Author's note: Thank you to Annastesia LaFayette and kmj1989 for the reviews! We will definitely be finding out more about how Roxanne and Robert ended up left in the woods, as well as the part that Logan played (or maybe didn't play) in that happening. I have a general storyline cooking for that whole back story that loosely follows a comic storyline involving Romulus, Logan, and Remus. Who's Remus? Read on and find out! I'm playing fast and loose with a lot of things here, but if you squint you can see the comic book origins.

Thank you again to everyone who gives this a read, and special thanks to those who take the time to review. Those make my day!

Brand New World

A daughter.

He has a daughter, and now Logan has no idea what to do.

Before he can gather this thoughts, Roxanne reaches into her pocket and pulls out a tarnished gold locket. He takes it automatically when she offers it to him, noting the small rose etching on it, along with the initials "J.H." and "R.V."

"I don't suppose that sparks anything, does it?" she asks doubtfully. "Gramps told me it was in our blankets when he found my brother and I."

"Your brother?" It's the second time she's alluded to a sibling.

"Robert," she explains. "My twin. The Wendigo- Dr. Cartier- killed him last month."

Logan experiences a fleeting feeling of regret and sorrow for the son he'll never meet, followed swiftly by a sort of grim satisfaction that his killer is good and dead. He only wishes that he had helped more in delivering the final blow.

He has to admit, Roxanne has had a very bad string of luck lately, family-wise. Her twin brother, and then the man who raised her, were both gone within the space of a month. He can't even say it's getting much better after this new revelation of their relatedness- he knows he's not exactly what you'd call father material. He's glad she doesn't expect him to brush her hair and tell her bedtime stories and all that fatherly shit, though.

Talk about guaranteed disappointment.

Now Logan examines the locket, not really expecting anything.

But to his surprise, the image of a woman's face- red-haired and beautiful, with a startling resemblance to Roxanne except for the red irises and black mask tattooed around the woman's eyes- flashes through his mind. It's accompanied by a swell of emotions that hit him like a punch to the gut. Regret, sorrow, and the echo of what he can only describe as love.

He blinks, and the name comes to his lips unbidden. "Remus," he murmurs. "Remus Volpe."

Charles sits up a little straighter in his wheelchair. "You remember a name, Logan?" he asks eagerly. "Anything else?"

Logan shakes his head, aware that Roxanne and Hank are also looking at him expectantly. "Just a face," he replies.

There's a pause, and the reason is clear when Charles grins ruefully and says, "this Remus is either Roxanne's mother, or we have an extremely strange coincidence on our hands." He glances at Roxanne. "You look just like her, Roxanne, but with Logan's eyes."

Logan feels a little annoyed that the telepath reached into his mind without asking, but decides right now isn't the time to comment. He's too busy watching Roxanne's reaction- her eyes widen as she glances between them.

"May I see?" she asks tentatively. Her gaze becomes unfocused for a moment as Charles plants the image of her mother's face in her mind, and then her expression becomes rather wistful. "She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

Hank seems to react automatically to her distress, however minor it is. He edges closer to Roxanne, and the motion catches her attention- and Logan's.

Well that's interesting.

She glances up at Hank and smiles sadly. "It's weird to think that's the first time I've seen the woman who gave birth to me in twenty-three years, and it's a secondhand memory," she observes.

Hank doesn't reply verbally- instead he reaches up and touches a tendril of her hair, letting the strands flow through his fingers. It's clearly meant to be some sort of gesture of comfort and affection and, well, intimacy, and the kid is doing it right in front of him.

Logan coughs, making the nerdy scientist startle. He smirks as the younger feral reddens and snatches his hand back, properly chastened, while Roxanne gives her newly discovered parent a rather reproachful look.

You know, he might end up enjoying this whole father thing after all.

What did I get myself into? Roxanne thinks desperately as three teenaged girls circle around her with critical eyes in the middle of a JC Penny. They remind her of wolves surrounding their prey. She finds herself turning her head as they move, trying to keep them all within her vision.

They've just arrived at the mall for Moira's big shopping excursion, which morphed into a female bonding trip when the older female students caught wind of the mission.

As if clothes shopping, already a hated activity of Roxanne's, couldn't get any worse.

"I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to hang out with the other girls," Moira explained as they headed for the car. "Hopefully make some friends."

"What about Mystique?" Roxanne asked, watching the older woman's expression closely.

Moira pursed her lips, which somewhat confirmed Roxanne's suspicions about the shapeshifter's popularity here. Despite the obvious respect for her abilities, the mutant hero's acerbic attitude and arrogance don't have many fans. "She said she had some other things to take care of."

Translation: she said no way in hell was she going to help me.

