AN - Kind reminder that this story may not be for you, and that's okay. Please click off this story if reading a darker version than canon of these characters offends you. As I've said before, I'm very interested in these more complex character arcs and relationships. I enjoy pushing the boundaries of what's considered traditional and hope to offer the reader a unique experience.

I took the day off as sick, telling Moria I had a class-five migraine so she wouldn't insist on poking around in my head.

I had no idea what I was going to do with myself in the time I'd now have completely free until this evening. I assumed we were going out this evening. Nothing had been said otherwise. He didn't take me as a 'plan-making' guy but there were a lot of new things I was learning about him recently.

By lunchtime, Logan was making ramen in my tiny kitchen. Everything about that statement contradicted itself.

"Where did you learn to cook?" I asked as he handed me a steaming bowl of noodles and broth.

"Japan."

"When did you go to Japan?"

"Before your time," he smirked, settling down on the couch far too close to me. Granted, he was as far over as possible on the small two-seater, but still touching my crossed legs with his own.

"Guess I should have asked how you knew where I lived first?"

"Instinct," he grunted through a mouth full of pork belly.

I rolled my eyes and took a sip of the broth that covered the noodles in my bowl. Wow. I had no idea hot water could be so flavourful. Sweet, spicy and salty, with a wonderful savory aftertaste that made me go in again.

I caught him eyeing me.

"What?"

"Good?"

I just nodded, my mouth now full of noodles.

He was quiet while we ate. The silence between us was companionable, but his presence wasn't enough to stop the flow of malignant thoughts curling out of the dark cavities I'd packed them back into.

Talk of Remy had opened up barely healed wounds, ones that were still fresh no matter how much time passed. I had believed with everything in me that things had changed. That I would finally be able to live the life I so desperately wanted.

It came back in short bursts, gradually at first, a steady tingle at the tips of my fingers, spreading back up my arms and into my heart. I'd zapped him, barely leashed energy crackling over the surface of my skin. He'd been terrified. Not of me, not even of what I could do, but what it meant for the child I was carrying in my belly.

Four days later, she'd been born. Twenty weeks early. The first one was the hardest because she was the most grown. The others were less developed but no less heartbreaking. Each time, I could feel him drifting further and further away.

I thought back to when Bobby, who I thought was Bobby, told me 'you don't use your powers against another mutant.' And however desperately I'd tried to fight it, I kept hurting people. Mostly unintentionally. Until I decided to stop caring. It hurt too much to care. That's when the barriers were thrown up, and the gloves came off for good.

Logan had finished eating and took his bowl, placing it in the sink. He turned, leaning against the counter, just staring at me. I looked down into my bowl, which was still almost full. I took a hesitant swallow around the huge lump In my throat, willing myself not to choke.

"You scared of me, little girl?"

"No," I spluttered. What. The. Hell.

"Why do you smell terrified then?"

"I'm not!"

It sounded defiant even to my own ears. Even though he was trying to fix me up, I still didn't owe him a damn thing. Not even an explanation. I wasn't afraid OF him. I was scared he saw me as the fragile, wrecked thing I was underneath the facade of peroxide, studded leather and eyeliner. I was scared he was getting closer and closer to the truth with every round of our fucked up little game.

"If this is going to work, you need to pay attention to the rules! Eat. Fuck. Talk. Got it?" His voice thrummed with quiet intensity.

I was also terrified that he would take away one of my only coping mechanisms.

I took a huge mouthful and chewed without breaking eye contact. He just raised his eyebrows in response, challenging me. Fuck him. I could eat the entire bowl while he stood there and watched.

"Can you do the talking then?" I asked around another swallow of barely chewed vegetable. Was that some kind of cabbage? It was leafy and tough, and got stuck in my throat as I choked it down. I felt like one of those birds who tried to ingest fish whole.

"About what?" he asked back. I shrugged, eyes not watering. Then he continued, "I know you stuffed most of that cheeseburger down the seats the other night."

Busted.

"Like I said, pay attention to the rules, kid."

I filled my mouth again out of lack of reply more than anything else.

He always knew when to call me out on my bullshit at the most convenient of times. Like I did with him. We were similar but also opposites, like wind and rain in tandem. Both undesirable and miserable. But dependable.

We agreed on few things - movies from the 90s were the best. Whisky was better straight. We both had an open, and common, way of dealing with trouble. I wasn't completely sure if these were inherited preferences or not.

It was getting increasingly hard to distinguish the fuzzier lines between things. I'd ended up taking more of him than I ever wanted. Surely one person couldn't handle that much being appropriated from them? It might have just been my perception, but he was looking older. A touch of grey at his temples. A few more lines than before. A heavy weariness that aged him more than the physical indicators.

"I was thinking, you want to come and watch me fight?"

My eyes snapped back to his, golden and burning. Was he seriously offering that again after what happened last time? It seemed yes. I'd just completed step one of the three-part program, what came next would be just as hard to swallow.

"It's been a while. Good place to pick up a certain type of chick too. You might enjoy it. If you wanted to."

I did. I don't why. Why I wanted it to hurt even more. Why I was actively trying to destroy myself and the only bond I still shared with a living person. It had come to a point where change wasn't just desirable, it was necessary. Precariously pushing the boundaries against something malevolent. All-consuming. Like wildfire. Burning everything in its wake.