So the next chapter is up (as you can see). Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted or added this story as a favourite. I really appreciate it!



Logan, although not academically educated to any high standard, had an understanding as to the basics of how the earth worked. It was simple really; birds lived in the sky, fish lived in the sea and all other organisms lived on the land. This was the way it had always been and was meant to have stayed. The reason for this was a simple one; it worked, it was the natural order of things. It was an order that was given to the world by god or evolution or maybe even by chance. It didn't really matter what you believed. After all, the reason itself was completely irrelevant. What was important, however, was that it came about due to something that was beyond man's control and now they were messing with it, trying to bring it down.

And Logan didn't like that one bit.

It was the year 1903 and Logan was still quite a young man; he had yet to realise just how much his body's healing abilities would affect his life in terms of longevity.

Victor had surprised him a few days previously, telling him that he found the best birthday present for all eternity. The quality of the present didn't surprise Logan initially as much as the fact that there was a present. The two of them had never really celebrated birthdays—or any other holidays for that matter. They shared a mutual understanding that following such events would neither guarantee them a safe place to sleep for the night, nor a hot meal in the stomachs. It was a lesson they learned young; getting excited over something so trivial as a span of twenty-four hours that came once a year, was nothing but a call for disappointment. Something that Victor was not willing to see his brother suffer from year after year. So they had done away with the useless tradition and marked it off as one of the silly, pointless things only normal people foolishly preformed. After Victor making such a big fuss over the infamous 'birthday ban', Logan was definitely surprised to find himself faced with this latest trial. It was surprise that rapidly turned to unease when he realised what the 'present' was.

Those few days ago, when Victor had made his newest stupid announcement, he had dragged Logan onto a train and told him they were headed south to the American state of North Carolina. Knowing something was off; Logan asked what was in Carolina, to which Victor's answers were all evasive and entirely unhelpful. Logan probably could have kicked up a fuss, found some way to get off the train and run for his life, but he had no reason to be mistrustful of Victor. Not to mention he found it hard to ruin his brother's plans since he was obviously so excited about the whole thing. Logan could barely sit still himself as he watched Victor practically bounce on his seat, grinning to the point of looking insane the whole time. He could have been a big man-child—Logan would have thought he was, if he didn't know better. Everyone else certainly did and they steered clear of their carriage, afraid to be harassed by some poor half-wit. In the end, that suited the brothers fine but Logan couldn't help but feel slightly nauseous at the thought of what could make Victor so excited. Inwardly, he saw pictures of blood and gore and some poor victim on the floor with Victor standing over him. It made him guilty to even consider it since Victor was not like that at all. He would not become that bloodthirsty menace for quite some time.

After the train had finished its painfully long journey, Victor continued to haul his little brother down the road to a hotel. They booked in for one night, threw their one piece of luggage on one of the two beds in the room and went back out again. Victor hailed a taxi and he ordered the man to take them to some place that Logan wasn't familiar with. The ride was awkward at best. Victor continued with his excited behaviour, which left the cab driver in a state of almost terminal nervousness. Logan saw the sweat roll down the man's neck and into his collar and he noticed the whiteness around his knuckles on the steering wheel. Logan supposed he could understand the man's fear; Victor was huge after all, he looked like he could crush a man's skull in his hands—which was true. So while Logan could only marvel at his brother's embarrassing actions, he imagined other people must find them downright petrifying. But he didn't bother himself too much on that, and instead spent his time pondering on where they were headed to with such enthusiasm on his infantile sibling's behalf. He soon learned that the mysterious place was in fact, a field. They arrived in the area where a sign claimed its name was Kitty Hawk and Logan suddenly saw why Victor had gotten so excited. He blanched as his eyes took in the sight.

"Yer not serious." Logan muttered as he got out of the car and warily walked with Victor nearer to the group of people.

"It's amazin', isn't it?" Victor said with a huge grin beside him. Logan didn't reply, only grunted in a way that did not show whether he was agreeing or not.

"What exactly is it?" Logan asked. He suspected he knew the answer; Victor had been following the work of two brothers, who were inventors, for some time. He was convinced that they were going to achieve the impossible. Logan had been far from sure, but looking at the machine in front of them, he was beginning to find it plausible

"It's a flying machine. It's called the Wright Flyer."

Logan nodded. That was it; Wright was the name of the two inventors. "Does it work?" He asked.

