A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who sent their best wishes about the hurricane. So far, so good!

Moira closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself stroke Kevin's hair. The room was noisy, Emma and Scott keeping a respectful distance but doing nothing to calm the exuberance of Kurt or Laura. She was glad. After so much silence, so much time to think and worry about the life inside of her, she wanted to see their unbridled joy.

Hank sat down nearby, looking deep in thought. He'd often been like that, but he'd talked, trying to reassure her, or even just let her know what was going on outside the hospital. This was different, almost more troubled. She'd have to find out what that was about later, after everyone left. She wasn't about to worry her boy if she was wrong.

And she could tell that Kevin needed something like this. After his initial sprint toward her, he'd started talking about school, about books he'd read, everything. Sometimes he'd ask Laura for help explaining something, and she'd chime in eagerly. Kurt would add things, laughing and correcting him.

And then there had been the cards. Two of the ones Laura and Kevin had made were already on the dresser. They were sweet, with Laura's containing drawings of rainbows, of stars, hearts, anything happy the girl had thought to draw, in no particular order. Kevin's was a bit more organized, but no less sweet.

Laura had a third one though, made of construction paper. Unlike the other ones, it was void of any marker and crayon. It looked almost as though someone had simply folded a piece of paper in half.

"This one's from the Professor," Laura said brightly.

Moira hesitated, reaching for it almost tentatively. She'd spoken to Charles once or twice on the phone since she'd come, but never for very long. The school and the mission to Japan kept taking him away. When she went to sleep at night, he was often her last thought. She'd gotten so used to sleeping next to his warmth, to feeling his lips just below her ear before she went to bed.

She unfolded the card, revealing Charles's flowing penmanship inside. Moira kept it semi-closed so Kevin couldn't read. Some things were meant to remain personal.

My dearest,

I wish I could be there handing this to you myself. Know that you're in my thoughts every minute of the day, a constant ache that follows me wherever I go. Know that the minute I can, I'll be there by your side.

But I'm glad Kevin's with you now. He worries, even if he pretends he doesn't sometimes. You raised him very well, and he'll make a fine brother, but I suspect you already know that on both counts. If only we can get him to try some other English authors from time to time, although, to be fair, he only likes Jane Austen heroines who have a thing or two to teach the heroes.

Moira couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. Kevin started to peer over her shoulder, but she grinned and pulled the card further away. He pouted, but she could tell he was more curious than irritated.

She put her spare hand on her cheek, her fingertips resting there as she read.

He misses you terribly, as do I. I wish that I could give you a true apology for how difficult things have been, tell you that I wish it hadn't happened. But I can only pray that things will be easier, that the road that has started out rocky will become smoother.

Because, in the end, knowing you're here, that I can call you my wife, I have a hard time regretting anything that's happened. We have two children, something I thought I could never have. You're with me and, selfishly, that's all I want.

I think it might have been the one thing I can say that I've wanted since you held me on that beach all those years ago.

A tear slipped down her eye, wetting the hand on her cheek. Kevin noticed and sat up straighter.

"Are you okay mom?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, "I'm fine."

He looked doubtful, but her eyes fell back down to the card.

And soon I hope to be with you, to help welcome our next child into this world. I don't know if you've ever read any Christina Rossetti, but she's long been one of my favorite poets. Not while I was younger, and not while I was studying. I spent so much time drunk then I wonder how I ever got my thesis done.

Laughter once again bubbled from her lips, but her tears kept flowing over her fingers.

But years ago, she wrote something that has always made me think of you:

I loved you first: but afterwards your love

Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song

As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove.

Which owes the other most? my love was long,

and yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;

I loved and guessed at you, you construed me

and loved me for what might or might not be –

Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.

For verily love knows not 'mine' or 'thine;'

With separate 'I' and 'thou' free love has done,

For one is both and both are one in love:

Rich love knows nought of 'thine that is not mine;'

Both have the strength and both the length thereof,

both of us, of the love which makes us one.

Moira closed her eyes, her need for her husband by her side a physical thing, ripping her apart. She held her son a little closer, forcing herself to open her eyes and read the last of the card.

Until I can once again see you again, with all of my heart and soul,

Charles

She breathed in slowly, closing the card. Moira looked up and saw that Laura was suddenly at her elbow, looking worried. Next to her, Kevin was moving closer, his eyes scanning her face and, strangely, going around the room, almost searching.

