holding the unlit cigarette out to him. "Smoke?"

"I think I'll pass," he informed his mother. She shrugged and returned to her attempts to light the stick of tobacco, finally succeeding.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Shira shrugged, staring intently at her cigarette.

"You tell me."

"I'm fine, Logan," she snapped, then she looked up at him and he thought he could almost detect the faintest hint of concern. "And you?"

Logan exhaled, his breath fogging up the frigid air almost as much as the smoke from his mother's cigarette. "I'm not fine," he admitted.

"Because you left the business?" she asked. "You need money?"

Logan scoffed. "You know, there are actually issues in this world that transcend the almighty dollar."

Shira took a large drag of her Parliament Light and he watched the wave of dopamine roll over her. "Why did you leave?" she asked.

Logan shuttered his eyes, searching for the nerve to ask what he was about to ask next; if not now, when? "Why did you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Why did you leave him?"

"I didn't leave him, Logan, you know that. He divorced me."

"And you were devastated, I'm sure. Dying to stay with the love of your life."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to admit what he did to you."

Shira dropped her cigarette, stamping it out with the toe of her stiletto. She turned to face him. "What does it matter, Logan? What difference does it make?"

He scoffed at the naivete. "It makes all the difference. It changes everything. Can't you see that?"

"Fine," Shira shrugged. "He hit me. Is that what you want to hear? Your father is an abusive asshole. Does that make you happy?"

"No," he shook his head. "It doesn't."

"It was 18 years ago anyway."

"It may have been 18 years ago, but we have all lived with it every day since then. Only some of us actually had to live with it and we didn't even know."

Shira rolled her eyes. "He never hit you, I made sure of that."

"Oh," Logan jeered. "Well then, mother of the year award goes to…" he swooped an arm out towards her as though he were Vanna White revealing a new puzzle.

"What do you want me to say, Logan? I had to get out of there. I had to save myself."

"And I was the price you were willing to pay to do it."

"You think he'd let you go? You were non-negotiable."

"I was a kid, not an asset."

"You were his heir. You think your existence is an accident?"

Logan felt all the air leave his body. "What does that mean?" he asked breathlessly.

"Nothing," Shira said, turning to the door. "Let's go back in."

"No." He blocked the entrance. "What did you mean?"

"Please, Logan, this isn't appropriate."

"This family left 'appropriate' behind a long time ago."

Shira turned away from him. "You think I never tried to leave? You don't leave Mitchum Huntzberger, he leaves you. And he made it abundantly clear that he wouldn't leave me until I gave him a son."

Logan felt the bile burning his esophagus. "Did he…?" he trailed off, unable to make the words form.

Shira turned at the horrified sound of his unasked question. "No," she informed him matter-of-factly. "You are not a rape baby. Your father preferred to keep his sex and his violence separate."

He swallowed down the sick feeling even though his mother's admission did little to assuage his distress. "And after you gave him what he wanted? You stayed with him nine years after that."

"I had two kids to think of."

"And I'm supposed to believe you cared?"

"Of course I cared, Logan," Shira replied, aghast. "You're my son."

"A son you had only to fulfill your end of a bargain," he scoffed. "You're the miller's daughter only in this version, it was your second borne and you let Rumpelstiltskin win."

"And you had such a terrible life? Burdened with the privilege of wealth, and power, and charm?" Shira sneered.

"And that's all that could possibly matter to me—right? Because that's all that mattered to him and I was nothing but his heir. That's all you ever saw when you looked at me, wasn't it?"

Shira stood silently; no defense able to come to her lips. It was as good as an outright admission. She could never love him because as far as she was concerned, he was just the next generation of Mitchum. "We should go back in, it's cold out here."

Logan swallowed, squaring his shoulders defiantly. "I am sorry for what he did to you. I'm sorry for the hard choices you had to make. But you chose wrong. I am nothing like him. But you never had the chance to know that because you wrote me off a long time ago. And now, I'm writing you off. I'll be polite, for Honor, for the baby, but as far as I'm concerned, I'm an orphan." Logan pulled open the door to the hospital and held it for her. She stared at him and he thought he saw a twinge of regret in her eyes, but then, she turned her back on him and walked through the door.

AN: I know a lot of you were hoping for some Rogan interaction, sorry to disappoint. But at least it was a nice, long chapter and it was an important one, both in Logan dealing with his past and in what's gong to happen in the future. And hopefully you enjoyed getting a little more insight into Logan's history and his relationship with Shira.

As always please leave a review. My fragile ego needs stroking.