"I'm not sure, but we're goin' to find out." Victor looked like he was about to say something else, but then the crowds of people hushed suddenly and Logan saw why. The two Wright brothers appeared from an expensive and flashy car at the other side of the field and began to walk over to their invention. Victor watched them as they went, while Logan watched his brother. It was so strange to see Victor act like this that he couldn't help but snort.

Victor's head shot to his brother and asked, "What?" with his brow furrowed in annoyance. Logan just shook his head and told him it was nothing. But he kept the smile on his face as he thought about how similar Victor was to those young women who had begun to idolise the men and women who were captured in those new moving pictures that were all the rage. He thought Victor might have told him it was popular to say 'motion picture' but he could have been wrong about that.

The two inventors stood in front of their soon-to-be claim to fame and surveyed the crowd. Their eyes fell on Logan and Victor for a moment—but that was only because Victor was pushing someone out of his way to move from the back of the crowd to a better view at the middle, or preferable the front. Logan was following him, of course, but he looked a whole lot less enthusiastic about the whole affair and only caught the inventors' attention for a split second. With timing that couldn't have been rehearsed, Victor bullied his way to the very front just as Wilbur Wright began to speak.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen…"

He began to say, but Logan's mind was not focused on his words after that. Instead, during the short, and probably memorable speech, Logan looked at his brother out of the corner out of his eye. Victor looked inspired while Logan himself probably just looked relieved. Victor had grown more and more restless for the last few years. Logan could understand why; they had been living civil lives. They had come out of the forests and had begun to live among the normal everyday men and women of the modern world. They left behind their natural habitat among the animals of the Canadian Rockies and instead adapted to find a living among the rich and famous aristocrats of the day. Increasingly, Victor was beginning to rebel from the popular culture of dressing up every night, drinking and going home to sleep for half the day. He neither enjoyed the late night parties, nor the meaningless social games that everyone in their social circle had to play with everyone else. Their lives had become so disgustingly civil; they lived in a civil townhouse, they talked to civil people at civil dinner parties in civil places. Hell, Victor even had his fair share of civil affairs with some of the civil married women they frequently visited. Logan could empathise with Victor's frustration. It was true he could act like all the gentlemen at the fancy soirees. And if he needed to, Logan could hold himself with just as much stature as any of the young noble men and women who had arrived from England. He could charm women and demand respect from the men, if he desired. But he no longer wanted to. The drive that made him strive for such things had slowed down. Normalcy was becoming less and less appealing. And while there was a part of him that really wanted to stay in that style of living for the rest of his days, the more dominant personality—the animal—wanted him to hunt for his food. He wanted to skin the deer he caught and watch Victor gut them with a better-trained hand. He wanted to lie under the sky in a tree or an abandoned bear cave. He even wanted to shiver in the intensely cold winter and submerge himself in the refreshing waters of the lakes in the impossibly warm summers. He wanted to live again as a true creature of the earth. The lives of modern-day wealthy men and women were wasted with all their different forms of entertainment. He doubted they would ever understand the thrill of the adrenalin rush as a well-timed attack brought down an unsuspecting prey. He almost pitied them for their obliviousness to the true joys in life.

He shook his head and forced his mind back into the real world.

Logan turned from his older brother then and looked to Wilbur Wright, who was still speaking. Logan began to listen—purely because Victor was so interested.

"…Of course," He was saying, "My brother and I became seriously interested in the problem of human flight in 1899…We knew that men had by common consent adopted human flight as the standard of impossibility. When a man said, 'It can't be done; a man might as well try to fly,' he was understood as expressing the final limit of impossibility…."

Logan huffed and crossed his arms. "Yeah," He thought, "An' it should'a stayed that way"

"But today, my brother and I stand before you with the machine that will break the walls of what we consider to be an impossibility. Today, we seek to mark history as the day in which man learned to fly!"

Everyone clapped as Wilbur Wright finished his speech. The inventor took in the glory for a short moment; smiling both in triumph and as a necessity for the camera that the newspaper journalist had brought and was flashing with its uncomfortably intense brightness. The inventors turned to the man who they had elected to be their pilot. He too, posed for a picture before putting on his helmet and getting into the Wright Flyer. As the pilot made the final checks and the technicians made the final preparations before the machine made its first flight, Logan's hands clasped the material of his expensive coat in apprehension. The whole field seemed to be tense and not a word was said between anyone as all eyes fixed on the invention that would change the world. The pilot grinned and waved once he was ready to take flight.

