My one-shot partner, ArielleMoonlight, and her angst-driven series, Between the Sheets, can also be found on this site. It's really worth reading, reviewing, following and favouriting.
It's my turn today and I wanted to run with my own idea. I chose to explore parenthood, angst, and the dysfunctional relationship between Logan and Rogue. Yes, this is a two-shot unless I can push it further to a three-shot and break all rules.
Literally, my prompt is: Parenthood, Logan and Rogue don't mix, but they battle through the mayhem and angst of everyday life when their young, troublesome child is cloaked in a sudden and mysterious danger in the heart of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
The Canopy Over the Bed
Part One
Logan chased down a shot of whiskey with a beer, and nope, it didn't help settle matters. Thoughts roughened around the edges until they sliced through his goddamn cranium. He was a fucking idiot, an asshole, and a piece of shit who hit the road when the weeds threatened to grow under his feet. Wherever he travelled, there was always a bar stool waiting for his useless ass, as the memories of Jean pleading for death haunted every second of the day.
The pain faded over the years, but the guilt remained locked and loaded like a hair trigger. He scrapped, fought, and battled in cage matches, drank his weight in booze, and healed from alcohol poisoning more times than he cared to remember. Life was shitty on the road and lonely, too. His days were filled with drinking, fighting, and fucking, but in the dead of night, as he scowled at another motel ceiling in another shared bed, he saw her. No, not Jean. He saw her. Marie smiled at him, even though he'd fucked her over countless times and deserted that promise the day he walked out.
He visited the X-Men a handful of times since but always called ahead, letting Storm know his plans. Every time, without fail, he would catch Marie's faded scent in the mansion but never crossed paths with her. She always hightailed it before he arrived and returned after he left. It was thoroughly deserved because he'd acted like an ass and broken her heart, and in retaliation, she severed all contact and tossed their friendship into the nearest dumpster.
"Fuck it," he muttered and ordered another drink, demanding something stronger to drown the pain.
Abandoning Marie didn't sit right with him, but neither did sleeping with her four times during a heavy spell of grieving for Jean. His head at the time had been a mess, and his other head, well, shit, that glistening cock of his had enjoyed every second. He knew she had a crush on him; how could he forget the night he saved her drunken and drugged ass when she killed somebody? Something shifted around that time and strengthened through the countless Danger Room sessions he drilled her through. Then came the cure and the fiery redhead's death.
Through another never-ending drinking session, an impulsive thought struck the brooding Canuck between the bloodshot eyes, and he planned to return to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. No calls ahead this time; he didn't want to spook Marie. Yeah, it seemed time to set things in motion and kick ass. He planned to approach her, chat, and apologise. If they could sift through the ashes of their friendship, maybe the depression would lift without the constant need to dull the pain with booze-filled sessions in shithole bars. It was worth a shot anyway, and he drunkenly stumbled off the scuffed bar stool and headed straight to the blustery car lot, where a motorcycle waited.
Bracing himself for the fallout of a southern spitfire readying herself to take revenge, he heaved a sigh and scrubbed a weary hand over his unshaven face. The shit would probably hit the fan, and she would continue to hate him, but he had to do something before the booze steamrolled over his useless, murdering, drunken ass.
With a furrowed brow, Logan parked outside the garage, giving the sprawling grounds the once over with weary eyes. He caught sight of a green and yellow party banner flapping in the light wind above the school's main entrance and read the words with a curious frown. "Happy fifth birthday, Anna." It was true what they said; the latest recruits grew younger each year.
Sighing, he headed up the stone steps and missed the days when Marie would tackle him with a hug and a smile. Already desperate for a smoke to chase away the nerves, he snorted. He needed to man up and face the kid. No, she wasn't a kid any longer. He'd seen to that as did the passing years. What age would she be now? Twenty-four, maybe even twenty-five? Sifting through the thoughts only made him feel twice as old and a hundred times shittier for bailing on the team.
Searching for any sign of a friendly face, he reached the main staircase and sniffed the polluted scents. The early morning racket reached his ears, with cutlery clashing against plates and the shouts, yells and footsteps from over-eager students passing from one room to the next. Suddenly, something took him by surprise, and it wasn't welcomed with open arms.
Bouncing down the staircase and landing inches from his boots was a vacuum cleaner that burst open in a cloud of dust, dander, dirt, and debris. He spluttered and coughed as he looked up the stairs and spotted a little girl staring down at him. Yeah, the recruits were definitely getting younger each year.
"Does this belong to you?" he asked, brushing the dust off his jacket, and nudging the vacuum with his foot.
The girl shook her head sadly because the plan hadn't worked, and she owned no vacuum cleaners as pets. "I thought it would fly."
"You thought it would fly?" he said, raising an eyebrow at the stupid answer.
She nodded solemnly, and he snorted in amusement. Jesus, her parents must be idiots. "Vacuum cleaners don't fly, Kid. What's your name?"
Her nose wrinkled with concentration as she plucked a name from thin air. "Cowabunger Cheese Feet," she answered thoughtfully, and he didn't need to sniff her scent to work out she wasn't telling the truth.
