Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to anything...like, at all. It's quite sad really... Okay, now I'm just depressed, thanks.

Sidenote: The latter part of this chapter was writtenwhile playingEvanescence 'Bring Me To Life' on repeteand so it made it seem a little bit more dramatic. If you happen to have a copy of the song on hand, you could play it and I would appreciate the mood music. Anyway, I dedicate this chapter to my grandfather who always wanted me to be a female boxer...I don't know why, but he did. So yeah, I hope ya'll enjoy!

"Hey, I'm sorry about yesterday," Logan said as we were driving back to the school.

We had been driving for about two hours and I had just woken back up. We had decided to leave as soon as possible and he had let me sleep for a couple of more hours on our way back to the mansion that morning.

I had forgotten about the argument. In light of the more serious events that had happened, I had completely forgiven him about it.

"Don't be. I know that you were just…well, you weren't being nice, because you were yelling at me, but the intent was good," I said with a small laugh. I then let out a sigh. "There's something about you Logan, I don't know what it is, but I feel comfortable around you. I tell you things that I've never told anyone else. Not even Uncle Scott." He looked over at me. "Of course I would appreciate it if you didn't tell him that. He thinks he's a little more up to date with me than he really is." I smiled and he looked back to the road.

"Well I'm sorry that I brought up what you told me about your mother. I said I wouldn't do that to you and I did. You trusted me enough to tell me and I shouldn't've thrown that up to you."

"But you didn't do it to be mean, though." He let out a sigh. "Did you?"

"No."

"Then don't worry about it." We were silent for a few moments as we both kept our eyes on the road. "I'm sorry, too."

He looked back over at me. "For what?"

"Saying that you didn't know what you were talking about. I'm sure you do, I was just mad. And for also bringing up that thing about Jean. That's really none of my business and I had no right to say that to you."

"It's fine," he said and again we were silent for a few minutes. "Nothing happened."

"What?"

"With me and Jean; nothing happened."

"Then why did you tell Uncle Scott that something did?"

"I kissed her, that was it. She chose him over me so I left her alone. I didn't do it to piss Summers off, he wasn't there and he didn't have to know about it. When we got home, I told him 'cause Jean was gone and I thought he oughta' know."

"Then why did you do it?"

He didn't say anything for a minute and I thought that perhaps I had pushed too far. "'Cause I liked her," he answered quietly. "I did from the time I saw her."

"What happened? Why don't you like her any more?"

He looked over at me once again. "Who said I didn't?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, I'm really sorry then."

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "For what?" he asked again.

"That you lost your wife and Jean."

He let out a deep sigh and ran a hand over his mouth as he switched his vision back to the road, continuing to drive. "You learn to get over it, kid."

"No you don't," I said, turning in my seat to stare at him. "You lean to accept it and deal with it, but you don't learn how to get over it. When my daddy died, people always told me that I would, but I didn't, I still haven't. I wake up every morning and go through my routine. I go on with my life, I've learned to do that, but there's not a day that goes by that I don't think about him. You have no idea how much I hate Father's Day," I said with a sad laugh. "The pain never goes away; it's just that after time, you stop noticing how much it hurts. You don't ever get over it, you just live with it."

"I don't remember my wife all that much and Jean…Jean was never mine to lose."

"But you loved them both, didn't you?"

He let out another sigh. "Yeah."

"I think that Jean probably loves you too, in her own way." He made a small, amused laugh. "And I'm sure that your wife adored you."

"Why are you sure of that?"

"Because I do."

It took us another two hours to get to the school, by that time we were there; it was just after ten that morning. Along with us, we brought rain, which quickly turned into a storm as we climbed the stairs to our rooms. Neither of us had gotten much sleep the night before and we were quite tired, so we hoped to catch up on it before it was time for lunch.

I opened the door to my bedroom as there was a clap of thunder and I jumped, making a small squeak. I heard Logan laugh at me from behind and turned around to see him leaning in his doorframe, laughing at me.

"Well, I'm certainly glad that you're finding the humor in this whole situation, as I don't find it too funny myself," I said.

"You can stay in here with me, if you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

I tossed my bag into my room before shutting the door and hurrying across the hall to his room. "Thank you," I said, pulling off my shoes by his door as he shut it behind him.

There was a flash of lightening and I attempted to muffle a small whimper.