"It can't work, it won't work. It's impossible…" Logan thought to himself as they wound the engine. He brought comfort to his mind through the utter denial. "No. It's not going to work. It's okay…"



"That was somthin' else, wasn't it, Jimmy?" Victor said in the local gentlemen's club over a whisky some hours later. He had a crazy, utterly amazed grin on his face and he looked absolutely overjoyed.

Logan took a swig of his own drink and put it down on the table with a dull 'thunk'. He clicked his fingers and motioned to the waiter for another round. The waiter nodded and hurried over to the two mutants with a new glass. He cleared the other four glasses while he was at it, marvelling how those men could drink so much and not even be a little bit tipsy. He hurried away and Logan glared at some young man who had less than them to drink but was in a considerably late stage of drunkenness. He staggered past them, knocking into their table on his way.

"Yeah, it sure was." Logan grunted, sitting back in the comfortable chair.

Victor scowled, "What's with you, Jimmy? You've been grumpy for days."

Logan just shook his head. "Doesn't mater." He grunted, going back on his musings of the horrendous new development that man had just created.

Victor huffed and took a gulp of his drink. "You know, Jimmy, this isn't exactly the kind of gratitude you'd expect from someone who's just received such a unique birthday present." Victor grumbled, looking like a sulky child. Even clasping his dangerously clawed hands in front of him could not hide the childish look upon his face.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Victor," He said in a very inquisitive tone, "What month is it?"

Victor looked confused. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he look afraid his brother had drunk one too many whiskies. "Ah, Jimmy, I think…"

But Logan interrupted him. "Humour me." He told him with a shrug, when he realised the other mutant would not simply answer him.

"December." Victor told him with a frown. "Why?"

Logan ignored him and instead asked the next question. "And what month is my birthday in?"

Victor, realising that his brother's birthday would not come for another two months, understood what Logan was doing. "It's an early birthday present, runt. Thought I'd surprise ya." He said defensively as he folded his arms and leaned back in his chair with a huff—as if he was offended. Inwardly, he was praising himself for his quick thinking and a miraculous save.

Logan looked at him, unconvinced. Oh yeah?" He asked. He seemed to drop the topic for a moment. When he spoke his voice suggested that he had changed subject.

"Tell me, Victor, how long have you been interested in those two inventors?"

Victor shrugged, faking nonchalance. "Couple o' years. Not like I'm obsessed or nothin'."

Logan's lips twitched upwards in the faintest of smiles. He knew that Victor had a fascination with the prospect of flight long before the Wright brothers were even born. Victor had spent countless nights with Logan, under the stars, musing that if man could fly like the birds they'd be one step closer to the celestial lights that were strewn across the skies. That was Victor's ultimate fantasy; to see man make it to space, to be able to travel to different planets—to the moon. Or to weave between stars and milky ways. Logan would have said that his brother was fantasising on the impossible, he would have laughed and called him naïve, silly—but that was before today. Already, the feral mutant's unintentional prophecy was beginning to express itself, stage one had just been completed. Logan almost shook his head, wondering if perhaps Victor's mutation was more than he let it on to be. With a quick glance of him though, Logan figured his brother probably wasn't some sort of psychic; Victor would never have been able to keep from boasting about it if he was.

"Victor." Logan called the attention of his brother to him again. Victor looked annoyed.

"What?" He growled with a scowl on his features.

"Thanks for the early birthday present." Logan said honestly.

Victor blinked in surprise, but quickly hid his confusion with a huff. "'Bout time I got some gratitude." He muttered, shifting in his chair. But he gave Logan a quick look that was full of sincere appreciation for Logan's willingness to go along with Victor's pretend thoughtfulness. They both knew that Victor had dragged them to North Carolina for his own selfish reasons. Just like they both knew that it was not anyone's birthday present. But Victor swelled with pride as he realised how gracious his little brother was at accepting the truth and he was almost at the point of being embarrassed at how thankful he was for it. He'd never admit it, but Victor had needed to see this. He needed to know that the society his brother placed so much faith in was going places. He needed to know there was a point to the civil lifestyle that he had been forced to live in. He'd probably never tell Logan that his animal still called out for the wilderness and the solitude that he had found most homely. He'd never tell him that he hated the late night parties and the dinners and even, surprisingly enough, how he had come to resent the women who he'd had affairs with. He'd never say any of that because he knew how important this was for his brother. He'd be willing to spend another decade or so away from what he considered to be his home if it meant that he could see the other mutant live carefree.