"Uh-huh," he grunted and looked around for any familiar faces. Finding nobody to save him from the conversation, he looked at the girl again. She picked up a toy rabbit and cradled it in her arms. "Who's your friend?"
"It's a secret, moody boy," she responded, watching his sullen face and copying his glum scowl with anything but moodiness in mind.
Logan grunted again, dumped the rucksack at his feet and searched for another question to fill the awkward silence. "You seen Rogue about?"
She nodded, slid clumsily down one step, and cradled the threadbare rabbit with its wonky eyes. Her curious and troublesome gaze never once left the moody boy's face.
At a loss for words, he grunted for a third time and smelled Marie's fresh scent everywhere. He looked relieved when he spotted Storm.
Leaving the Professor's old study, Storm's gaze briefly widened before she recovered her serene composure. "Logan," she greeted, surprised by his unannounced visit. "What are you doing here?"
"Getting attacked by a vacuum cleaner," he muttered irritably, wiping more dust off his clothes. "Who does the dumbass kid belong to?"
Storm gazed up the stairs and was startled when she saw the girl climbing the handrail like a monkey. "A former student," she said, rushing up the steps to stop the fearless child from falling.
Logan grunted for the fourth and final time and shook his head at the kid's stupidity. "Is Rogue around?"
"I'll fetch her," Storm replied, smiling in relief as the girl settled safely at the top of the stairs again.
He waited impatiently at the foot of the stairs, running through some lines he could use on Marie to break the wall of shitty silence she surrounded herself with. His brow furrowing, he watched the resident troublemaker scoot roughly down each step without a care in the world. "Do you have a death wish, Kid?"
"I don't know what that means," she said, cuddling the rabbit as she slid down the last six steps at such a speed that she crashed into his legs with a giggle.
"Take it easy," he said, looking at her with concern. "You're gonna break a bone if you're not careful."
In Logan's old bedroom, Rogue searched through a box of clothing she found stashed in the back of the closet. Most of it belonged to him, and some items still smelled of cigar smoke. She smiled slightly, in the mood to reminisce and mend her forever-broken heart. Standing with one of the hooded jackets, she faced the mirror and sighed in disappointment when the bedroom door flew open.
"What did she do this time?" she asked knowingly, dropping the jacket into the cardboard box. "I asked Kitty to babysit while I finished moving my belongings in, but I know what she's like, always finding trouble."
Storm rushed in and gently shook her by the arms. "Logan's downstairs."
A shocked and silent Rogue needed this trope. Yes, this trope. She was standing in front of the mirror, gazing at her reflection and wondering where the years had vanished while she silently cussed Logan's ass to the point of damnation. She looked a little older, wiser, more forthright, edgy, heated, and heartsick. That crush had flourished, faded, compounded, and cemented into love. She loved Logan, and he broke her heart when he fled, but he left something behind. A precious gift that grew inside her for nine months.
It started with drunkenness, that silly spell of intoxication at seventeen, with the drink, drugs, and accidental homicide of a drug dealer outside the motel in Hamilton, Ontario. That night brought her and Logan closer together. She had killed with claws and taken a life away with a borrowed mutation that stung, hurt, and frightened her. The memories of the dealer's death still plagued the worst of her nightmares and worsened since becoming a forever-failing mama.
The Logan-sized hole never seemed to fade, even after giving birth to their daughter. It was her fault. She fell willingly into his muscular arms and spent two nights of stormy bliss with a genuinely feral Wolverine. She wanted it and craved every inch of him. He could smell the lust and growled like he owned her. God, that snarl from his lips. The way his gaze had darkened as he stalked across the Persian rug. Even now, she welcomed another trope with open arms because the memory made her feel weak at the knees.
It continued with Jean's death—a depressing time in the mansion. Logan killed Jean, and after taking the cure, a repentant Rogue, remorseful for missing the battle and erasing a poisonous mutation, searched for the mourning Wolverine.
She had found him in his bedroom, a broken man, barely able to make eye contact and lost in a drunken stupor. He wouldn't even talk as he nursed another bottle of whiskey. Sitting beside him, she stayed silent and passive amongst the ocean of empty bottles that littered the bed.
Slowly, she niggled away at him, like poking a bear with pleasantries. She talked about how sorry she felt and why it wasn't his fault. That the darkness didn't belong like a canopy over his bed, and why he shouldn't lose himself in the torrent of trauma.
"I'm proud of you for being a good friend to Jean," she said softly, gripping his hand. "Hey, I'm proud of you, Logan. Please don't lose yourself in the darkness because you're the greatest person I know."
The fawning comments went down like a bag of warm vomit on a sweltering day with singing. Yes, she might as well have flung a leaking sick bag at his head as she sang because he yanked his hand away and gulped down a third of whiskey. It was only then that he noticed her bare hands had touched him. He reached for her again; brows deeply knit together in a curious frown. He touched her. Grabbed her hand and held it tightly. Nothing happened mutation-wise, but something shifted between them. She saw it in his gaze before he finished the bottle of whiskey and passed out.
The next afternoon, she checked on him again, and it happened — Logan in sweatpants and her wearing a pair of mismatched pyjamas. Empty liquor bottles rolled to the floor as they landed together in a tangle of limbs and animalistic urges on his bed. That's when she knew it was love. She loved him. The crush had enveloped every section of her heart, and she gift-wrapped her virginity and handed it to him.
