Disclaimer: "You know, Lizzie, I happen to be captain of a ship. And, as captain, I could perform... a mar-i-age. Right here, on this deck, right now." –Captain Jack Sparrow

A/N: This took such a long time I am so sorry. This is why I usually completely finish things before I post them.

Dark Lord of the X-Men, at last, it is finished. I hope you enjoyed it.

Part V: Logan Howlett and the Wedding (Ninjas)

The Morning After the Rehearsal Dinner (also known as: The Wedding Day) is well-documented as being hectic, painful, and desperately overwhelming.

And that's without mutants.

"My head," Jean whines pathetically. Scott rubs her shoulders and gives her his orange juice. Logan is frying bacon and eggs at the stove, the only thing any of them are getting to eat, because he doesn't have time for anything else and if they want something different they can make it themselves.

Brian is sitting at the kitchen counter with a cup of tea and having a chat with the Professor, who looks like he spent the night in blissful peace and quiet which is not how Logan's night went at all.

After the disaster that was their attempt at rehearsing, Betsy had mostly given up, made sure the people actually in the wedding knew where they were supposed to stand, and left the timing of their walking up to chance, God, and the unfeeling universe. Between the three of them, she had told Logan, they were probably covered.

And then it was dinner time.

Logan stirs the eggs a little more aggressively. They scramble resentfully.

The dinner had been a disaster, mostly because all of the cooking had been left up to Logan, who had been so distracted by all of the incredibly stupid problems that everyone else was having. The casserole had burned.

Logan would have eaten it anyway, because Waste Not, but Jean wouldn't let him.

"Logan," she'd said, laying her hand on his arm and looking down into his eyes, earnest as only Jean Grey could be, "don't punish yourself. It's okay. We'll order pizza."

Since that was what Logan had originally wanted to do for the rehearsal dinner in the first place, he wasn't exactly opposed to the idea. He was just a little concerned about delivery.

"I'll go pick up the pizzas," Kitty had volunteered. "I can give you a ride to the studio to pick up the equipment you need for tomorrow," she offered the photographer.

Logan had agreed to this, surprising every single person in the room, and sent them off to collect the Professor's credit card and the keys to the van.

"What was that?" Kurt had exclaimed, dramatically pointing to the door. Piotr just gave Logan a wounded look and slunk off to sit in his place at the table.

"What was what?" Logan had replied smugly. Bobby had rolled his eyes.

"You've been lurking and all," he waved, supposedly encompassing Logan's general… Loganness, "Growly McGruffson ever since that guy showed up, and now we're supposed to believe that you're okay with Kitty going off alone with him?"

"I was going to threaten him," Wade whined.

"What gives?" Bobby complained.

Logan had smirked. "It's Kitty," he'd said. "In a car. Behind the wheel."

Understanding had dawned like a sluggish summer morning. "Ooooooh," Kurt and Bobby had said together.

"He'll either be traumatized and want to get as far away from her as possible when he comes back," Logan had shrugged, "or he won't come back at all. Either one works for me."

"Logan!" Jean had scolded, but she was fighting a smile.

And then Kitty and I-Got-My-Muscles-From-Prison-Workouts had come back, in one piece, with many pieces of pizza.

And then half of the Institute got food poisoning in the middle of the night, which was both validating and terrible for Logan. Validating because this was all the photographer's fault and terrible because Logan wasn't affected, so he had to take care of vomiting teenagers.

And now he's cooking bacon. Which nobody is going to eat.

Except Kurt, bless him. He teleports into the kitchen, startling Brian into spilling hot tea all the way down his front, and grabs nearly the entire platter of bacon and eggs before teleporting out again.

The professor gives Brian a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Would someone please fetch a towel for Mr. Braddock?" he says.

Brian forces a smile and stands, gingerly. "No, don't trouble yourselves." Tabby, Amara, and Bobby give him bleary-eyed looks that indicate that they have no intention of troubling themselves for anyone at the moment. Jean is still clutching her head.

Brian turns a pathetic look on Logan, who does not notice, and then starts to leave the room to change his shirt. Logan dishes up the next batch of eggs and bacon as grumpily as he can.

"LOOK AT MY EYE!"

