Six years later…
Logan lay on her side as dawn peeked through the sheer curtains of her bedroom window. The early morning sky stretched wide and blue, and was cloudless; a soft breeze caressed the young stalks of the wheat fields surrounding her old, two story farmhouse. A sound downstairs had interrupted her sleep. A rapid stomping report. In fact, it was only a matter of time before-
Her bedroom door flew open and little feet thundered across the hardwood floor.
"Mama!" Her daughter joyfully squealed, flinging herself onto the bed and jostling Logan. "Wake up, wake up, wakeupwakeupwakeup!" Her daughter's tiny hands grasp at her arms, and then her side, seeking her flank. The small fingers dug in, counting her ribs. Logan wrenched around, smiling.
"Don't tickle me!" She quipped, grasping the child and throwing the covers over them.
Addelyn peeled into a fit of giggles, thrashing her legs and elbows as Logan's fingers found her small ribs and tickled her; Logan made sure she was gentle - always.
When Logan discovered she was pregnant, naturally she was terrified. Not because she was pregnant, or because her father was gone - or because she was alone in the matter but because she … feared becoming something horrid like Jennifer: emotionally distant, unloving, callous and abusive. It was a pattern Logan was determined to break away from.
Her child's laughter swelled in volume as she pleaded, her voice chiming like musical bells. "Okay! Okay! I'm sorry, Mama! Mama! MAMA!"
Logan sat up, ceased tickling her child, and threw the bed covers back.
Even now, it seemed unimaginable. How could a mother refuse to nurture her own flesh and blood? Love seemed to be a natural function of motherhood - like the moon and its pull on the ocean's tide. Perhaps maternal nurturing wasn't natural for some women. Logan couldn't neglect her children, even if she tried. Loving them was as automatic and instinctive to her as breathing.
"Alright, Addy." Logan groaned, planting her bare feet onto the cold floor. "I'm up." It was breakfast time, anyway.
Addy scrambled to her feet and began bouncing on the bed."There's a car here, Mama."
Logan slipped on her robe and paused, "A car?" she asked.
Addy nodded.
Logan turned away and quickly padded across the room towards her bedroom window. Outside, she saw what Addy was referring to; a car was pulling into the dirt driveway.
A gunmetal black Mustang.
"Oh," shit. Her mind went blank; her thoughts scattered in a panicked flurry, like butterflies on the wing. Logan hadn't even had her morning coffee and the day was already off to a frantic start.
"Addy, where's your brother?"
"He's outside playing."
Logan's heart launched into her throat; she pulled her hair up into a sloppy bun and hurried down the hall. Sensing the change of atmosphere, Addy was hot on her mother's heels, following her down the stairs and into the front foyer.
Logan reached for the door and paused, peering out. She wheeled around and eyed her little girl. "Stay here."
Addy halted and stared up with large curious brown eyes, nodding faintly.
Logan swallowed hard and turned back towards the front door.
She drew it opened and stuck her head out.
Adrian, Addy's twin brother, sat on his rump with a pile of toys surrounding him. Plastic tools, remote controlled monster trucks, and water guns. It was spring time in Kansas; even amidst the far western plains, it was too cold for water guns. Adrian was still dressed in his pajamas, his bed-mussed, black hair pointing in all directions. If they didn't live so far out in the country, she would have worried about them going outside unattended. With the flattened farms fields surrounding all sides of the property, Logan could spot her young children from miles.
"Adrian," Logan's voice was strained with worry, "Come inside."
Grey eyes met hers as he obediently dropped his toys and stood. Adrian was more quiet than his twin, Addy. He shuffled into the house without a fuss as Logan slipped out and shut the door quickly behind her.
This day would come, she told herself. She'd played it a thousand times in her head, rehearsed it, prepared herself for it. But even now, as it unfolded before her, she wasn't ready.
The billow of dust around the parked Mustang was subsiding. The driver's door opened and a dark figure emerged.
John.
Steadfast at his side was his dog.