For a while anyway.

Victor was a charitable kind of person, if he did say so himself, but there had to be a line drawn, he decided. He couldn't go on molly-coddling his baby brother forever. Eventually Logan would have to let Victor have his way. With a satisfied huff, Victor finished that line of thought, pleased with how it went.

Logan cleared his throat. "So, I was thinkin'" He said slowly, almost as if he wasn't expecting Victor to be listening. "Maybe it's about time we, uh, start headin' home. Like really home, I mean."

Victor looked more than a little surprised. "Really?" He asked in amazement and a little bit of suspicion. "You sure?"

If Victor thought he was excited about the Wright brother's and their admittedly amazing invention, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. To go back to the wilderness, to leave the damn human race to their own devices, to be free to be the mutants they were. The thought was so fantastic it made him practically delirious.

Logan shrugged. "Why not." He said. He paused for a moment and then grinned slightly. "Consider it an early birthday present."

In that moment, Victor swore he heard his brother's inner animal howl gloriously for its return to nature and his own beast answered its call with equal fervour. They were going home. At last.


Logan shook his head to rid himself of the last smoky tendrils of the memory that clung to his minds eye. Finally he understood why his blood pressure always shot through the roof when the blackbird took flight. He had always wondered why flying had made him so nervous. After seeing the Wright Flyer in all its glory crash after a few hundred metres, he had begun to realise that if—when—people began to improve them, they would go higher and be faster. And Logan knew well enough back then, that what goes up, must come down. And it didn't necessarily have to come down gracefully. He vaguely remembered witnessing the horrifying failed attempts at better models of the machines that later were called aeroplanes. His subconscious had obviously thought it bad enough to keep the experiences as a reminder to him to stay away from the untrustworthy devices.

When he felt that it was safe once again to move about, Logan pushed himself off of the tree he had been leaning against and began walking again. He was in Canada now. He hadn't been sure where to go when he left Xavier's mansion last week and instead found himself unwittingly gravitating towards his native country. It still seemed odd, after all this time wandering, to realise that he actually had a native homeland. It seemed absurd that he would be so drawn to it, time and time again, despite his complete amnesia those past twenty years. So it made sense that he would travel up to the colder weather to find himself again, when all clues to his past vanished. He wasn't sure if being back would trigger anything but it did and he now had another piece of his broken past to add to the memory banks, to store away, nice and safe. He couldn't believe his luck, but then again, everything seemed to come back to Canada when it concerned him, didn't it? Alkali Lake was there, he was born there, he had lived there and for some reason, he felt as if he had lost something there too. But that was nothing more than a feeling that, while very insistent, had no real basis to be there—none that his half-healed brain could see anyway. Logan had read about the Ouroboros many years ago and had been fascinated. In his head he could clearly see the snake forming a loop by eating its own tail. It was the symbol for infinity and somehow, Logan felt as if he was stuck in his own Ouroboros; no matter how far he travelled, he always found his way back to the starting point.

He trekked through the gigantic forests of the Canadian wilderness, so familiar with them that he no longer felt the need to stop and stare at the sheer size of it all. Indeed, he still felt that it was a most amazing place and the animal within him definitely appreciated it for its bountiful hunting grounds. But rather than look at it with awe, Logan found himself unconsciously seeing it as home.