Brian, not quite out the door, jumps and backs up. Ray storms into the kitchen, pointing at his garishly colored, swollen eye.

"LOOK AT THIS!" he yells.

"Don't shout, Ray," Scott says mildly, pressing an icepack to Jean's forehead. Ray's face goes as purple as his eye.

"Jubilee! Where is she?" he turns on Tabby and Amara, who watch him with the kind of frank, unimpressed stares that only teenage girls can achieve.

"Asleep," Tabby drawls finally.

Ray turns on his heel, presumably to fly up to Jubilee's room and demand recompense for his black eye. Brian steps in front of him.

"Oh!" he says sympathetically. "Come here, young man, sit down. I'll get you a steak for that eye." He settles Ray at the table and bustles off to the freezer in the pantry, tea-soaked shirt completely forgotten.

"What?" Ray asks the room, bewildered.

Logan shakes his head. "You've been Braddocked," he says.

After the fight at rehearsal, everyone had gone off to lick their wounds or "have some quiet time" as the Professor put it. Unfortunately, with tensions running high (and bruises starting to form), it wasn't long before more altercations began. Within minutes, Jubilee and Ray had to be dragged away from each other, scratching and biting, and seven other fights had broken out all over the mansion.

The psychic backlash from this was staggering. Jean had selflessly thrown shields over the other two telepaths in the mansion, blocking any of the tension from reaching Betsy and Xavier. And now Jean is moaning and letting Scott dab peppermint oil on her forehead.

"Jean, you really must learn to let others share the Telepathic Burden sometimes," the professor scolds mildly. Logan glances at Scott and they exchange a commiserating eye roll. Jean and Chuck talk an awful lot about "the Telepathic Burden" of the mansion, which they of course accept and carry most willingly. Neither one of them ever actually explain what exactly the Telepathic Burden is, but as near as Logan can figure, it involves a lot of knowing everyone's secrets and ending up with a headache.

Logan can relate.

"I had to protect Betsy," Jean protests. Scott digs his thumb into the base of her neck with the particular expertise that comes from loving a telepath. Wade is good at massaging away headaches but since he's mostly the one causing them for Betsy, she doesn't often ask him to.

Chuck sighs. "Yes, I know, that was a lovely gesture, Jean. However, you are now in pain and the wedding preparations are still not completed."

Jean raises her head enough to glare in the general direction of everyone else. "I'm sure everyone will help," she says, frosty as a snowflake. Nobody meets her eyes, but they all mumble some form of agreement.

Brian returns with a slab of raw red meat. "My dear," he says to Amara, "would you be so kind?" He presents the steak with a flourish. Confused, Amara puts out her hand and gently starts to melt the ice, trying not to drown it in magma. When the ice finally drips away and the steak flops in Brian's hand, he gives Amara a beaming smile and says, "Thank you kindly, dear." He doesn't notice her swoon as he turns to Ray and slaps the bloody steak onto the black eye.

Ray shrieks. "What are you doing!?"

Unruffled, Brian says, "You need to get the swelling down in that eye."

"Yeah, but we have ice for that!" Ray yelps. He squirms a little but Brian's grip is surprisingly strong.

"Settle down, young man," he scolds, shocking Ray into submission. "Young man" isn't a term often applied to himself, considering that he's generally minded to bite the head off of anyone who tries it.

Logan grins. Braddocked indeed.

The photographer stumbles into the kitchen and ruins Logan's morning.

"Whoa," he mumbles. "Rough night, right?"

Logan snarls out loud and whirls back to the stove. Kitty sticks her head down through the ceiling right above him and hisses his name.

"Logan! Psst! Logan!"

"I heard ya, Half-Pint," he says, not looking up. She gives a little growl and he can't help but smirk. "What?" he says.

"Stop being mean!" she says.

"Mean?" he asks, knowing perfectly well what she means.

"You know perfectly well what I mean!" she exclaims in a whisper.

"He's flirting with you," Logan scowls. Kitty rolls her eyes in a complete circle.

"So? I'm not going to run away and elope with him, Logan. If he wants to flirt, why not? Besides, I already have someone I–" she cuts herself off.