Then came the unbearable heartbreak. Three days later, Logan left without a word. He disappeared, and even Storm didn't know where he had gone. She forgot to take birth control in the turmoil and the pain of feeling used and abused. Then, with a positive pregnancy test, she had to admit to Bobby that cheating ran rampant in her cured veins. It wasn't like she could pretend the baby belonged to him because he was still too frightened to touch her.
With another failed relationship and a fractured and bruised heart, Rogue packed a duffle bag and left through the same door Logan had disappeared through months earlier. But she travelled to the South, back to her parents. They welcomed her and the pregnancy because she lied about being married. The father was busy at work, she said. He worked overseas, she explained with an awkward gaze, and no, he wasn't a mutant.
Fast forward five years, and life felt more normal even though she frequently balanced a chaotic daily routine with ever-exploding drama. The cure continued to work, and she loved life at the mansion. Romantic dates were hard to come by because she always put her daughter first, and no, Logan didn't know he was a father.
Rogue switched off the radio, chasing the panic away and gazed at Storm with an absentminded stare. "Did you say Logan's here?"
Logan tilted his preoccupied head to the side, listening to the footsteps marching toward him with a reassuring stride. He sniffed the familiar scent and caught the smile before it reached his lips. She appeared at the top of the stairs, wild-eyed but attractive for the ages, and smelled worried but seemed guarded and highly alert.
"Hey," he said because it sounded the safest way to start a conversation.
Dressed in ratty clothes, which she only wore when cleaning and tidying, Rogue gazed around and didn't spot her daughter anywhere. She glanced at Logan. He still looked the same and even wore the identical flannel shirt she had cried on that night he saved her from a drug-induced death.
"Hey," she replied softly and climbed down the stairs at a leisurely pace. "Have you seen a little girl?"
He nodded and jerked his thumb toward the kitchen because the kid had headed that way. Again, his eyes swept over the southerner's figure, chest, and face, noting she wasn't wearing a bra. "So, how's life been treating you?"
Rogue searched his rugged face, smelled the cigar smoke, and felt the resentment melting away. She could never stay angry at him, even when he deserved it. "It's been tough, Logan." He sighed heavily at the answer, and she reached for his shirt and helped brush the dust away. "But everything's fine now. Did you get into a fight with the vacuum?"
"No," he answered with a snort. "Some stupid kid tossed it down the stairs because she thought it would fly. It went off like a goddamn bomb and covered me in this shit."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously at her face. She looked paler for several seconds, working through several emotions before stifling a laugh. "It's not funny, Marie. Somebody should tell her parents she's a loose cannon. No ship would sail with her on board; she'd sink it and chuckle as sharks ate the crew."
It was Rogue's turn to frown because he better not be talking about her little girl. "What did she look like?"
"I don't know," he grumbled, pointing to her shoulders. "Dark hair to about there, I guess. Green clothes. Sad eyes. She had a toy rabbit that's seen better days."
"That's the wrong answer because Anna looks exactly like you," she replied with a furious stare. "Everyone under this roof knows you're the daddy, and I haven't told anyone. They all come to me and say, 'She looks just like Logan. Look at her scowl like Logan. Look at that temper, isn't she like Logan.' That's all I hear every damn day of my life."
Logan watched her crouch in a huff, fixing the vacuum together. She plugged it in and began cleaning the mess as his head ticked over with curses and merry hell. "What did you just say?" he growled, wanting to ensure the facts had fallen into place before he imploded.
"We have a daughter together, Logan, and it's her fifth birthday tomorrow. I know I should have told you sooner, but I didn't want to hurt either of you because you weren't ready to be a daddy, and she'll never be ready to have her heart broken by you. Can you please move your feet?"
He moved his feet, rucksack, and fraying temper out of the path of the vacuum cleaner. Time stood still as the thoughts lined up, ready to be shredded by his claws. Now everything made sense. This was why she always ducked out on his visits, hiding secret after fucking secret from his suspicious nose. They had a kid together, a little spitfire of a girl who threw shit down the stairs and covered him in dust. Marie had been correct all those years ago; truth was stranger than fiction.
Rogue concentrated on a single household chore, running the vacuum over a too-clean floor until satisfied Logan had calmed enough to hold a civil conversation. He looked dazed, almost lost in his thoughts, until she touched his forearm.
"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, but I'm also proud of myself for keeping all those secrets close to my chest."
Logan's gaze loitered on her chest again. Yeah, she wasn't wearing a bra. He could trace the outline of her nipples through that tight-fitting, plain white t-shirt. Clearing his throat roughly, he focused on her face and didn't know what to say for the best. Fury rocketed through his head, but so did a stream of understanding. He was proud of her for sticking it out and seeing through five years of single parenthood, but he was also pissed because nobody kept him in the loop.
"Are you going to say something?" she asked, worried the news had broken him.
"You should have told me, Marie," he said, a growl denting every word because he didn't want to be a father saddled with a tonne of responsibility.
She nodded, leaning the vacuum cleaner against the wall and sighing when she heard screams from the kitchen. "That's why I'm telling you now. Sorry, I really need to deal with the commotion, but it was nice seeing you again, Logan."