Logan's heart did an odd flutter against her ribs, threatening to break free from her rib cage and land on the large wrap around porch. Behind her back, her hands tightly gripped the door handle.
A breeze kicked up, lifting the dark hair around his face.
His gait, confident but casual, was the same. The subtle hunch of his shoulder from wear and tear was the same. It wasn't until he was closer now, squinting in the morning sun, did she finally see the crow's feet wrinkles at the corners of his brown eyes, the more concentrated strands of gray at his temples.
He stopped at the foot of the porch steps, wearing a black cotton t-shirt and khaki jeans.
"Logan," he said.
The sound of his low, smooth voice throttled her heart. She wanted to fling open the door, run inside and lock it. This life she was living was so carefully constructed. Her children loved her and she loved them. She heaped upon them the attention, encouragement and adoration she was never given at their age. Whatever it took, if it meant to carve out her own heart and give it to them, so be it. She would enjoy every moment but so long as they knew she cared for them. She had control over her life, now that John had returned, she feared the old one was coming back for its own pound of flesh.
"Hey," she barely replied.
His eyes lowered to the tell-tale toys at her feet. His adam's apple bobbed.
"How'd you find me?" Logan asked, redirecting his attention.
He looked back up at her thoughtfully. "I made a few calls."
Logan nodded, accepting.
A pause stretched between the two. The trees rustled as another breeze came. Overhead, the wind vane rattled and whirled around, pointing towards the east.
"May I come inside?" he asked.
Logan stiffened. The grip she had on the door knob tightened, pushing the blood from her knuckles.
"Okay," she said weakly, "Yeah, that's fine."
This was it.
Both Adrian and Addy were on the other side of the screen door watching quietly. Logan's frame blocked their views of the other - until she turned. When she drew the screen door back, the twins were revealed.
John stopped short at the top of the stairs. The dog hurried past, tailing swaying as it neared the children.
When she glanced back, the blood had drained from his face.
"It's okay," she assured him, stepping aside so he could see them better. "They know who you are."
She led him inside as the children maneuvered around the adults. Addy and Adrian stared wide-eyed and wonderingly up at John. Logan unobtrusively removed herself to the dining room entryway and quietly observed the three persons in the world who meant the world to her. Even if one had waited until now to return and pick up the pieces of her shattered life.
It was Addy who broke the silence first.
"ARE YOU MY DAD?" she squealed; the sweet, earnest enthusiasm in her voice was an octave below heaven itself. Closer to the floor was John's dog pressed into her legs, surrendering to all the pets.
Adrian reached up and took John's index finger into his small grasp. John couldn't decide who to address first.
To make it easier for him, Logan asked, "Have you eaten?"
John looked over at her. "No, I haven't."
He looked relieved and surprised. Logan was surprised herself. Six years had flown by. Six years of rebuilding and mending on her own. Six years to come to terms on happened. Both mother and father killed by a crime lord while she birthed twins for a highly revered and coveted assassin. It all boiled down to this very moment; Logan was happy to see him, surprised and relieved. She didn't like being alone, and certainly felt it was only fair for her children finally met their father.
"I was just about to make breakfast." Logan's voice was thick with emotion, still roughened from sleep. "Would you like to join us?"
John smiled, "I would."
The rest of the day was Addy and Adrian exploring and interrogating John amidst rough-play with the dog. Though, most of the questioning came from Addy, who often interrupted herself with another question or a sudden epiphany. The parents barely had a moment to themselves to talk.
At length, the sun made its descent. The crickets began their chorus and both Addy and Adrian laid strewn like sleeping rag dolls across John, who sat still on the living room couch.
"Finally," Logan sighed, scooping an incapacitated Adrian gently into her arms. "I'll take this."
"I'll take this one," John said softly, coddling the girl close as he stood and followed Logan upstairs. In the most candid fashion, during the most unprecedented circumstances, Logan and John put their children to bed and returned downstairs. As out-of-routine as it felt, Logan cast the mixture of emotions aside, because despite it, it felt natural.