Logan can't stop grinning. It probably looks a little vicious but he can't help that. "Yeah?" he says.

Kitty sputters. "I didn't say anything! You can't prove anything! Just stop being mean, Logan, okay? God!" She pulls her head up through the ceiling. Logan throws some turkey bacon on the griddle and starts humming.

Well, okay, so he's just growling rhythmically, but for Logan, that's definitely humming.

Betsy, wrapped in a silky kimono, arrives in the kitchen ten minutes later and surveys the damage. Piotr has ambled in at some point and is sitting across the table from Kitty, companionably munching on turkey bacon and toast. Brian has changed his shirt –without anyone seeing him leave –and is coaxing tea into Jean in one breath and ordering Ray to keep the steak on his eye with the next. Tabby, Amara, and Bobby have all fallen back asleep, slumped over each other and the table. Kurt hangs from the chandelier, despite having been told to stop doing that at least twelve times. The photographer timidly consumes a plateful of eggs under watch of Logan's unhappy eyebrows.

"Good morning!" Betsy says brightly. "Did you all have a good night? How are you all?"

Jean's groan speaks for all of them.

"Really?" Betsy hums, stirring her coffee. "Yes, I'm doing just fine, thanks for asking."

"Morning," Wade says, strolling in and stealing the photographer's eggs, "I'm Just Fine. Where's the coffee?"

000

Remy is always very energetic, but never more so than when he's just pulled off an impossible trick. Just watching him is exhausting Rogue.

"Remind me again why we had to do this?" she asks, leaning her chin on her gloved palm. Remy practically vibrates in the seat beside her.

"Chere," he says, "you had fun, right?"

She did have fun. "Yeah," she admits. Remy grins. It's impossibly endearing.

"Then that's why," he says.

Rogue lets herself smile as the plane takes off finally, and sneaks her hand into the crook of Remy's arm where it sits on the armrest between them.

"Also," says Remy, "I don't know how to cook."

000

At a certain point, everyone starts drifting off to their various rooms to get dressed. They are all fascinated, in a slightly Schadenfreude way, in seeing what happens to Remy and Rogue when they return after being absent during the past stressful day. Daring to cross Jean's party planning is probably the bravest (and stupidest) thing anyone in the mansion has ever done, and while no one is surprised that Remy and Rogue are the first to try it, they are all somewhat interested in learning what Jean is going to do to them in retribution.

Tabby smears black eyeliner around Amara's eyes with one hand and teases her own hair into a fluffy halo with the other. Jean is building an intricate up-do of braids out of Betsy's purple hair. Betsy is projecting joy throughout the whole mansion, and normally, the Professor wouldn't allow such a thing, but due to the occasion, he simply smiles and reinforces his own mental shields.

Logan, perpetually grumpy and completely unaffected by Betsy's happiness, thanks very much, watches the Jailbird like a hawk. The nervous young man is dressed in conservative black, and has taken to hiding behind his camera whenever Logan is in the room.

Logan is rather pleased with this development.

Brian makes a sound like an extremely disgruntled wallaby into the phone. Logan glances over at him, amused. Brian has been perched on the curl at the bottom of the banister for the past ten minutes, talking on the phone with his mother. It hasn't been pleasant.

"Mum, I don't care!" he says, keeping his voice down. Betsy and Wade are both in completely different parts of the mansion, but he isn't taking chances. Neither of them needs more stress now.

"Stop it," Brian says. His perfect eyebrows furrow in concern. "Betsy is in love with him, Mother! You cannot possibly be so cruel!" He listens for a minute, angrily gnawing on his knuckle.

"Mother, of all the snobbish, unkind, purely mean spirited things you could have done!" Brian snaps. Logan nods along in approval and comes to stand next to him.

"Betsy loves you and Dad so much," Brian continues, lowering his voice a little, "and you're refusing to accept her. Oh, I know," he continues, louder, "you've always accepted 'the mutant thing'." He rolls his eyes at Logan as he includes the air quotes, one handed. "You do realize that Wade is a mutant? That many aspects of who he is come from his mutation? Mother, you barely know him, what don't you like?"

Brian listens to his mother's reply, almost a whine of protest which Logan can hear clearly through the phone. And Logan thinks that there are lots of things about Wade that take getting used to, but once you do know him, not a whole lot not to like.