He watched her walk away and figured whether he stayed or hit the road again was down to him. With a grumble, a growl and some further thoughts, a decision would be set in goddamn stone before the day ended.
The clock struck eight o'clock in the evening, and light rain tapped against the window panes of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Further torrential rain clouds loitered in the skies high above Westchester County as a drunk Logan examined the Professor's old desk with a gaze choked with regret and cynicism. The familiar scents of old friends and lost comrades had long since faded from the room, replaced by mountains of paperwork and the lingering smell of Storm's overpowering perfume.
"I could do with some wise words right about now, Chuck," he said with a sigh, wishing the hatred in his head could be turned like the hands of time. "How's Jean, huh? She keeping you and Summers in line? Yeah, I should probably be doing this outside, toe to toe with your graves, but the stench of rotting corpses sends me feral. You heard the latest news? Brace yourself: I've got a kid. She looks just like me but throws shit down the stairs. You already know her mother, it's Rogue. Yeah, my sweet Marie. But I don't think she wants me anymore, Charles; she's distant and keeping those hugs under wraps. She's tossed my ass into the nearest dumpster, and who can blame her, huh?"
He rifled through his jacket pocket, pulling out a lighter and a stray cigar. He lit it, watching the flame dance in his gaze as he slumped lazily in an armchair.
"I've been running for nearly six years, scared if I put down roots, the pain would flatten me like a freight train. All that time, I should've been here, with Marie, helping out, raising a kid, and maybe it would have worked out for us. Now, I'm too late; all I see is the pain in her eyes, and I don't know how to fix it. I thought she needed space, needed protecting from me after Jean died. Hell, I wasn't in a good place. None of us were. So, I hit the road with no plan and no clue. Would things be different if I stayed? I don't know, maybe the kid wouldn't throw shit down the stairs, but would any of us be better off?"
Logan's eyes narrowed in a haze of drunkenness. For a fleeting moment, he saw the Professor sitting behind the desk and wearing a reassuring smile. Mumbling in confusion, he shook his head several times to dislodge the last of his whiskey-burdened thoughts.
"Yeah, I should have stayed clear of that stash of booze you hid in the desk. It was probably older than the both of us combined. But hey, maybe it's time I headed out on the road again and left them to it. Marie's real capable and headstrong. She can handle parenthood alone. I'm like a spare part, sitting here, feeling sorry for myself, and no kid needs somebody like me in their life."
"Am I interrupting something, Logan?" Storm asked with interest, standing in the doorway and gazing around the study.
"I'm just packing up my thoughts," he answered, reaching for his rucksack at his feet and leaning back into the comfort of the seat once he realised how drunk he was.
Storm entered the room with several files in her hands. She neatly placed them on the desk, never looking away from him once. His newfound habit of drinking every drop of available liquor worried her. "Have you spoken to Rogue?"
"Not really," he muttered, puffing on the cigar and resting his feet on the edge of the desk. "She doesn't want me around; that much is clear. Anyway, she's probably busy stopping the kid from throwing shit down the stairs."
Smiling sorrowfully, Storm paused beside him, pushed his boots off the desk and snuffed his cigar on an accountancy book. "Anna's just a little mixed up sometimes. She's playful, intelligent, and highly spirited. She's a child, after all. Your child, Logan, and don't you dare think about leaving. Rogue needs you more than you will ever realise. Did you know she put herself through college, graduated at the top of her class, and became our live-in accountant?"
Logan shook his head. Marie hadn't told him anything about her current life. "She hates me. That's all there is to it."
"I don't believe that for a moment, and neither should you. Yes, you hurt her, and your drinking will push her further away if you continue down this dark path of self-destruction, but you need to remain sober long enough to realise what you have. Ample opportunities are available under this roof if you can put the bottle down and open your heart. You can either be a good father, friend, and X-Man, or you leave through that door tonight and never return. The choice is yours, but do you truly want to live a lonely life when you have family waiting for you?"
Storm left the former X-Man alone to decide his fate. He would either make amends or leave. She wouldn't allow a continually drinking staff member to live on the grounds of a bustling, thriving school; in his current state, he was a liability and a shadow of his former self. She hoped he would find the light because Rogue loved him, and Anna desperately needed a father.
As midnight closed in and the rain continued to fall, no one stirred in the mansion apart from Logan and his little mini-me, causing mild chaos in their separate spaces. One brooded in the kitchen over another beer, and the other flapped her arms along the hall, pretending to be a bat that had escaped its bedroom.
Anna was a brash, moody, sometimes cheerful, though often sullen, free-spirited loudmouth wrapped in a sea of green clothing. A little girl with cheek, grit, and a deeply embedded streak of naughtiness. She climbed everything, clambered great heights without fear and loved trees and nature. She was stubborn and mostly brave, liked getting her own way, and would never share. The girl had the worst temper anyone had ever seen in an almost five-year-old, but she also had a heart of gold and pure imagination that scaled both borders and continents.
