Inhaling a shaky breath, she exhaled a dry cough, absentmindedly stirring the teaspoon resting inside the warm mug in her hands. Everything trembled. Everything ached. However, the coughing had been turned down to a much lower volume across the board. There was less pain and less coughing, the combination of salve and honey tea working quickly to take the edge off.
There was still a deep ache when she swallowed. The small cuts on the sides of her neck stung anytime she moved. But the pain was much more tolerable. So, she sat quietly on the silver table at the back of the room, a blanket draped around her shoulders, and she stirred. Her tired eyes lingered on John, still unconscious across the room. He'd always been a hot-head—with or without a flame.
Though, there was something gentle behind the heat she couldn't shake as a fifteen-year-old. It intrigued her, drawing her in close enough to form an attachment. And, even though he abandoned them all, she still felt a pinch in the left side of her chest seeing him this way. Unconscious, injured, his heartbeat on a screen. Maybe she always would?
Logan re-entered the room once he'd been given permission from Storm. She'd helped Cassandra change out of her suit, bringing her the clothes she'd left in the dressing room, and all conscious people were forced to leave. But she was dressed now and open for visitors, so Logan found his way back to her side. He exhaled, reaching up a hand to place it carefully on her shoulder.
"You feelin' better?"
Cassandra nodded a little. The sound of Logan's voice only brought back the memory of Sabretooth's. She had ignored his comment about her father as a one-off to spare her focus, but the words he'd uttered when cutting off her air supply lingered a little longer than she intended. "Can…" she was forced to pause, her voice tapering off as she grimaced from the ache in her throat. "I need...to ask you...a question."
"Go for it, kid," he agreed, voice softened. Something about hearing her struggle to make sound with her words pulled at a spot deep within his chest. It was almost painful. He waited quietly as Cassandra composed her thoughts, and swallowed twice before attempting to speak again.
"Why would...Sabretooth...think he's...my uncle?"
His heart caught in his throat. Taking a step back, he let his arm fall to his side, and Cassandra's eyes finally moved in his direction. They were empty and unreadable—but the sheer knowledge they were on him was enough to crush him. What was he supposed to say to that? How could he possibly answer? He knew, after all this time, someday she would ask.
Somehow, it would come to light. He would have to explain everything, from beautiful beginning to heart-wrenching end, but how could he? He'd only begun to piece together his life involving her mother just after Cassandra left the mansion for good. Moments came to him in dreams. Then, they started coming to him when he was awake, always leaving a headache behind.
How could he tell her what he'd done? Or, more accurately, what he failed to do? Surely, she would hate him. She might hate him either way but she would surely, absolutely despise him knowing the truth. Yet still, Logan found himself aching with want. He wanted to share it with her. To give her the truth and whatever closure may come from it. It was such a strong confliction, adding to the surprise from the suddenness of her question, that he stood quiet a moment longer.
Cassandra lifted her mug to her lips for another sip before setting it aside. If it was taking him so long to answer, it must be true. Mustn't it? Why else would he seize up and forget how to use his tongue? If it were a lie, a ruse as she'd hoped, it would be a quick and easy response. She could feel her chest start to constrict again, but for a different reason.
"In eighty-three, I was goin' from place to place, movin' around a lot. I was driving through Iowa and I stopped- I think it was a diner, somewhere," Logan's eyes had drifted aside as recalled the revealed memories. "Anyway...I saw this beautiful woman. She was absolutely breathtaking. There were kids with her—two young boys—so I ignored it. But I got outside and realized I was turned around. She was comin' out so I introduced myself, asked for directions. She said her name was Edith."
Her eyes fell as the name left his mouth. It hung in the air between them for a moment as Logan reined himself in, refocusing his eyes on her face. Absentmindedly, Cassandra wrung her hands on her lap as her mind began to wander, dancing through each memory of Logan she had like a VHS on rewind. All of it was colored differently, painted by a concept that grew pressure between her eyes. It was incredibly difficult to revisit it all.
Though, she didn't feel that she had much of a choice anymore. She had to rewatch this movie, replay it over and over, scouring it for all the little details she might have missed—anything that indicated he was telling the truth. But the buttons on the remote were broken. The moving pictures were speeding by, racing forward and backward too quickly to fully comprehend.
The back of her throat began to burn again—this time a dull, warm pain—and she found it hard to swallow, blinking quickly to clear her unfocused vision. He was wrong. He had to be. They were most certainly all very wrong. The man she knew as her father was a cruel, violent man, and many times she wished he was someone different. That her life was different. Yet, somehow, the thought of her father being someone as close as Logan was too much.