Roxanne isn't sure what she did to make the shapeshifter instantly dislike her from the very first moment Mystique set eyes on her, but she's starting to wonder if perhaps that's just the norm for the blue woman. Roxanne's trying to not let it bother her- she's got bigger things to be concerned about right now.

But still- the phrase "never meet your heroes" exists for a reason. Roxanne can't help feeling disappointed that Mystique, the most famous mutant in the world, has been so cold and rude in person. She's admired the blue woman for years, and it hurts that the mutant hero who saved the President has apparently decided to hate her on sight, from what she can tell.

After a car ride that felt more like an interrogation because of all the questions from the other girls, they finally made it to the mall in relatively nearby Rochester. Upon their arrival Moira excused herself to use the restroom, giving the wolves their opportunity and landing Roxanne in her present predicament.

"Omigod, it's going to be so much fun picking stuff out for you," the black-haired girl- Jubilee gushes. "Look at your waist! You could be a model!"

"Too bad she dresses like a lumberjack," Storm mutters.

Roxanne flinches and hugs her flannel shirt to her body. She knows they're trying to be helpful, but she doesn't like the scrutiny.

"She's from Alaska, 'Ro," Jean tells the other girl. "Not a lot of room for style over function."

Jubilee gives Roxanne a sympathetic look. "Sorry. Tact isn't one of Ororo's strong points," she explains.

"Like Mystique," Jean mutters under her breath, so quietly that Roxanne is the only one who hears.

Thankfully at that moment Moira rejoins them. She pulls a slip of paper out of her purse and hands it to Roxanne. "This is a list of the things I thought you might need. Take a look and add anything else you'd like."

Roxanne gives the list a quick once-over. Pants, shirts, panties, socks, shoes, coats and more- Moira had even thought of accessories like belts, nylons, and earrings. "I think you covered everything, Moira," she says, awestruck.

The human woman smiles. "Good. Now here's what we're going to do-"

Moira, perhaps sensing Roxanne's lack of enthusiasm for this project, deploys her team with the precision and efficiency of a military force- clearly a leftover ability from her years as a CIA agent. After deducing the feral girl's sizes Moira posts her at the dressing room and has her handmaidens of fashion bring their offerings to be tried on.

"You'll be our masterpiece," Jubilee proudly proclaims, which really makes Roxanne momentarily wish she were back in Alaska.

What follows is a makeover montage fit for a movie. Item after item is brought to her, and she's forced to parade around like a dog in a show ring, she feels.

At first the outfits they bring are so outlandish Roxanne (politely) refuses to even put them on. The colors and loud floral prints of the decade are too garish and bright for her taste, which is why she's more a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl in the first place.

"Can we go to a thrift store?" she begs, even though Moira had already waved away her concerns when she warned the older woman that she had no money for a new wardrobe. Moira assured her that there was a fund at Xavier's set aside for situations just like this. "Or just get me some jeans-?"

But she's over-ruled.

"You're going to be a teacher," Jean says. "You've gotta look the part. We just need to find something that's... you."

"None of this is me, Jean," Roxanne retorts, her patience finally fraying. She's tired of repeating herself, but she also immediately regrets the small outburst. "I'm sorry. I just- I hate shopping to begin with, and these clothes are so ugly and uncomfortable that I'm getting a little frustrated."

The other redhead frowns. She raises her hand to her temple and stares at Roxanne with a furrowed brow.

Roxanne feels a strange sensation, like an odd tickling on the inside of her skull. "What are you doing?"

Trying to figure out what you want, Jean's voice says. But her mouth isn't moving- the girl is projecting the words into her mind, the same way Charles did back in Alaska. There. That's better.

After that the fashion selections are a bit more to Roxanne's liking, though it's still a lot more girly than this tomboy has ever preferred. She also feels uncomfortable with the way Jean so casually read her mind, without permission. Charles did the same thing earlier today, plucking the image of Roxanne's mother out of Logan's mind without asking. Was that normal behavior for telepaths, and she's being oversensitive? Roxanne really doesn't know.

There's so much to learn about living at a mutant school. A brand new etiquette that she has to figure out. And how is she supposed to act around Logan now? He's not Gramps and never will be. The old man's place in her heart will never be filled by anyone else, biological relation or not. But is Logan going to take on a fatherly role with her now? Does she even want him to?

The whole adjustment concept seems like a monumental task, as she faces all these changes at once. All the vestiges of her previous life are falling away, one by one. Her clothes are just another example of this reluctant metamorphosis.

By the time Moira has finally declared victory Roxanne's new wardrobe barely resembles her old.

And not just because the vast majority of her old clothes are now ash.

"There," Jubilee declares. "It's a new year, a new place, and a new you, Roxanne!"

"Yeah," the feral girl whispers, thinking about the daunting venture before her. "I guess it's a brand new world."