She liked to play alone and never seemed to make friends. Still, she loved her toy rabbit, which was affectionately named after a singing detergent commercial. Her oddities and energy were boundless, but the smile on her face was forever contagious, and her eyes matched her daddy's, as did the shade of her hair. She often wore his scowl as armour and pretended to hurl pretend enemies against the wall with clenched fists. She disliked the colour pink, lived for collecting lost coins from the dirt, and once swallowed a seashell after mistaking it for candy and believed for a whole month that the ocean would wash her away while she slept.
Sitting at the top of the stairs in the dead of night, she tugged the vacuum cleaner nozzle closer and smiled at the toy rabbit tucked affectionately under her arm. Everything was ready for her greatest mission yet. The bat disguise was forgotten, ready to welcome a new and exciting persona.
"Tonight, I call a meeting, and you will listen to me because my hair's pretty, and look at how the clouds like me," she announced, pretending to be Storm, and holding her hand up. "Zap! Zap! Zap!" Pushing the vacuum closer to the edge, she pictured lightning striking the pretend world around her. "Zap! Bang! Zap! Bang! Bang!"
Logan set the half-empty beer bottle on the kitchen counter and picked up his rucksack. He chuckled at the sound of the little girl's midnight playdate and left the kitchen to check on her. Thoughts of unwelcome fatherhood chased the amusement away, but he figured helping Marie out would be a welcome distraction from the memories of Jean. He peered through the bannisters, relieved to see her butt parked on the floor, not putting herself in danger.
"I'm not wearing another cloud of dust, Kid," he warned, pointing an index finger through one of the gaps in the handrail. "Leave the vacuum alone and go back to bed."
"My name's Storm, and I don't talk to moody boys on the street," she replied with her best impression of a furious Ororo. Poking the vacuum cleaner over the edge, she watched it bounce down each step. "Now go away, moody boy! Run, or I'll attack you with my bad girl bolts!"
The vacuum landed with a loud thud, and Logan grumbled half a dozen curses as he made his way to the foot of the stairs and stepped over the mound of dust and debris. He climbed up the steps, shaking his head and scowling at her. He could see the physical similarities between them now as clear as day, and she looked like a mini-him apart from her stupid behaviour and the heavy dose of Marie's warped imagination.
"Yeah, she uses lightning bolts sometimes, but mostly on kids who don't do as they're told," he explained gruffly. "You want me to go wake her?"
The frightened Anna shook her head, leapt to her feet, and ran down the hall, leaving the toy bunny behind. Logan chuckled, picked up the rabbit, and gave it the once over with narrowed eyes. It looked flea-bitten but well-loved. He sighed heavily and carried it with him, surprised the kid had let herself in his bedroom. Sniffing the surrounding scents, he could smell Marie, too. They were camped out in his room, weren't they?
He poked his head inside the bedroom, spotting Marie curled up on the bed and dead to the world. A vast canopy made from a transparent, floaty material gathered above the headboard and spread across both sides of the mattress. It had all the hallmarks of a DIY project on a rainy day, something to keep a little pain in the ass occupied while you told them canopies were dream catchers and nightmare chasers.
"Mommy said it's like a hug," the little girl whispered, peeking out from under the bed and tugging at the hem of the canopy.
"That sounds like something she would come out with," Logan snorted and entered the room, ditching his rucksack quietly beside the dresser. He checked the current time on the alarm clock on the nightstand. "Shouldn't you be sleeping too?"
The girl shook her head and dramatically announced her favourite fact. "It's my birthday!"
"Well, birthday girls need the most sleep," he said, tossing the rabbit onto the bed and sitting on the window seat. She gazed at him, and he looked at her. "Just go to sleep, Kid. That way, I can find somewhere to bed down for the night."
Anna's nose wrinkled with disapproval, and she comically scowled. "Moody boys don't tell me what to do."
"I'm not a moody boy. I'm your…" His voice trailed off because he didn't know how Marie wanted to handle things.
"What's your name?" Anna asked curiously after a while, sliding further under the bed and sneezing as a little dust cloud greeted her midnight adventurer's nose.
"Logan," he answered, sitting on the rug and wondering what she was up to. "You okay under there?"
She peered at him for several seconds before slipping out of reach. "Mommy talks about you in her sleep."
Finding that news reassuring, his eyes darted to the sleeping Marie. She looked beautiful even in the dead of night, and those dinosaur snores of hers hauled an amused smirk to his face. "Does she now?" He wondered if she was still plagued by those steamy dreams.
Nodding, Anna poked her head out and faced him with a solemn frown. "You make her cry." Sounding unimpressed with his behaviour, she slid away from view.
The grin faded from the disappointed Logan's face. The words of a pint-sized kid cemented his asshole status and brought him back down to earth with a heavy bump. He looked away and heaved a sigh, feeling nothing but shame. Once she had fallen asleep, he would hit the road with a one-way ticket to Alberta. It was for the best, he reminded himself.
Anna finally fell into a welcome doze at a quarter to two, and he shifted over to where a pair of socked feet poked out from her latest hiding place. He crouched, his brow furrowing when he heard Marie stirring metres away from his nose.
"Logan?" she whispered, her eyes opening, surprised to see him staring right back at her.
"Sorry to wake you," he said, carefully freeing the sleeping Anna from a dusty blanket. "I'm just putting the kid back to bed. She's been raising hell for the past few hours."