Her chest muscles constricted further, heart racing within her rib cage against the restriction. Logan watched her carefully—he had been for a while. He witnessed the moment it sunk in, the moment she refused the idea, the moment she began to lose her grip. A dull pain throbbed in his chest when he noticed it. She was trembling. Cheeks glistening beneath the fluorescents, lungs heaving, frame visibly shaking—she was terrified.
Logan swallowed thickly, inhaling a deep breath. "Hey, kid, you okay?"
He reached up a hand, resting his palm on her shoulder, but she startled away from him. "Why...why would y-you do that?" her voice was pitched oddly with strain and confusion, hurt and fear, as she finally responded, blinking hard to clear her eyes. "She was married. She had kids—where was my- was Harold there?"
"Look, we only kept talking because she was tryin' to leave her husband in a way that wouldn't be dangerous for the kids. She needed help, and I thought I could-"
"Fuck her?"
Cassandra turned her head, eyes finally moving to meet his, and he exhaled heavily. There was no easy way to tell her any of this. He knew that. But it was more painful than he anticipated—and he was starting to wish he'd listened to his gut and lied, made up some excuse and never spoke of it again.
Though, there was no backing out now. So, instead, he relaxed his shoulders and kept his eyes on hers for as long as she would allow it. "I loved her, Cassandra," his confession passed his lips and it felt as though weight had been lifted from his chest despite the ache. "I couldn't remember her for so many years. If I had known who you were when we first met here, I would've...I know I failed you. I'm just sorry you found out like this."
It was hard to see even with her constant blinking, but Cassandra's tears were silent. She'd known of his memory loss since their first encounter, so that was not surprising to hear—if he'd forgotten everything else, why wouldn't he forget her mother, too? Why wouldn't he have forgotten her? She tried to calm herself with slow breaths. A slower pulse would help her think reasonably, she knew, but it was a struggle to regulate her lungs with her injuries.
Still, she exhaled slowly through her nose, forcing herself to swallow the lump still burning the back of her throat. "Did you know...did you know she died, before you lost your memory?" she questioned, quietly.
Logan nodded once, but the thoughts the question brought to his mind only further pained his features. "Yeah, I knew. I got there after the accident. She was alive—but there was nothing I could do. I was too late."
"Wait-" she held up a weak hand as her eyes fell closed. Her mind was overworked, and there was far too much for her to unpack in his words herself. "Why- why were you there? How could you know she was going to have a car accident?"
Logan stepped in front of her before reaching up, gripping the edges of the table across from hers as he pushed down, lifting himself up. Exhaling heavily, he slid onto the silver table to mirror her position, settling in for the complicated story he was about to divulge. Since remembering these events, he hadn't spoken them aloud to a single soul.
They were memories he kept to himself, ones he guarded closely as he reeled from the reopened wounds of his past—forced to once again mourn the loss of his beloved. "William Stryker—remember him? I used to work for him, so did Victor, but things went south and I bailed without him. Stryker found me in Iowa, told me the others we worked with were droppin' dead. He didn't tell me Victor was the one doin' it—they tricked me, so I would let them give me these."
Logan made a fist in front of his chest before pushing the silver claws through the skin, extending them to their full length in a gesture. As he hid them away, Cassandra swiped at her under eyes with the sleeves of her sweater and sniffled, "How did they trick you?"
"They...they killed Edith."
Cold rushed through her veins as her muscles stiffened suddenly, causing a sharp pain in her neck. Though, it didn't register—every ounce of her was stuck, like someone hadn't hit 'pause', but 'stop'. Everything came to a brutal halt. More confusion had been added, but so had shock, hurt, and anger. Her brain twisted and flipped and contorted itself but, no matter how she bent, she couldn't escape the lingering thought—I was face to face with the man who murdered my mother.
"They made it look like an accident," Logan continued in an attempt to help ease her mental pause with more information. "I promised her I would protect you, and I thought the upgrade would help me do that. But they took you away from me, too."
Heat trickled down her cheeks a little thicker, a little faster. "H-how long have you known all of this?"
"It's been coming back to me since Alkali Lake."
"Do you have any evidence for this?" Cassandra's voice was exhausted, deepened from the swelling inside her nose. Despite her mind's vacancy, she knew how it would sound to ask for such a thing. But she needed it. She needed whatever sanity it may help her find. "I'm not calling you a liar- I just...I'm about to lose my goddamn mind."