"Don't worry about it," he told me, walking to his bed. As he lay down, I joined him, trying to tune out the sound of the storm. "I don't get it," he said.

"Don't get what?"

"Why you're scared of a storm," he said, staring at me. He swore. "You've been through some pretty rough stuff, kid; I would think a little thunder storm wouldn't bother you."

"It's not like I want them to, I hate being scared of them, I don't know how to get over it, though."

"Have they always made you like this?"

"No, it started when I was about seven or eight, I guess. I don't know what happened, but I've been terrified of them ever since."

"Well anything that scared you that bad, it's probably good you don't remember it."

A silence fell between us as we settled into his bed to go to sleep. I would jump occasionally at the sound of thunder or flash of lightening, but for the most part, being there with him made me feel better."

"Logan-"

"Hm?"

"Do you think I'm…childish?"

"No."

"Really?" I asked, skeptical about his answer.

"Yeah."

"So you don't think that the way I dress, or act, or anything is in anyway childish?"

He opened one eye to look at me. "I think you're stuck between bein' and adult when you don't know how to be one, and bein' a kid that you never got to be. You got all the time you need to grow up, and there ain't nothing wrong with that, don't let anyone tell you there is, alright?"

"Yeah, alright."

"Now go to sleep."

I smiled. "Okay."

"Hey, how'd it go?" Uncle Scott asked me, pulling me aside before lunch.

I sighed and ran my hand back through my hair. "Not good. Remind me next time that there's always a reason behind having long lost relatives. If yesterday was any indication, they're probably stuck up snobs."

"I'm sorry sweetheart; I know that you were looking forward to getting to know them. If you want to talk to me about it, you know you can, right?"

"Yeah, I know, thanks, but I'm fine. It looks like you're going to be stuck with me a little longer, though."

He smiled at me. "Well since I know you're staying here now, I guess I can confess that they really weren't your family; I set the whole thing up," he lied jokingly.

I laughed. "I knew something seemed off."

His expression turned more serious. "How was Logan?"

"He did well. I know you don't like him Uncle Scott, but you should be proud of him; he took care of me."

"Well at least I don't have to worry about him then. Right?"

"Not in the least bite. I knew he enjoys pissing you off, but he's not a bad guy."

He nodded his head and sighed. "I'm sorry your trip wasn't what you thought it would be."

"It's fine. I'm just happy to be back here."

"I am too," he said, smiling at me. "Now let's get some lunch before it's all gone."

"Okay," I said and he began to walk away. "Uncle Scott?"

He turned and came back to me. "Yes?"

"Thank you guys…for everything, I mean it. I know me staying here is putting you out another room and I just really appreciate you doing this for me."

"Delia, you're not putting us out any. We have plenty of free rooms."

"I know, but the Professor paid for us to stay in Brooklyn last night, and you pay for me to go shopping whenever I want, among other things. I don't know that I'll ever be able to pay you guys back for everything you do for me."

"Hey, you're not supposed to, we're family, we're taking care of you because that's what families do. If I expected you to pay me back, I wouldn't have done any of it in the first place. More than over half the students living here don't pay for it. Most of them don't even still speak to their families. If it were up to me, I would want you to live here all the time."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," he said, smiling. "It's good to see you happy…actually; it's just good to see you. We spent too many years not talking and I really enjoy you being here right now. This can be your home, not matter where you go, you can always come back and you'll always have a room here. I promise you that Delia, no matter what happens."

Some times even the simplest things in the world can make us happy. For instance; when I'm sick and someone brings me a pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream. That makes me happy.

When I'm crying and someone wraps their arm around me when they don't know what else to do but just hold me. That makes me happy.

When someone says that they've missed me and would like for me to stay with them. That makes me happy. Right then, I was a very happy little girl.

That Friday was the first day of spring. Although not a big deal for me, there was apparently some soft of big festival going on in town. You could buy different sorts of food deep-fried on a stick and walk around in the heat with hundreds of other sweaty people. This was how Logan explained it to me. I edited out the grammatical errors and swearwords, however. Now, I enjoy chicken and a biscuit on a stick as much as the next person, but I don't particularly like crowds and one look at me you can tell that the sun and I don't get on too well. This is why I had opted to stay in rather than go out with the rest of the school.