Rogue searched his face with a peaceful sigh. She wanted the old Logan back, the one who saved her from the drug-induced death. The Logan who growled, grumbled, and forced her through four hundred and whatever hours of Danger Room sessions. The dependable Logan who didn't drink to get drunk and lived life with a sardonic wit and a furrowed brow. She missed him and would do anything to have him return for Anna's sake.
She smelled the tell-tale signs of liquor wafting from him as she watched his every movement. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise she wasn't beside me. Have you been drinking again?"
"Why bother asking when you already know the answer, huh?" He stood with their sleeping daughter cradled in his arms, stepping around the boxes to reach the other side of the bed. "Stop looking at me like that, Marie. I've got everything under control."
"I'm only worried about you," she admitted, noticing how tender he was with Anna. The gentleness gave her hope.
"I don't need you fussing over me, you hear?" he told her gruffly, frowning up a storm.
Continuing to show concern, she changed tactics and offered him an olive branch. "Can you do something for me?"
"Sure," he answered, setting the girl down gently in the bed and crossing the room to fetch his rucksack.
Rogue gathered the duvet around their little girl, wanting her to be snug and safe from the world. "Anna's birthday party starts at midday in the rec room. I'm really hoping you'll come, Logan. It will make her day."
Lost in her perfect gaze and mesmerised by the teasing pout, Logan dropped all plans to leave. He appreciated the lifeline she tossed his way. Nodding in agreement to attend, he wished things were different between them, feeling like an outsider spying on his own family. He left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him and once again lost in the loneliness and regret of past decisions.
At ten o'clock on the dot that morning, a toy store loomed in front of the Wolverine as specks of rain fell from the overcast sky. He checked the time on his wristwatch, an old gift from Jean one Christmas when everything still made sense. Cravings returned with a vengeance, and desperate to head to the nearest bar, he loitered at the entrance for an untold time, watching a conveyor belt of parents push shopping carts past him.
What the hell was he doing here? He nearly left, almost stalked out the exit with booze and cage fighting on the horizon, but remembered the hopeful look on Marie's face. Sighing heavily, he headed inside the store, out of place in a sea of happy faces.
Every aisle was stuffed with stacks of colourful toys, hundreds of labels jumped out, and nothing pink seemed to fit the bill. He mulled over his options as a father of twenty-four hours. What did he know about the little spitfire of a kid? She threw shit down the stairs. Had a thing for threadbare rabbits. Developed a liking for late nights and didn't seem to like him much. She enjoyed make-believe and pretending to be other people; if he didn't know any better, she would take over the goddamn world one day.
He skipped the fluorescent pink aisle because the Wolverine refused to be seen surrounded by Barbies. Anyway, the kid seemed less bubble gum pink and more forest green. Yeah, that sounded about right. He spotted an aisle covered in floor stickers and signs with cartoon turtles that caught his attention.
"Cowabunga," he muttered, reading the speech bubble on one of the stupid surfing turtles.
Now, he was onto something. Ignoring the dumb idea of turtles who fought crime and took down enemies from a sewer, he stalked along the aisle, checking out the toys. Nerf guns? No, they smelled like trouble. Maybe the girl would like the figures? Even if she tossed them down the stairs, they wouldn't break.
"Welcome to Toys R Us, Sir, the store where everybody's dreams come true," a bouncing young woman called out, trooping toward him like a parading and proud soldier.
He eyed her swinging auburn ponytail and toothy grin with a sigh. Shaking his head at the cheerfulness, he turned away because all his dreams had died as soon as he entered the goddamn store. When she didn't leave, his eyes narrowed at the pile of turtle-endorsed products.
"Do you need any assistance today?" she asked, rocking on her feet and reminding him of a walking nightmare.
"No," Logan growled, glaring over his shoulder. His scowl returned to the turtles on the shelf. He picked up a large box, reading some of the lettering. Age seven years and older. Did that matter? It wasn't like the kid would ingest any of the items, would she?
"Would you like to sign up for a store card today? You receive countless benefits on your eighth, twelve and fifteenth shop," the woman explained, continuing to beam happily. "Including a twenty percent off voucher on your twentieth purchase if you make a substantial contribution to our in-store charity within eighteen weeks of your first, second and third purchases."
That entire sales pitch sailed over Logan's brooding head. He never wanted to darken the door of another toy store as long as he lived. If dealing with shit like this came hand in hand with parenthood, he'd head straight to the nearest bar and stay there.
With a formidable growl that clawed at his throat, he snarled bad-temperedly at the sales assistant. "Go fuck yourself."
Anna crept along the treeline, weaving through the bushes and damp foliage, searching for dinosaurs. With her best friend clutched tightly under her arm, she gasped and ducked down behind the damaged trunk of a dying tree.
"The dinosaur is close!" she whispered excitedly to the rabbit and crouched in the dirt.
Crawling through the thick brambles, sticks and mud, they made their way closer to the rumbling noises. One little girl's imagination carried the weight of the world as she paused in her quest and straightened the beige safari hat sat crookedly atop her head.
After dodging the dangerous dragons, the bad girl bolts, and the threats of a grumbling volcano, she peered out from behind a hedge and frowned in disappointment. "You're not a dinosaur."