He knew how she felt—it was just as crazy to him when he began remembering it, falling deeper into madness the more he recovered. The moment she asked, the only thing he could offer her flitted to the forefront of his mind, burning a hole in the worn pocket of his jeans. Logan leaned aside as he reached for his back pocket, fingers diving in to retrieve the polaroid he knew to be there.
It was the only tangible thing he had to prove it happened to himself. A small part of him hoped it would do the same for her now. So, he unearthed it and held it out toward her, moving slowly as not to startle her again. "She gave me this, on your fourth birthday. A year before…"
His voice trailed off, catching in his throat as her eyes drifted down to the image. The sight alone was enough to elicit a gasp, followed only by a flood of water along the wet lines of her cheeks. It was her. It was her mother. Edith Barton had always been beautiful in her memory. Dark hair, piercing eyes, and a bright smile that warmed a room. Though, she'd only seen it a handful of times outside of photos.
Her husband made sure of that. Logan's picture was one she'd never seen before, not even in the oldest boxes from the attic of their family home. Edith's eyes were exceptionally lively, her smile wide as she posed with a small girl—a girl Cassandra knew to be herself. She'd looked the same here as in other photos, but the others weren't framed like this. Like a happy time, a loving mother, a sweet moment with family. Cassandra reached out. "Can I-?"
"Take it," Logan held it out farther, closer to her.
Her trembling fingers held tight to the faded, white bordering of the photo as she took it from his hand, bringing it closer for better inspection. There was no denying its authenticity if for no other reason than its obvious age. It was old and worn down from its life in denim. Feeling it between the pads of her fingers made it real, feeding her an oddly even amount of calm and anxiety.
There were so many questions bouncing around within her skull yet so many things made sense all the while. It was impossible to settle on one, the two playing a tug-of-war within her rib cage. Her paternity was such an odd thing to be revealed a lie. No matter how much she hoped to be able to, it was never something she could question—there were birth records and family photos, she'd grown up in the same house with the same parents as her brothers.
Why would she question it? Though, now, she wondered if that was the reason she'd felt so protective of him, and he of her. Could they sense it? Feel it from deep within their bones somewhere that—oh, I've met this person? This person belongs to me? It sounded absurd, but it was also a certain shade of bittersweet to consider. A nice thought that changed the way she looked at their prior interactions even further in a slightly more positive way.
But the change was still jarring. Cassandra sniffled before exhaling heavily, trying her best to regain some composure. "How did you find this?"
"After I started remembering, I went to the house. There was an old ammo box hidden in the barn," Logan explained, quiet in recollection. "I think I put it there for safe keeping, but...I don't remember that yet."
"Did we meet before she died?"
He nodded. "Once. You were just a week old."
Lowering the polaroid into her lap, she used her free hand to wipe again at her cheeks, the skin beneath her eyes, and sniffled once more. Then, she met his gaze. "How did you manage that?" she asked, curiosity lightening the weight of her voice.
"The boys were at school and her husband was at work. I took the day off so I could see you. You were smaller than I expected, but the doctor's said there was nothin' wrong with you."
"Did you...have any say on the name?" she spoke hesitantly. There was too much curiosity lingering over her, too much enthralling her in the discussion to stop, but she wasn't sure if she truly wanted to know. "I mean- Harold wouldn't have cared either way. But, were you involved at all?"
"Well, Edith already knew she wanted your name to be Cassandra—and there was no way she was givin' that up. But we did talk about it. We agreed your middle name would be Elizabeth, after my mother. She said Harold was too drunk to bother asking about it," he answered her with a half-hearted shrug.
Cassandra nodded tiredly. There were many more questions to ask, she knew—but she couldn't stomach any more answers. She could feel by the ache bouncing around within her skull that she'd reached her limit. Though, there was one question she needed answered that couldn't wait. So, with a sigh, she asked, "Who all knows we're related?"
"Just the Professor, Storm, and Scott," Logan slid off the silver table. Her exhaustion, mentally and physically, was visible. He knew she would need some time to think about all he'd confessed, to consider what it meant, and it was best they let the conversation wind down to an end. "So—none of your friends."
The gingerly sarcastic comment elicited a small, empty chuckle from Cassandra. Slowly, she held out the polaroid for him to take—but he reached up a hand to push hers away, back toward her lap. "Why don't you hold onto that for me? You look like you could use the pick-me-up more than me right now," he tilted his head, eyes still soft as they looked into hers.