"Whatever," Brian snaps, angry and scornful, and slams his cell phone shut with a decisive flick. Logan grins at him and pats him on his shoulder. It almost knocks him off the banister.

"Good job, kid," he says.

"I'm an adult," says Brian, with dignity. He's still cross legged on the banister, hair ruffled and shirt still tea-stained.

Logan smirks. "I'm more of one. Go change your shirt before Jean sees you."

000

Jean Grey considers herself to be a good person and she doesn't deserve this kind of stress. This isn't even her wedding.

Speaking of that, actually. She closes her eyes and scans the mansion for Scott, who is easily found upstairs in the bathroom, meticulously shaving. She pokes at his mind. It would be very rude to do to anyone else, but she and Scott have an Understanding.

Yeah? Scott responds to her mental prodding.

Why aren't we getting married? Jean whines into his head. A telepathic whine sounds exactly like an aural one, except worse. Scott winces.

Um, he thinks.

Yeah, Jean grumps. That's what I thought. She pulls out of his mind before he can try being nice to her or some crap like that. The last thing she wants is for Scott to propose at their friends' wedding. Even if, she admits to herself, fluffing her hair and pursing her lips at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, it would be sort of romantic. Her headache has mostly dissipated by now, banished by the power of Tylenol and Extreme Meditation.

She flips her hair one last time and then exits the bathroom into catastrophe. Half of the mansion is apparently gathered in the hallway, wedding ready and waiting for her to give them something to do. There's just one problem.

"Why is everyone wearing black?"

Her screech rattles the window panes and nobody seems to have a good answer to the question.

"The wedding is in three hours! How are you all dressed like this?" She realizes something terrible. "Oh my god. This is my fault! I vetted all of your clothes! And I missed this!"

"It's not that big a deal, Jean," Kurt tries. Jean turns on him like he's her partner in a bank robbery gone wrong.

"Yes, it is, Kurt! It is a very big deal! We cannot look like a funeral procession at Betsy's wedding!"

Kurt doesn't really see why not. If there's one thing they've all learned since becoming teenage superheroes, it's that they all look fantastic in black. He tries to say this, but Jean steamrolls right over him, pacing and waving her arms around in the air. The vases are rattling on their stands.

"Jean," Kitty says. She looks stunning in a high and tight black number and heels that give her a generous four inches. Kurt is oddly entranced by her ankles. Mostly because he's trying to figure out how she's walking in those shoes without spraining one of them.

"We have to change. Everyone has to change!" Jean herself looks amazing, long dark purple gown cut in a tasteful V-neck. Betsy had chosen the color and nobody had argued, even though Rogue had told everyone else who would listen that redheads wearing purple was a level of cruelty that went beyond even the expected standards for bridesmaid torture.

"We don't have time, Jean," says Kitty, perfectly calm. She discreetly directs Amara, Tabby, Roberto, and Bobby –all dressed in immaculate black suit jackets –towards the ballroom.

"There has to be time! You all look like ninjas!" Jean exclaims. She's wringing her hands, but at least the vases have settled down.

"Nope," Kitty says cheerfully. "We just have to make do. It'll be okay. The other guests won't be wearing black, so as long as we don't all sit together, it'll be fine. You four," she gestures to Amara, Tabby, Roberto, and Bobby, "just hang out in here, okay? You won't be on usher duty until the guests get here, but I know you all will just wander off if I let you, so stay here, got it?"

They grumble a little, but Kitty has her Serious Business Face on, so they agree, plopping down in the back row of chairs like a squad of smartly-dressed penguins.

Kitty wrangles the rest of them around the mansion like a pro. She hunts up the guest book and makes sure there's a space cleared for dancing in the ballroom, enlisting Piotr and Kurt to shift things around to her satisfaction. Betsy floats through the upper levels of the house in serene bliss, while Wade skulks around the bottom of the mansion, loudly complaining about not being able to see Betsy until she comes down the aisle tonight.

"Who invented that useless nonsense?" he exclaims passionately to Logan, who is patiently –for Logan –ignoring everything he says while simultaneously wrestling him into a tie. It's purple, matching Rogue and Jean's dresses, not that Wade notices or cares.