Again, as he walked he had no idea where he was going. He decided to let the beast within him guide his way forward and so far it was doing a good job. He knew that his inner feral knew where it was going; it wasn't simply taking a steady route to the North East, it moved as if it knew the land, guiding his feet through the maze of trees. It guided him over cliffs and through dense growth. He followed the path of the bears up the stream. His animal growled with frustration as it willed him to sprint past the endless grasses with the sudden excitement of a young animal in spring. But he wouldn't; he was the one in control, not the beast. But half remembered instances of being a young boy came back to him in the form of a foggy photo album; he now recognised some of the places his feral side had led him to. And suddenly, he was led to an amazingly vast valley, whose might challenged the heavens and whose measure was stopped only by the horizon. The point that marked the meeting of earth and sky. It was almost like something from a fairytale, the great trees protected the sides of the valley and were sprawled around it, only stopping in patches, showing small clearings as if it was a haircut gone badly. A great river, whose origins were unknown, ran through the valley in a zigzagged way, as if it was making an offering to the great terrain. He watched down below him as a pack of grey wolves made their move and appeared in one of the clearings, stalking a herd of caribou that were blissfully unaware of their stalkers. The wolves slowed their pace and stealthily shuffled in between the trees, ever shadowing their prey. Logan watched with mild interest as the caribou chomped on the grasses happily then suddenly, something caught their attention and all of their heads shot up. Nothing moved for a moment, even the wolves forgot their hunt as their heads twitched to the side and their ears flattened. The air around the valley quietened to a dangerous low as everything turned their attention to the stillness of the caribou and their hunters. Unexpectedly, a streak of black flashed through the small clearing and one of the bigger members of the herd disappeared along with the unidentified shape. All hell broke loose as the other animals realised one of them was missing and both the caribou and the wolves scampered in different directions. The caribou stuck to the herd mentality and they darted in the direction of the river. With a great leap, each of the animals hopped over the water and sprinted off into the safety of the dense trees. The wolves took their own route to safety but Logan's attention was no longer on the animals. His eyes were now trained on a small wooden structure, near to the river but north of where the caribou made their leap. He narrowed his eyes as he studied it further. It seemed like any normal log cabin, but something about it called out to him, and the animal inside longed for him to listen to it—just this once. And so, just this once, he did.

Logan released the adamantium claws from their fleshy confines. He made his way down the valley, in the direction of the small cabin that made the wolverine inside of him fidget and twitch in anticipation. Logan scowled in agitation, what had his inner beast so eager? He didn't like it. He never liked it when the creature inside of him got what it wanted, but it couldn't be helped at the moment. He shook his head and with a sigh, he made his way down the valley.

Either he had underestimated the sheer size of the valley, or he had been paying more attention to the possible presence of the mysterious predator then he though. He arrived at the cabin after the sun had begun to set. He cautiously approached the building, sniffing the air warily for any signs of life. But like the rest of his journey, Logan found himself to be completely alone. Satisfied that he was the only person here, Logan approached the cabin and readied himself to knock on the door, before realising the stupidity of the action. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He shouldn't really go inside without the owner's permission but…

Go in!

The wolverine urged him with agitation. Logan sighed, knowing the creature wanted to be whole, just as much as he did.

"Might as well…" Logan muttered as he reached for the knob and opened the door. He looked inside and found…

Nothing. He found absolutely nothing.

Well, it wasn't exactly true; behind the door was more or less what you would expect to find in a log cabin. It was plainly furnished, with an unlit fire as the main attraction in the room. There were two chairs. They were cushioned and looked like they had once been comfortable but were now old and filthy. Logan couldn't help but notice the pile of books that was wedged between one of the legs of the chair nearest to him. He took a quick glance at the books and saw that titles such as 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells and 'Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ' by Lew Wallace. Logan couldn't remember when he had read these books, but he was sure beyond a doubt that he had, at one stage or another.

There was also a small table in the room. It held papers and pens on it, but there was nothing of any real interest and everything was at least forty years old. He left the main room and explored the rest of the house. It was just as basic; two bedrooms with only a bed and an almost empty wardrobe, a bathroom that looked like it had been made only recently and a small kitchen with little to no food in it. Even though it was small, the more Logan saw of this little building, the more he truly believed he had been there before. He growled in frustration at not being able to remember. He was standing the second bedroom of the small cabin at that time. He was so sure that he had been there before—so sure. All of a sudden he let out a furious snarl and lashed out by striking the first thing that got in his way. The small wardrobe gave a weary creak before compressing in on itself and collapsing in a way that made it resemble the leaning tower of Pisa.

"Aw hell..." He muttered as he ran a hand through his hair, wondering what he was going to do now. When the owner came home, he or she was going to be pissed. With that in mind, Logan figured it was probably time he left. He'd stake the place out, watch it for a few days and see if anyone went in or out. There was only one vague scent in the house as it was and yet again, while it was familiar, he couldn't quite get enough of it to make a connection. Obviously whoever lived here had not been back for some weeks. Which meant they were probably due back soon, right? Logan turned to leave, but took a sniff of the air and stopped, stock-still. His whole body was tense; his whole being—human, animal—was standing rigid, waiting. He took another, longer inhale through his nose and ached to ready his claws. He knew that smell. God, he was a damn idiot to not have noticed it earlier. Yeah, he knew that smell all right. Carefully, Logan left the bedroom and went back into the main room. The person who owned that scent was just at the other side of the door. He could hear the footsteps in the grass and the very slightly laboured breathing of the man. With nervousness, Logan walked to the door, surprised to see that the other had not already tried to jump him. With a quick, steadying breath, Logan put his hand on the knob of the door and threw it open.