Logan scowled down from the motorcycle and hooked a large, rustling Toys R Us bag onto the handlebar. He killed the engine for a few minutes, listening to further creaks and cracks in the light wind. Holding out his hand, his scowl darkened. "C'mere," he ordered in a no-nonsense tone.
Anna clambered to her muddy shoes and traipsed across the bark chippings to the driveway. She glanced curiously at the open gates for a few seconds and watched them swing shut. After another moment or two spent straggling, she wandered over to the moody boy with a hop, skip and lively jump.
He scooped her onto the motorcycle and settled her safely in front of him, his eyes snapping to the trees again. Tracing the sound of the deadly creaking, he grumbled to himself and looked around for Marie. "Where's your mother?"
"Eating cake with Bobby," Anna answered, more interested in the bike and reaching forward with a muddy hand to grip the handlebars.
"Goddamn ice prick," he muttered darkly under his breath and secured her in place with a protective arm.
Restarting the motorcycle, Logan glared suspiciously at their surroundings one last time. Even the girl's first ride on a bike didn't lighten his mood as he steered them carefully along the drive and into the garage, where he spotted Storm. "You've got a tree that needs felling down by the gates."
A furious Rogue stormed down the drive with clenched fists and a tense jaw. How dare he! First, Logan was two hours late for Anna's party. He doesn't call to inform her about the lateness or suggest they meet him elsewhere. Oh no, that would be too polite and stable for Logan with No Fucking Surname. What does he do instead? Turns up late and then takes off again with a chainsaw, a scowl and no apology. And then Anna runs into the kitchen, covered in mud and calls Bobby a 'goddamn ice prick' in front of a roomful of gossiping airheads.
Today had been a mini-disaster, and it hadn't been the fault of the temperamental weather or the sparse attendance at her baby girl's birthday party. She secretly knew no one really liked her daughter. Most people in the mansion kept their distance. They were too busy judging her parenting decisions or gossiping because she slept with the Wolverine. It was love, okay? She had fallen in love, that's all. Anna had been born from a loving but fleeting relationship that lasted no longer than forty-eight hours.
Okay, it's obvious. She had given birth to a little adventurer. A boisterous handful who loved trouble. Yes, Anna was a little naughty at times and liked to throw things down the stairs, but they worked on correcting the misbehaviour with calmness and stable stability. Yes, stable stability. The kind of stability someone like Logan would never understand.
So, she wasn't a shouter. She didn't scream because that wasn't her parenting style. Rogue carried love in her heart and wanted to be seen as a loving mama of one. Sweetness mattered, not discipline spiked with shrieks that echoed throughout the city. Everyone judged everything she did, and right now, as the gentle breeze teased her long, flowing two-toned locks, the exhaustion and upset weighed her down like boulders in the river.
Hearing the noises of a chainsaw ahead, Rogue's frown cemented into place. "Logan, what the hell's wrong with you?!"
Logan had heard the stomping footsteps and smelled the furious scent for the last ten minutes. He didn't give a shit about the anger directed his way as he sliced through the rotten tree trunk like a pro. "Stay back while I deal with his," he growled because they had plenty of time to trade insults afterwards.
"You haven't matured at all, have you? And you're taking your jealousy out on an innocent tree," she accused him, loitering on the drive with a frantic frown.
He snorted at the accusation and guided the half-felled tree to collapse in a safe direction. "Try again."
"This isn't one of your silly games! You can't tell a little girl to say something and then storm away and attack a tree. I'm not the same person you left behind. I'm a mama now. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
Shaking his head at her stupidity, he looked satisfied when the tree fell with a thud. "I've got no idea what you're talking about, Marie, but do you know what? Yeah, you being a shitty mother means something to me. You any idea how disappointed I am?"
Those words felt like adamantium claws slicing through Rogue's heart. Did he really think she was a shitty mama? She approached him, blinking away tears. "Seriously, what's wrong with you?"
"What the hell's wrong with you?" he demanded to know, putting the chainsaw down and grabbing her upper arm. Hauling her closer, he pointed down to the tree stump. "You see that?"
Gazing downwards, Rogue saw a circular mound of blackened wood. "It looks like your heart."
He scowled at that remark and tightened his grip. "That's rot because the tree's dead and needed felling before it landed on Anna's goddamn head." He watched her face pale. "You didn't notice her crawling through the mud under those trees, huh?"
A shocked Rogue swiftly felt nauseous. "I just – I mean – I was busy hosting the party."
"No, you were busy with Drake," he growled darkly, releasing her arm.
Her eyes narrowed, and feeling defensive, she walked away, returning to the drive. "I'm not listening to this, Logan. You're just like everyone else. You think I'm a terrible mama."
He heaved a sigh and picked up the chainsaw, carrying it with him as he followed her wounded scent. "You ever wondered why everybody keeps coming to the same conclusion?"
Turning around, she snapped at him as tears fell. "I wish you had never come back. Do you hear me? Anna doesn't need you in her life."