Brian is cheerfully bossing the photographer around the mansion, organizing shots of all of the members of the institute, including a few candid shots, such as one of Piotr reaching out to tap Kitty's nose. The look on his face is so blatantly fond and affectionate that Brian almost wants to ask Logan if Kitty needs her vision checked. If she can't see how Piotr feels about her when it is literally right in front of her nose, than there's clearly something wrong there. The photographer takes all of the pictures with minimal complaining, possibly still cowed by Logan's angry eyebrows and the forced breakfast consumption of this morning.

Sorry Wade, Logan thinks, not sorry at all, but Brian is my new best friend.

Then he stops and takes a moment to be horrifically disgusted, because he just referred to Wade, indirectly, as his best friend. Then he has to take another moment, because he just ranked two of his friends like a middle school girl.

He wonders if this is what getting hives feels like. Admitting to having friends is kind of like a rash, he figures. This is almost as bad as thinking of that Cajun as "Remy."

Almost.

He opens the door to the second floor utility closet and takes the face full of what smells overwhelmingly of Sampaguita like the grim, tough, manly man that he is.

"KURT!"

Kurt does not respond, because despite much evidence to the contrary, he does have a sense of self-preservation. Logan plucks a few sticking flowers out of his hair and from under his shirt collar and growls.

Wade is snickering behind him. "Wow, Jimmy," he giggles. "Who knew you were such a honeybee?"

Logan gives him a blank stare.

"Aw, c'mon," Wade complains. "Bees? Attracted to flowers? Nothing?"

"Why are you wearing that mask?" Logan asks. Wade's face is covered by the familiar red and black of his Deadpool mask. He isn't sure when Wade had time to slip away and find it, but it's more likely that Wade has been carrying it around in his pocket this whole time.

"This old thing?" Wade waves his hand. "Pshaw. It's nothing. Just for old time's sake, you know?"

"You're not wearing that in the wedding," Logan informs him.

"Why not?" Wade whines.

"Because," Logan says, "Betsy says so." He thinks that should be good enough, but he has further arguments such as "she loves you, no matter what your face looks like," and "trust me, no one here will think anything of it," and "she doesn't want to marry the mask, she wants to marry you," and "we've all got scars, Wade, suck it up" prepared in case they're necessary.

Wade hesitates for a moment and then pulls the mask off with a flourish. "Happy?" he snaps.

Logan eyes him. He looks a little unhinged, but no more so than normal. "Sure," he says.

Wade wanders off, grumbling, and Logan wonders when he and Betsy will remember that they can literally communicate mind to mind. He gives it an hour at least. Betsy probably already has, but the girl needs her privacy for at least part of the day.

"AND WHERE," Jean is shouting dramatically from the ballroom, "ARE REMY AND ROGUE? HUH? ARE THEY OUT CAREENING AROUND NEW ORLEANS TOGETHER? ARE THEY MAKING OUT IN A BAYOU? WELL?"

000

It's a plane, actually. Rogue is happily kneeling up on her seat to reach Remy, having discovered a creative use for the in-flight barf bags. Remy would be kind of grossed out if he wasn't so touched by her dedication.

"Chere," he gasps out after almost suffocating in the plastic. The other passengers are beginning to look very uncomfortable. "Maybe we should cool it for a bit, oui?"

Rogue does not particularly look like she thinks cooling it for any amount of time is a good plan, but a quick glance around has her reluctantly agreeing and sliding down to actually sit in her seat. A nervous flight attendant approaches as soon as she's settled.

"Excuse me," she says faintly. "Um. Is there anything I can get for you? Um. It's just that. Um. You're not really –that's not exactly what that bag is supposed to be used for." She blushes the whole time she's talking and Remy won't stop grinning. Rogue huffs a sigh that fluffs her bangs up out of her eyes. She looks delightfully disheveled.

"Not unless you got any mutation inhibitors," she mutters. The flight attendant looks startled and even more anxious than before.

"N –no," she stutters. "S –sorry." She scuttles away, and Rogue scowls at Remy when he laughs.

"What's so funny," she snarls.