Victor Creed was on the other side, walking toward the building oblivious to his little brother's presence. He had lived on his own for so long, without anyone trying to find him or kill him that he had grown lax and often lost himself in his own thoughts. Carrying a male caribou on his back, Victor looked up in absolute astonishment at the opening door. He blanched and stared wide-eyed. Initially, it was because he realised that his house had been intruded upon and he hadn't noticed. Then, it was because he saw who was standing in the doorway.

After shaking himself out of his embarrassingly debilitating surprise, Victor dropped his meal and growled warningly while adopting an aggressive attack position. Logan copied his movement, but not because he had any desire to fight, rather because it was a second nature for him to do it. Still, he realised things could go very wrong if he didn't do something soon. So he did the only thing he could think of doing. He waited for Victor to make the first move.

"What the hell is an X-man doin' here?" He growled, glancing around for more of them.

Logan seemed to back down a little. He didn't quite get rid of his weapons, but he no longer pointed them at Victor. He straightened up and gave up the tactical advantage of a battle stance in order to show his good intentions.

"Consider it an early birthday present." He quoted from his memory, hoping that it would trigger something in Victor's own.

It seemed to do the trick. Victor's features stilled and he stopped in mid snarl to consider something for a moment. There was something in those words. Something that just wasn't quite Logan the X-man and was instead rather reminiscent of…

Victor studied the younger mutant in front of him. Could it be? He thoroughly searched Logan's features for signs that his mind was just jumping to conclusions—that he was reading into this too meticulously. But his eyes. Those weren't the eyes of an X-man. Jimmy—his Jimmy—was there, somewhere behind those irises. He was sure of it.

"Jimmy?" He asked carefully, cautiously, afraid to receive a negative answer. Or worse; afraid that his little brother would say nothing and just look at him with estranged eyes. But there was no confusion in that intense gaze, just an emotion that Victor couldn't quite make out. If he didn't know better, he'd have said it was relief. But he shot that thought down almost as quick as it rose in his mind; no one looked at Victor Creed with relief in their eyes. Especially not Jimmy—not any more anyway. Not since Stryker.

Logan took a moment for himself, before answering his brother. "Yeah, it's me." He told him after a brief hesitation.

In his marvel, Victor could only put cross his arms and bark out a loud, bemused chuckle.

"Well I'll be damned…" He muttered.


Okay I usually try to keep the little black writing at the end of the story to the minimum because they're usually boring and I never read them myself. But I have a few things I should mention.

Firstly, I had to do a fair bit of researching on this chapter and I spent ages looking up things like dates and names and that sort of thing. However, that doesn't mean that everything I've written is accurate so if one or two things aren't making sense, don't blame it on my laziness, just blame it on my ignorance.

Secondly, I have used an actual quote from Wilbur Wright; it's the first paragraph of his speech that I wrote, the one that starts with "my brother and I…" I've taken this out of context, from some years later, since I have no idea what he actually said the day he made his speech but I figured it fit so it could work.

Thirdly, and I'm only bringing this up because when I mentioned Logan's longevity near the beginning of the chapter I realised something. I realised that it was completely unclear whether Logan grew up slower than normal (ie: he was physically sixteen for years) or whether he reached a certain point and just stopped aging. I figured that since after people have finished growing, aging is just the breakdown of cells and Logan's body heals broken cells, I'm inclined to go for the later. It's not hugely important for me to state this, but I might be mentioning the brother's childhood in another chapter so I just thought I'd make it clear.

Finally, I wrote that Logan and Victor were in a gentleman's club. Though I'm sure most of you know, I decided to note this so I don't land myself in trouble. Back in the early 1900s, a gentleman's club was not some sleazy place that men went to get drunk and…you know. It was, in fact, just a hang out for men. So if the lack of dancing women confused anyone when I mentioned it, I hope I set it straight.

Anyway, anyone who's bothered to read all that, congratulations; you're a more patient person then I am. Thanks for reading. As always, the next chapter should be up in a week or two.