But what I had decided to do was different. Ever since I had found out that my father had been a mutant, my mind hadn't stopped racing. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to think. Everything that I thought I knew was suddenly fragile and seemed to be falling apart. I knew that the older I became, the more secrets I found out about my family. But I thought that I had found them all out. I never even imagined that my father was a mutant. Mother hated us, she always had. How could she have believed that her soul was linked with that of a man's who had she known who he really was, would have hated him? Simple, she was full of it. People's souls and hearts aren't linked. It was only some stupid faith that she had fed to me as a child.

Ever since my argument with Logan, I had begun to reevaluate my life. Who was I? It seemed like a simple question, and the first time I had asked myself that, I thought it was a simple answer. I am Delia Walker. But then I realized; that's only my name. Who am I? Well, I'm someone who loves sweets and drawing. My favorite movie is 'The Princess Bride' and my favorite colors are pink and purple. I love to read and watching shows on weddings. I hate waking up early and really rude people. I like to wear ribbons in my hair as well as pigtails, preferably both at the same time. I am someone who is ashamed of being a mutant and that is what hurt me the most upon realization.

"Hey, hidin' out in here?" Logan asked, entering the den and plopping down on the couch beside me.

"It's hardly hiding as there's no one to hide from, is there?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Me."

"Aside from you. And if I were going to hide from you, I would leave the house. You can find me too easily here."

He stared at me and leaned in closer. "If you ever left, I'd find you too."

There were certain things that Logan said that got to me. They got inside of me and at times really shook me up. It wasn't so much the words as it was the way he said it. The way he would look at me when he did. My cheeks would flush hot and a shiver would run through me at the same time. He could catch my breath in my chest just by staring at me and I wasn't entirely sure that I disliked it.

I stared back at him. "You promise?"

"Yeah, I do."

I smiled at him. "Then I don't have any reason to be running off anywhere soon."

"Does that mean that you're not gonna' go home when summer gets here?"

My smile fell from my face and I looked away. "No, I'm going to go back home, but it's only just the first of spring, so we still have time to play."

He leaned back and let out an aggravated breath.

As if on cue, I heard the Professor in my head, speaking. "Delia, Officer Johnson is trying to contact you. You may use my office phone if you need; I believe that your mother wants to speak with you. I hope that you and Logan have a good evening. We shouldn't be much longer. Once the fireworks are over, we will be on our way home."

I stood. "You don't have to leave, I didn't mean to piss you off," Logan said.

"You didn't. I just got a message from the Professor saying that Officer Johnson was trying to get in touch with me and that mother wants to talk to me. So I'm going to his office to use his phone."

"Why?"

"Because he said I could use it."

"No, not why are you usin' his phone, why are you jumpin' up and runnin' to the phone to call her back?"

"Well I hardly jumped and I'm not quite running just yet," I joked, trying to get him to lighten up and stop from scowling at me.

"I'm serious kid, why are you doin' this?"

"Because she's my mother and if she needs to talk to me, then I'm going to let her."

"You don't need to talk to her. She ain't gonna' say anything that you need to hear. If it's important than she can tell that guy what it's about and he can tell you, but you don't need to talk to her."

"Don't tell me what I need or don't need to do, Logan. I'm a big girl, I can make up my own mind about talking to her or not, okay?"

He stood up and looked down at me. "Tell me you don't need to hear her tell you how bad you've screwed up her life so she can remind you why you shouldn't get close to people. Tell me you ain't tired or takin' care of her and the only reason you do is so that one day she might realize that you've given up your whole life for her and might actually be proud of you for once. Tell me it doesn't have anything to do with needin' to have her put you down 'cause that's what you think you deserve. Tell me you ain't addicted to her and I'll leave you alone, Delia. Look me in the eye and tell me that."

I looked up at him, staring him right in the eye. "Get out of my way, Logan; I have to use the phone."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Do you remember when we went out after that first hockey game we went to and you told me that you're mother believed that we can't change our lives 'cause we're born a certain way? When I asked you what you believed you said that you thought that she was just hidin' behind it as an excuse for what she did to you. Well guess what? You're doin' the exact same thing, kid. You're hidin' behind bein' her daughter as an excuse to not leave her alone. She's killin' you, and you wanna' make her happy, so you're turnin' into her."

I lifted my hand, reared it back and slapped him across his left cheek. "Don't you dare say that to me ever again! I am not turning into her. I would never do to my children what she's done to me."

"Then why are you so protective of her? You're scared to let her even know what you are. Which are you more ashamed of; bein' a mutant or her findin' out that you are one?"