She nodded, retracting her hand, but it felt wrong to take it from him, even just for a while. After all, it was all he had left of either of them. Cassandra had photos boxed away somewhere in storage to look back on—and a special photo just of her mother tucked into her night stand for those extra lonely nights—but with her unceremonious exit from the mansion, he had nothing.
A sudden, familiar whirring touched Cassandra's ears and she instinctively perked up, eyes searching for the doorway just as Charles appeared there, rolling into the room. He stopped his wheels two feet inside the door, gaze shifting between Cassandra and Logan.
"Oh, my apologies," he tipped his head. "I did not mean to interrupt."
However, Logan shook his head and stepped out from between the tables, away from her. "It's alright—I was on my way out," he said. Cassandra tucked the polaroid beneath her right thigh, hidden away from sight, and reached for her mug. It was close to room temperature now, but the talking she'd just done drastically dried out her throat, causing a dull ache of a burn to return.
Logan turned to look at Cassandra once more before his departure, his features steeled to their usual level of disinterest upon the arrival of the Professor. "Get some rest, kid," he told her.
She nodded a little, before her head tilted an inch. "Thank you, Logan."
The corners of his mouth upturned just slightly, creasing them into a noticeable, smile-esque change as he gave a singular nod. Then, he was walking toward the door. She stared at his back as he disappeared from the room, an emptiness in her chest and a burning beneath her thigh, the informational cold water dumped on her now settling in like the numbness of hypothermia.
Charles came closer, stopping beside the silver table Logan had been sitting on. His expression was one of understanding, and of empathy. "Storm told me your mission took an unexpected turn," he explained his presence. "How are you fairing?"
"Fine...I guess," Cassandra shrugged.
"I wanted to ask of your well being—however, I also came to warn you. Bobby and the others are convinced visiting you for a chat will cheer you up. I advised them to be aware of your present condition-"
"It's okay," she interrupted, settling her mug atop her lap, fingers wrapped securely around the warm ceramic. "I could use a distraction, actually."
"I see. Well, in that case, I believe you will be pleasantly surprised by what they have in store for you," Charles smiled, recalling what the others had told him rather fondly. Though, his vague words made Cassandra nervously suspicious. What could they possibly be intending to do? Bring in a cake and sing a 'welcome back' song?
Actually, she thought, that wouldn't be so bad after today.
Because, truly, she missed them. Not the fighting, or the missions, or the in-house politics, but the people—her friends, her family. The people forced on her, whom she'd been forced on as well. None of them had much of a choice in being there, either because of their parents or their safety or both, and there was nothing else they could control either. But they could learn to control themselves, and they could choose each other.
Isn't that what every lost soul wants—someone to choose them? For someone to reach out and ground them from the dark nothingness and say, every day, 'I choose you'. Not just in words. In hugs, in touches, in remembrance, in warmth, in love. Cassandra felt too utterly empty in that moment not to feel an ounce of excitement, knowing her friends were coming to see her.
It was only a moment after Charles finished speaking that Bobby poked his head through the doorway, catching Cassandra's eye. "Hey, you up for visitors?" he asked, voice hopeful as he hung from the wall a bit.
She nodded quickly—angering the ache in her head. "Yeah. Come on in."
Bobby walked into the room, quickly followed by Rogue, Kitty, Jubilee, Kurt, and Warren. They filed into the silver space in a cluster. Cassandra wasn't expecting quite so many, especially not for her, but they all wore varying smiles of excitement. Charles backed up his chair and moved aside, still facing them all but just enough out of the way for them to get close to her.
The small group was halfway across the room when Peter hurried in to join them, his long strides making quick of the extra feet needed to catch up. All of them stood near Cassandra—some on either side of the silver table across from her, Jubilee taking it upon herself to hop up onto it—and adjusted their positions so all could be seen.
"Wow, guys," Cassandra exhaled a breathy chuckle. "When you said visitors, I didn't think half the mansion."
Kitty, arguably the shortest of them all, pulled herself up to sit on the table beside Cassandra. "Well, we all wanted to see how you were doing."
"And everyone wanted to be there when you were introduced to our newest member," Warren added, bracing his palms against the surface of the second silver table.
Curiosity, confusion, and surprise mixed together to push Cassandra's eyebrow up. She'd assumed they recruited new members, new students, since her departure. Though, his statement was a little more ominous than she anticipated. "Why? Who'd you find?" she questioned, hesitantly.