"Bourbon, isn't?" Logan asked hovering at the small wet bar in her dining room.
John nodded, taking a seat at the long, cherry-wood table.
She decanted them both a glass, proffered his drink and sat at the opposing side of the table.
Knowing John was not a man of many words, Logan had no intentions allow a thickening silence to swell between them. She could wait for the drink to soften his tongue, or break the silence herself. Plus, six years was enough waiting for Logan.
"What are you doing, John?" she asked frankly. Unfazed by how cold and biting the question came.
John looked up from his drink, stroking the side of the glass with an idle thumb. "Looking at you."
Logan narrowed her gray eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"It's over." He finished his bourbon in one swig, settling the glass gently on the table with a quenched sigh. Logan rose, grabbed the decanter and set it next to him. While he poured himself another drink, she took a small sip herself.
"What's over?" The imbibe warmed her tongue and throat.
The sight of John sitting before her under the warm dining room light, relaxed with one hand resting in his lap, the other rotating his drink like a carousel, seemed somewhat rewarding. True, she'd lost two people in her life because of this man but, because of this man, she gained two more. And whether by some divine intervention or balance within herself, she'd take her children any day over her unstable parents. The gain was much greater than the loss.
So in that quiet moment, as it seemed, Logan decided to forgive John, for everything.
"Did the Bowery King take care of you?" he asked.
"He did."
"Good." He paused, a pensive expression tightened his features. "The contract is finally closed. The Camorra has been overthrown. The High Table disbanded."
"Why did you wait so long?"
"To come home?"
Home, her heart swelled painfully. Yes, why did you wait so long to come home?
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
"I had to be sure. I think I've done enough damage as is, don't you?"
"Fair enough," she rose her drink in toast and downed the contents.
"My kids," he whispered, thoughtful.
Logan coughed, choking on the burning caught in her throat. She covered her mouth and breathed carefully while she placed her glass back on the table.
The house was old and amplified every small noise. The floors creaked and the pipes groaned, but it wasn't dilapidated and had already gone through an overhaul before she arrived. Her efforts throughout the years to turn the house into a home gave charm and personality to the farmhouse. She made it what it was today. The pictures; the notches on either side of the door frame, archiving Addy and Adrian's growth; the little shoes covered in mud near the foyer; the swing set in the backyard and the worn down path through the corn fields.
Forged memories and candid evidence of Logan's solitary work could now be shared with another.
"I've always wanted to say that," John finished when Logan no longer choked on a lung. "My kids."
"Our kids." Logan corrected him rather fondly. "I'm glad you're here."
John's dark stare held hers for a moment before he finished off his second glass and came around the table to crouch before her.
He took her hands into his, running the pads of his thumbs over the tops. He studied her hands, the scaring along her palms. A mother's hands.
"I missed you." He looked up.
The cold, predatory gaze indicative to John's stare was gone. Logan only a saw man now, cracked open and bleeding.
Logan's heart throbbed. Unable to find her voice again, she nodded quietly.
He leaned up, needing to kiss her, and Logan happily met his lips with her own. The same dark beard scratched her skin pleasantly as their lips parted for each other. His warms arms snaked around her waist, pulling her down to the floor and into his waiting lap. Logan clung to him, knotting her fingers in his dark tresses. The same wiry frame pressed against her, muscle flexing to pull her eagerly closer.
Logan severed the kiss, a flush warmed her lips as she tugged John against her, squeezing him, clutching him. He pressed her face into the curve of her neck, buried with dark hair, and inhaled deeply.
He shook beneath her, tightening the cage of his arms around her back, crushing her lungs. She could never be close enough to him and it seemed he felt the same.
"I love you, Logan." his voice was muffled by her hair.
"I love you too, John."
-Fin-
Thank you guys for sharing your time with me while I (and Holly!) told this story. I'm working on a Witcher 3 fanfic now, if anyone of you are interested. Keep an eye out. I LOVE YALL!