I reared back my already red and swollen hand and slapped him on his cheek once again. He only let out heavy breaths from his nose and turned his head to look back at me. "You have no right to say that to me. I don't see you out there telling the world what you are. So don't you start pointing a finger and judging me."

"What about your father, hm? How would he feel about his little girl just givin' control over to her mother? I wonder what he would think about how you just stopped tryin' and gave up everything? About how you started hidin' behind his death to cover up how you're just a scared little kid who doesn't know how to be on her own. Who needs someone to constantly bring her down so that she doesn't have to feel like she deserves more? How would he feel about how you just stopped fightin'? How would your father feel about that?" I reached back to slap him for the third time, but he stopped me, catching my wrist in his hand. "You wanna' hit me? Then hit me, I don't care kid, but I want you to tell me what he would think? You expect your mother to be disappointed in you, but what about him? He wanted you to be something else. He knew he wasn't always gonna' be around and he wanted you to fight back, didn't he? How hard did he work to keep your mother from hurtin' you while he was there? And what are you doin' now? Lettin' her hurt you. He taught you better than that, I know he did, someone had to, and all you're doin' now is disappointin' him. Your mother hates you for him dyin' instead of you, but the truth is; you hate her for the same reason."

I was angry and tears were filling my eyes. He let go of my wrist and I balled my hand into a fish and began to pound against his chest.

He had no right to bring up my father. He didn't know him and he didn't know that he would be disappointed in me.

I was not become my mother. I could never hurt the people in my life as recklessly without caring about the after effects as she had.

He had no right to stand there and let me hit him the way that I was.

I took my other hand and began to hit his chest with it along with my other one.

He had no right to know all of the things about me that I didn't want to tell. He shouldn't have known more about me that I did myself.

And so I hit him, taking full advantage of the fact that my bones wouldn't break against the solid adamantium under his skin. I stood there and tried to both emotionally and physically push him away. But, he wouldn't move. He wouldn't budge. He just stood grounded to the floor as I yelled at him. I didn't even know that I was yelling and it took me a while to realize not only was it me, but also what I was saying.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" I screamed, falling against his chest, sobbing.

I wasn't saying it to him. I didn't hate him. I was saying it to mother and I think he knew that. I think he understood that everything he had said was true and had struck a nerve. He had to know, he knew everything else about me.

He took his arms and wrapped them around me to keep me from falling to the floor. He petted and stroked my hair. "Sh, it's alright. It's alright, you gotta' stop cryin'. You gotta' catch your breath, baby, all right? Just calm down and breathe." But I couldn't. I couldn't stop crying and I couldn't catch my breath. So much so that I began hyperventilating. He sat me down on the couch. "Come on, kid, breathe."

"I…can't," I gasped.

"Everything's alright but you gotta' calm down so you can catch your breath."

"But I…I don't…really…hate you."

He took my face in his hands and wiped away the tears from my eyes. "You're allowed to if you want. I won't blame you for it."

I shook my head furiously, causing my bangs to swing in front of my face, still not able to breathe well. "I…don't."

He sat down beside me, pulled me to him, and held me. After five or ten minutes, my breathing calmed and I was okay.

"I'm sorry," I finally said, my voice hoarse from crying, yelling and gasping.

He kissed the top of my head. "It's fine. Don't worry about it," he said. "Let me see your hands."

I lay both hands on his leg. He then picked up my right one and looked at it before letting out a sigh. They were red, swollen and looked as if they were going to bruise pretty badly. Even though my bones couldn't break, my skin wasn't quite as resilient. As a matter of a fact, they were hurting something awful. They felt hot and I could feel the blood pounding through their veins.

"We need to put some ice on 'em, that might keep the swellin' down some, but I think they're still gonna' bruise."

"I'm sorry," I said again.

He looked at me. "I'm fine; you didn't hurt me," he said. "We gotta' go put something on your hands before they get any worse, alright?"

I nodded my head, causing my bangs to swing in my eyes and he pushed them away. "You don't have to forgive me."

"I know."

"Then why do you?"

He leaned in close to me. "Not everybody wants to hurt you," he said quietly. "I don't wanna' hurt you."

I believe that there are pivotal moments in our life that help us to change and shape our future. There are actions that can seep into our skin and grab hold of us from the inside, not letting go. Those actions can open our eyes and make us look around at who we are. Logan had done this more than once, but on that night, it had come to a major turning point for me. He had physically held me still and made me believe things that I had never wanted to believe.

