Well, it's time for my ungrateful ass to thank you all for the favorites, follows, and reiviews! Accordingly, I thank Lead Owl, MamaVolk, ABewilderedBear, The Wind Whispers To Me, Tumblingintowonderland, queencavillry, hgwebber27, nightsinshadow, Black Raven Feather, FrozenDemigoddess13, ChelseaLouisePowell, FeliciaFelicis, SashaWritesFiction, charnii, meriland25, Cadburrytroppper96, Chella218, ScarlettScales, lovezjacobblack, and Winchester-or-Whitlock very cordially for subscribing to this story of mine. A very special thank you goes out to TimeLordHowl, Black Raven Feather, FrozenDemigoddess13, and Cadburrytroppper96 for giving me wonderful reviews! I try not to ask for them because I know how annoying that can be, but they really do make my day :) Thank you all again for reading my story. I honestly worry that I make Logan way too OOC right off the bat. The challenge is softening him up gradually, and mostly not in front of others, cause he's got a rep on the line yo ;) THANK YOU ALL FOR EVERYTHING. 3

Shortie had taken a liking to Native American folklore and stories in her studies facilitated by Logan. He had made a special emphasis for the teachings of the Natives and made sure to tell it in a truthful manner: genocide. It did horrify her, but she wasn't surprised to begin with. The one thing he felt he could actually do right with her would be to teach her truthfully and correctly, a feature not seen in the contemporary education system.

"Daddy?" She inquired as he closed the book.

"Yes?"

"Why don't we believe our dreams anymore? I had a dream that I flew and flew but I didn't leave the ground when I really tried."

He was slightly taken aback, as he too often thought the same. "I don't know, darlin. I guess we all just lost touch with our spirituality."

"Why?"

"Apathy and organized religion. People have lost the substance in their souls while becoming materialistic. And those who do seek a higher power often are misguided by a church or some organized bullshit."

"I thought Christians, Jews, and Muslims were good though."

He sighed. "Some are, some aren't. That's any demographic sweetie. It's just they've been a ploy to manifest as a powerful and lucrative machine. It's a shame something potentially beautiful has been so... corrupted."

She had actually had a good understanding of those words; after teaching her the alphabet, he'd initiate an exercise where she would randomly open the dictionary and select up to ten words, study them, then have a quiz on them when he felt it appropriate. But what he said had true, bitter sentiment to him. Having lived so long and traveled the world, he saw both ends of the religious spectrum, where it's run by a suppressive power system under which nonsensical bloodshed had flowed; to those who have forever maintained hearts of gold express an ethereal love for a deity in which they believed. To the good people in religion, he had reserved respect. But the evils that surround them, he couldn't ignore.

"Do you believe in God, Daddy?"

"I'm not sure. Do you?"

"Kind of. I believe in my God."

"Your God?"

"He loves and respects all people and living things. He's one guy but then he's a lot of other guys if another person believes he is."

"Sounds like a nice guy."

"He is." She smiled. He loved her youthful optimism sometimes. "Daddy?"

He nodded.

"I have a turtle on my back, you know."

"I think you're remembering the story wrong. It was the Earth on Turtle's Back."

"No, look!" She eagerly took her shirt off (she had a thing for nudity, apparently) and turned around. He analyzed her spine and saw a birthmark which could easily resemble a turtle.

"Huh, I guess you do. When did ya find that?"

"Auntie Jean told me about it when she gave me a bath last night. Daddy, is she my mommy?"

The Logan, James, Wolverine, all of him around ten years ago would've died to say yes. Even now that would be far from a burden on him. He was surely relieved that in the past few years his romantic feelings for her (and others) had inexplicably dwindled. However, his care and love for those he kept close had only intensified over the years. He concluded that they were really his family. "No, Shortie. She's just your Auntie. She loves you like a mom, though, I'm sure." He coughed. "Hey, what do you think of," he slightly grunted, "Uncle Scott?"

"I like him. He needs to smile more. Like you."

"You think I smile a lot?"

"No, you need to smile more too." He smirked at her. "No, a real smile!" She tickled his defined ribcage to which he feigned the sensation. She frowned at his ingenuity. "You're a turtle!"

He was amused and chuckled. "How so?"

"I don't know." She grabbed her shirt, put it on, then left the room to raid the kitchen. He sighed again. He expected the short attention span she had. He was thankful enough that she wasn't such a boring kid. He actually cherished all of the time he had with her, although his though guy reputation would restrain his affection a good amount. She understood that he wasn't a touchy-feely man unless he deemed it necessary. Although she secretly was a hugger, she knew that he loved her enough in his own way.