"Could've fooled me," he muttered, strolling ahead with a shrug and ignoring the urge to wrap her in a hug. "If I leave you to it, she's gonna be six feet in the ground before her sixth birthday." Even he understood that was a low blow. The smell of her tears knocked him sideways, but stubborn to the adamantium-laced bones, he continued toward the garage with a scowl.
A crushed Rogue wrapped arms around herself and let the tears repeatedly fall. All she ever wanted was a picket fence-looking family. Two loving parents for her precocious daughter. Every night was lonelier than the last, but she knew where her failure lay. She was too trusting and too laid back. People forever walked over her, even Anna did.
She reached the garage and watched him put the chainsaw away. "Do you always have to be so cruel?"
"I'm a realist, Marie. You knew that when you met me," he grumbled, locking the box and slotting it in the rafters above his head. "I'm not about to sugarcoat the bullshit, you hear? You're failing right now, and it's a real goddamn shame."
"Have you any idea how hurtful that is?" Choked with tears, she followed him out of the garage and across the lawn to his favourite smoking spot. "I've been a single mama for five years! I'm not tired. I'm exhausted. I struggle every day to keep my head above water because I don't know what to do for the best."
He snarled as he snatched a cigar from his battered leather jacket pocket. "Whose fault is that, huh? You're the one who kept the girl a secret. What stopped you from reaching out during the pregnancy?"
"You did," Rogue hissed crossly, wandering to him with a tense and accusatory finger. "Do you know who I blame for this? Jean! I hate her after what she did to you. Don't look away from me when I'm finally sharing the truth. She's selfish for ruining everything we had!"
Logan's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he stalked closer. "We didn't have anything. It's all in your fucking head."
More tears tumbled down her heartbroken face. He was a liar. "If you didn't care, why did you take my virginity?" she asked in a devastated whisper, watching him look away. "It hurt, Logan. Sex with you hurt." His pained gaze snapped to her again. "Do you even remember? We did it four times in that bed, and every second hurt me."
Looming over her and lighting the cigar, he figured the nearest bar called his name. Teeth clenched, the heated thoughts died, replaced by nothing but pain. He'd hurt her. He had hurt his sweet Marie. Turning his back out of shame, he searched for an answer to plug the damage.
Rogue's anger faded when she realised what he must be thinking. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean how that sounded. I wanted it to happen. I wanted you inside me, even when it hurt."
Jesus Christ, she made it sound even worse. He glanced at her and shook his head. "This isn't a game, Marie."
"I know, and we can't be together under the same roof. We're too broken, and one of us has to leave," she said softly, fresh tears falling as the heartbreak crushed her.
Nodding in agreement, he inhaled a lungful of cigar smoke. Yeah, they were broken, but maybe the fixing part would be painless if he wasn't around. People healed from all kinds of problems when the primary link in the chain shattered.
"You can stay," she offered after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. "I'll leave with Anna."
"Over my dead body," he muttered gruffly. "You've got a job here, a safe place to live. You're not throwing that away to spite me."
"I don't need your chivalry or grumpiness. We'll be fine. I can find a job down south, and Anna can grow amongst southern roots close to my mama and daddy."
Logan shook his head, putting his foot down. "You both stay here where it's safe. If you're bored and need a change of scenery, take some parenting classes."
Her eyes narrowed with pain. "I'm not asking for your permission and stop insulting my parenting skills. I'm a good mama." He snorted in disbelief, and she frowned in warning. "Stop it. I'm a damn good mama."
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," he told her, leaning against the wall with his full concentration on the cigar smoke floating in the tense wind.
"You don't know the first thing about being a parent," she shot back, beyond hurt by his asshole tendencies. "You wouldn't be able to handle everything I do daily."
"Uh-huh. You see her nearly dying on my watch?" he questioned gruffly, his scowl suddenly fading. Tilting his head to the side, he sniffed the air warily and listened closely to a set of suspicious scrapes, clambering and mutterings from up above their heads.
He tossed the cigar to the ground and looked up at the rattling window caught in the breeze. Opening his mouth to shout a string of threats merged with curses, he was too goddamn late. Anna had already flung herself into the air like a kid with a dozen death wishes.
A horrified Rogue gasped in a full-blown panic and watched Logan dive to the ground and catch the mud-caked Anna. She rushed over, her knees buckling when she reached them. Crouching in the dirt, she brushed a trembling hand through the girl's wild hair. "Oh my God! Are you okay? Is anything hurt? Can you talk?"
The pale-faced girl nodded glumly and looked around with growing interest at her surroundings. That was fun, and she wanted to do it again. She spotted where her rabbit had landed on a nearby bush and tried to reach him but couldn't escape the moody boy's arms.
Holding the kid protectively in his arms, a grimacing half-feral Wolverine slowly sat up, snapping the painful kink from his spasming neck. He looked from Anna to Marie and then back again, expecting a detailed explanation for the stupid stunt.
"Why did you jump from the window?" Rogue asked in a shaken voice, feeling like the worst mama in the world.
"He told me to," Anna whispered, pointing up at the window with a cheeky grin as the colour slowly returned to her ashen cheeks.
Logan and Rogue shared a furious and rage-filled look before shifting their gazes to the spot where the girl pointed. "Who did?!" they asked in unison, eager to trace the soon-to-be murdered culprit who dared mess with their daughter.