He made me stop and see how I was only poisoning my own life by involving my mother in it. She was a toxic person, she felt bad about herself so instead of admitting it and trying to fix it, she made me feel the same way. It was a domino effect, it always had been. One comment bred a thousand thoughts, which bred a thousand more until I truly believed that I deserved to be treated as badly as she had treated me. And I would always go back and she would always be the same, continuing our game of nonstop abuse.

He stood there as I tried to push him away and proved something to me; not everyone leaves you when you need them. Though some of the most important people in my life had, he didn't move.

I needed my daddy there to protect me, but he died.

I needed Uncle Scott so that I didn't have to feel so alone about being a mutant.

I needed my mother, but I needed her to be healthy. I needed her to care about me. I needed her to believe in me. But she never did. She never cared, and certainly not so then.

I needed them all and yet they had left me when I was vulnerable and scared and wanted to give it all up. Without them, I was forced to leave it all on the inside and try to deal with it all on my own. I had to fake a smile and a laugh so that no one would ever know how bad it was. I dressed like a little kid because not only did I so desperately wish that I could go back to being one, to being innocent, but also because who really expects a girl dressed like a cartoon character to be in pain? Who would ever assume that under the ribbons and pigtails I was dying on the inside? That I was screaming for someone to please hear me and help me.

Logan not only didn't move, but he got it. He knew how badly I was hurting. How? Maybe he saw something in my eyes that he knew were in his when he thought of the people he had lost. When he thought of the pain that others had caused him. Maybe, despite our polar opposite methods, he realized that we both masked our problems in an attempt to hide how we really felt from everyone else. While I was more of a 'wide-eyes, childish, flash a smile and joke' person in order to keep intruders away, he was a 'back off or I'll beat the crap out of you, nothing's wrong, screw you' guy. Both worked, just not on each other.

Then there are words that, while seeming simple, speak a kind of truth that is painfully honest. Some times it's easier to lie to people, tell them what they want to hear and you don't have to worry about how they'll feel. We shy away from the truth because some times it not only hurts the person to whom you're speaking, but yourself also. Logan didn't care. He didn't care about hurting my feelings or pissing me off. As a matter of a fact, he had intended to do the latter. He knew that if he could tell me the right things, that I was turning into my mother for example, that he could get to me. He knew that he could get me to admit how much she had hurt me, how badly she had damaged me and how much I hated her.

He brought up my father, knowing that I loved him more than anything and wouldn't let him tell me that I was disappointing him, unless it was true. Which it was. He knew that everything he said about him struck a nerve inside of me until I was ready to fight. He had wanted that. Logan wanted me to fight back. He wanted me to show him that I wasn't as scared as I kept saying I was. He wanted me to prove something to him. He wanted me to prove that when my father had wanted me to be a fighter, he didn't necessarily mean a boxer. He wanted me to stand up for what I believed in. To not let people push me around. He never wanted me to go down without a fight and Logan knew this. I don't know how, but he did.

Perhaps it was because he was a fighter himself. He knew the look on my face. It was the same one the men wore when they've gone too many rounds, haven't gotten enough punches in and are just too tired to go on. They would rather give up and lose just so they can get some rest. With the exception of Valentine's Day, it had been a while since I had seen a match, but I remembered plenty of times where the guy who was struggling through it, had come in at the end and with a fast upper right hook, had won the fight. Logan knew I was tired and beaten, but he had intended to piss me off to pump me up enough to get back up and throw the winning punch.

There are words that anyone can say, but when the person saying them means then, they can send chills down your spin. Hearing Logan saying that not everyone wanted to hurt me gave me the chills. But it was when he was looking into my eyes, speaking at a near whisper and told me that he didn't want to hurt me, that I felt a sudden sense of overwhelming.

There were few times in my life where I saw the tables turn for something good rather than bad. We rarely get a chance to witness the beginning of something big. Like seeing the first clouds of a big storm, I felt scared but with Logan there, I felt prepared. The conversation between us had been less than innocent from the moment we began speaking. Almost immediately he had asked me if I would stay longer than just to the summer, and although I had said no and tried to defuse it with a joke, he had some how been preparing me for our fight.

I sat there, staring at him and I couldn't help but feel that this was the start of something much bigger than either one of us had ever planned.