He began thinking about what she said. She had many incoherent ramblings before, but they all seemed to have a certain value or consistency. She could talk for hours with Logan, but that aside she kept to herself well. The body language she emitted that most people picked up presented her as erudite and well rounded. To a small but fair extent she was, but her timid nature was always overlooked as matured. He was a turtle. Turtle? Was he languid and sheltered? Absolutely not. He racked his brain for a symbolic standpoint. They represented patience, a big no; peace, not likely; and wisdom, perhaps. He felt his stomach digest and felt the emptiness.

He walked into the kitchen to see the same sight he had her first night, cookie jar full. His judgment fared pretty well, for he caught her before she fell again. She hugged him tightly around the neck as she giggled. He had the jar in his hand, and saw they were a special batch Ororo had made from an African recipe she had made herself. They were pretty damn good, too. He set her down. He had this feeling he could not explain as he let her down, feeling both her weight and another releasing itself from his mass. The weight came back as soon as he saw her smiling face again. She had a small, rounded nose, cheeks with a natural blush, blue eyes that seemed to be susceptible to subtle change in color, and that wild red hair that surprisingly lasted well. She had only dyed it red once with Jean's help and it had looked fresh for the longest time. He felt the weight leave as she left the room, then felt it again when he made the choice to follow her. She turned on her heel and gave him a stink eye.

"What?"

"Stop following me! I'm okay on my own in the house." She demanded. She was the clingy one, but she liked alone time during the sunlight hours.

"Just making sure you're safe, darlin." She wrapped her arms around his legs and kissed near his right knee as he ruffled her hair. She ran off and he fought off the feeling to follow her. The weight also seemed to get denser and heavier. He thought to himself that he didn't like his world to be far from him...

Wait, did he just say world? His intentions were to think out "... my daughter to be far from me..", but even he couldn't deny that he had thought it. His world? He figured it was safe to say that by now. He certainly felt the weight of the world when he was around her.

He heard her footsteps running in his direction, followed by a "Daddy, catch me!" He turned around and crouched before she jumped on his back. He started running around the main living room with her on his back. The running and spinning was making her squeal with laughter, and he soon found himself joining her with true intention. He hadn't smiled or laughed like this... ever. Not in his whole life had he ever been able to plunge his harsh reality into temporary oblivion to spend time on the planet of his daughter. The whole situation, in daily and long terms, had been too surreal for him. It was too good to be true and too true to be a fallacy.

Unbeknownst to them, a good handful of students, along with Eddie, Scott, and Jean, had entered the doorways, watching the cute duo play. A kid with a camera thought that the piggyback would be the perfect picture, so he flashed the image. Logan and Shortie had exchanged loving smiles before looking in the direction of the audience. Shortie jumped from his arms and made a menacing pose, to which all of the spectators playfully jumped back, "startled". Logan made a real angry face, which gave all of the students the incentive to leave.

"Did we miss dress up time?" Scott teased. Logan made a sarcastic sweet face before making a vomit face at him. Shortie said, "Would you play with me, Uncle Scotty?"

He silently gulped having been put on the spot. "Sure. But it won't end with me in a dress, kiddo."

They had all agreed to a friendly game of hide and seek. They soon were also trapped in her happy little universe, loosing track of the time spent playing the game. Moments like these had strengthened their love for the child. Escaping to a happy place, forgetting the petty grievances of adulthood.

In the end, the laughter and happiness balanced out with the stress and worry Logan had placed upon himself since becoming a father. He was consistently worried about her health, happiness, education, emotions, relationships, mutations- everything. He had begun to wonder who of them was the bigger coward. Well, he wouldn't call her a coward, considering she still faced what she didn't want to. But he hated to accept that he understood why parents, or at least decent ones, protect and worry obsessively over their children. He knew it not to be logically true but he feared that she could shatter or tear at the slightest aggression. Mutations could protect you, but only made you a bigger target for the real world. He angrily felt that she had seen enough of the real world for now. He made a vow to protect her innocence as long as possible without lying to her about the evils of the world she already knew.

He tucked her in to bed as usual, half-assed because he knew she'd just join him in his bed eventually. He had kissed her forehead and fell to his mattress, thinking about the passing day. He turned on his side to see a picture on his nightstand. It was the image of Shortie riding on his back, one hand holding onto his shoulder and the other making a rock n' roll sign. He noticed he had a wicked grin himself, caught in the middle of laughing with her. Another secret to himself was how much he loved the photo. The note on the back gave away their already obvious identity, to whom he'd pay a visit to. He analyzed the picture. He laughed with it, looking at the world on his back.

That's when it really donned on him. He was the turtle and she was the world, his world.

"Fuck."