"Are you sure you're okay Miss Moira?" Laura asked, "You're crying."

"I'm fine," Moira said swallowing, "I'm just...I'm just a little...I'm fine."

Laura frowned for a minute, and then her face lit up in understanding.

"Happy tears?" she asked.

Moira laughed.

"Yes," she said, "Happy tears."

Logan pulled Kayla out of the water, her wet hair sticking to his sopping shirt, her head lolling uselessly against his chest. He dragged her away from the riverbank, putting his hand onto her forehead. It was cooler now, but the fever was still high.

He swore to himself, laying her down on the ground next to him. His jacket, long discarded, lay a few feet away. He had to wait for a few minutes before he pulled her back into the freezing water, to cool the fire swimming in her skin. Logan brushed the damp strands out of her face, his other hand fisting next to him.

"Come on darlin," he said, "Come on. Lemme bring you home."

There was nothing, and he let his fist press into the ground. Of all the enemies he'd faced, it had been a long time since he'd felt this helpless. Even when he'd seen her bloody and torn on the ground outside his cabin, he'd still known who to hurt. He'd still had a sliver of hope that he could save her.

And when she was gone, he'd known who to go after, who to hate. But now that she was still breathing, fighting for her life and control in his arms, he didn't know what to do. Laura had trusted him to bring her mother home, and he didn't know what to do.

He closed his eyes. Laura. The sweet little girl who was more Kayla than him, her eyes big and her hair long and wavy. The child was all curiosity and helpless love, hoping someone would feel the same. She was the daughter he knew Kayla had always wanted, the daughter he'd never have been able to give her if Essex hadn't screwed with their lives.

He swore again as he pulled her up, ready to put her back in the river. It felt like he'd been there hours, and she wasn't waking up. The tissue on her neck was only now starting to heal, the rope burn fading. It brought up too many fears about the strength of her healing factor. How long had she laid there outside the cabin, her mouth bound, wanting to die, wanting to live, wondering why he didn't help her?

Her hands pulled against the ground, and he realized the duct tape was starting to come off. It was probably a combination of the water and stress. Logan growled in frustration. He yanked it off, as well as the tape binding her ankles. It was probably stupid, but God, did he have to be reminded every time he looked at her of what had happened? Of his failure?

Logan pulled her back into the water with him, holding his arms over her as the water rushed over them. It was freezing and, hating himself, he shivered. He leaned his head against the side of her face, resting his lips on her cheekbone as he held her close. If she moved, or tried to get away, he could stop her. Even if it meant hurting her, he would stop her. Laura was waiting, needing her. Like he needed her.

Kayla coughed, her body jerking his grasp. She was turning, moving, starting to fight. He pulled her close, wondering how he could, or should, knock her out. Not like Raven had. That could've killed her. He'd have to hit her head, try not to give her a concussion.

She twisted in his grasp, her hands coming up to her neck. It was so specific, so strange, that he stilled his hand. Logan watched as her fingertips jerked and twitched around her throat. A breathless, wrenching sob tore from her throat as her fingers brushed against the torn flesh on her neck.

"Kayla?" he asked.

She turned, the water helping her twist yet again. When she looked at him, her face was whorled and frightened. Sopping strands of her long black hair were sticking to her face like cobwebs, imprisoning her face.

Then, he saw it. It started out small, almost as though she'd forgotten how to do it. Then a spark flared in her eyes, slowly consuming what had been barren, dry kindling. As he watched, his heart ripping, it burst into an inferno.

"Logan," she whispered.

He let go of her, his calloused hands moving to cup her face. Logan drew her close, his lips greedily, desperately sucking at hers. Her teeth clicked against his, her hands fisting in the sopping cloth of his shirt. The cold was forgotten, his body warmed in the memory of that fire. She'd said his name, God she'd said his name, and it was like the first time she'd taken him in her arms, the first time he'd seen her eyes ignite.

He was lost all over again.

"I've got ya darlin," he said, the words partial and broken between kisses, "You're safe."

Kayla's cold lips moved beneath his, her breaths wrenching sobs and gasps. Her fingers were still twitching, her body moving oddly. Logan pulled back, taking her in his arms again, holding her as the water flowed around them.

Her breaths were still harsh, coming out her lips in little gasps of pain. Her head rested on his chest, coughing and crying.

"He'll never hurt you again," Logan said, "He'll never even come near you."