That was Lori's cue. She was standing just outside the room, hidden around the side to conceal herself and the fourteen-month-old she gently bounced, holding it against her chest. Initially, she thought it might be difficult to make it a surprise. Surely, the baby would make noise and give them all away. But this was a new room, with far too much to look at it, and there was silence long enough to keep it a secret.
She waited a second before stepping through the door, revealing herself and her child to those waiting—and the group instinctively twisted to see over their shoulders once Cassandra asked the question. Cassandra's eyes widened, her jaw slack as she blinked rapidly to comprehend the sight before her. She hadn't asked about Lori since being back at the mansion. It didn't come up, but the question still lingered.
It was a shock to see her old friend as a mother in the present, but not as much as it would be to anyone else. Lori had always been exceptional with children. She'd mentioned once or twice that she planned on having a family some day—but Cassandra wondered if this was what she envisioned. Lori carried the small child over to the group and Peter stepped toward her, bending to scoop his son up into his arms.
"His name is Max," Lori said, smiling infectiously as wrapped her arms around Peter's torso. "He doesn't have any powers yet, but he does have a knack for eating and sleeping."
Cassandra was stunned, dazed like a deer in headlights. All eyes were shifting between her face and the baby, looking for a reaction, waiting for a response. So, she swallowed hard and forced herself to speak despite a lack of mental clarity or planned words. "Oh my god...congratulations, guys. He's adorable."
In fact, he was. He was an average-sized baby but being in the arms of Colossus did minimize him quite a bit. With full cheeks, deep blue eyes, and the faintest head of black hair, he looked strikingly like his father. However, the dimples in those cheeks were unmistakably Lori's. They'd dressed him in a gray and blue, flower-patterned onesie and loosely wrapped him in a white sherpa blanket. And, with a name like Max? He was the very definition of adorable.
Lori looked excitedly at Cassandra. "Wanna hold him? You are his honorary Auntie Cass, after all."
Kitty held out her hands instinctively and Cassandra smiled in thanks before giving her the mug she'd been holding onto. Then, Cassandra held out her hands and scrunched her fingers in a gesture, plastering a smile mirroring Lori's onto her lips. "Of course I do," she replied, lightening her tone. "Lemme at him."
Peter stepped forward, the others stepping aside like the parting of the Red Sea to allow him space to hand over the infant. He was more careful with Max than Cassandra had ever seen him before, sure to gather the rest of his blanket beneath him as he bent. Once Max was lowered into Cassandra's arms, she held on tight, situating him safely in her lap. He looked up at her with wide, inquisitive eyes as he made quiet, unintelligible sounds.
As Peter stepped back to rejoin Lori, Cassandra couldn't help feel a bit overwhelmed. This was something she wanted to do. However, her head still ached and her throat was sore from speaking so much, and her arms were shaky as they clung to the baby within them. Though, she didn't protest or stop herself—instead, she pushed through, making a faux-surprised expression at Max.
"Hello, little guy. How are you? Look at you, oh my goodness. Those cheeks!"
Her voice was quieter, spoken so close to his ears, but it was breathy and full of positivity. Max wasn't scared of her, though he wasn't excited by her, either. He stared up at her still like he wasn't quite sure what he thought of her. Although, as long as he wasn't screaming and crying upon looking at her face—Cassandra would be happy with the outcome.
Bobby stepped a little closer to the left side of her table, but not too close to totally interrupt. "I'm the godfather," he told Cassandra, with a certain giddiness.
Her head shot up, eyes racing to find his. "Shut up."
"It's true," Lori added, drawing Cassandra's surprised gaze. She looked up, sharing a glance with Peter—who gave a nod—before she continued, "We were hoping you'd be the godmother."
"Wait...me?" Cassandra's features fell blank.
"We know you want to have your own life apart from the X-Men. But, you'll always be family to us, Cass. We would've reconnected with you much sooner if we could've found you," Peter explained, gently, upon seeing her expression.
Though, it wasn't a want to decline that held her back. Her first instinct was to agree, to rejoice with her friends and hold that baby a little tighter. But all she could think about was the conversation she'd just had with Logan. With her father. Being a parent was an enormously huge responsibility. And although she theoretically wouldn't be parenting the child anytime soon, there was always a threat of danger.
If something happened to Lori and Peter—would she truly be able to resume that responsibility and take care of a child? Her eyes drifted down to those big, blue eyes of Max's. His tiny smile was infectious, warming her chest with the urge to have one of her own—that all-too-common desire babies somehow instill into everyone around them—and she exhaled a deep breath. Finally, she replied, "I would be honored."