"Nothin'," he grins. "Just that Remy never thought you'd be the one nearly gettin' us kicked off this plane 'cause you can't keep your hands to yourself."

She sticks her tongue out at him and he snatches up her gloved hand and starts pressing kisses to her palm and fingers. "Later, chere," he promises.

Rogue can live with later, she guesses.

000

It is 4:30 P.M. and the wedding is in exactly two hours. Logan has donned his tuxedo with just enough snarl to let everyone know he still isn't happy about being in the wedding, and now he's going around to all of the boys and making sure they've tied their ties correctly.

Just because he didn't want to be the best man in the first place doesn't mean he isn't going to be the best one he can be, alright. Logan Howlett does not do things halfway.

He finds Ray in the ballroom by the piano, eye nicely purpled and hair a chaotic mass of static electricity as usual. At least his tie is straight. Jubilee is fussing with it.

Logan stops and eyes them both warily. "What's this," he gestures between them. They both look confused.

"Jubes is fixing my tie," Ray answers, pointing awkwardly. Jubilee pushes his hands aside and gives the tie –black, like the rest of his clothes –one last pat.

"There," she says in satisfaction. "Perfect." She snaps her gum and smoothes down her own dress, knee-length black velour that shines when rubbed the right way. Logan hates that fabric, but he's not the one wearing it, so he keeps his opinions to himself.

Well, about her dress at least. "Didn't you two try to kill each other a few hours ago?" he asks.

Ray waves a hand. "That was yesterday," he says airily. "We're fine."

"Your eye is swollen shut," Logan points out.

"Nah," he says. "It opens a little. See?" he points at his eye, which does not appear to be opened at all as far as Logan can tell.

"Right," he says skeptically.

"I don't get what the big deal is," Jubilee says impatiently. "Everyone is acting like we should hate each other because we had a fight yesterday."

Logan does not get paid enough for this. Explaining social cues to mutant teenagers is so far out of his comfort zone, it's basically Paris.

Logan did not enjoy Paris in 1944, and he certainly doesn't enjoy it now.

"You tried to murder each other yesterday," he says, trying for stern but mostly just coming out with the usual level of gruff.

Ray and Jubilee exchange mutually bewildered looks. "So?" Ray asks.

"We're best friends," Jubilee says. "Having one little fight doesn't change that." She pats Ray's arm with approximately the same force she used to punch him last night. He doesn't flinch.

"Best friends don't try to kill each other," Logan says stubbornly. Jubilee gives him an extremely unimpressed look.

"Logan, you literally pushed Wade off a roof last week."

Logan had sort of forgotten about that, oops.

"See?" Ray says, kind of obnoxiously. "It's totally normal to try to kill your best friend around here."

"We're upholding mansion tradition," Jubilee adds.

Whatever. He gives up and jabs his finger towards them. "Fine, I don't care," he lies. "But you two had better keep it together during the ceremony. You're not ruining Betsy's big day."

They both look offended that he even suggested it, but he knows his kids. He gives them another finger jab for good measure and stalks off to find Wade.

He finds the photographer instead, with Brian in tow. The latter looks very sorry for not keeping the kid out of Logan's way. The photographer mostly seems sorry to be running into Logan.

"You're still here?" Logan growls pleasantly. Well, pleasantly for him, which means that Black Fingered McGee here still has both of his arms.

See, he sort of telepathically shouts at Chuck, it's "Black Fingered McGee" 'cause that's like a prison nickname, but "black fingered" because he's a photographer and they get the ink–

Yes, Logan, I believe that I "get it," as the children say, Chuck patiently replies.

"Um," the photographer says. He clutches his camera to his chest like it will protect him from Logan. Brian's face is the epitome of longsuffering, which impresses Logan. He never thought he would ever meet anyone who was more longsuffering than he is, but apparently he was wrong.

He bares his teeth at the photographer and says, "Don't get any ideas, bub."

Before anyone can ask what kind of ideas Logan is forbidding, he stomps away and resumes his search for Wade. Losing the groom is probably a big No-No as far as best man duties goes.

000

Piotr is adorable and Kitty is trying very hard not to say that to his face.

"You're adorable." Whoops, maybe not hard enough.

"What?" he looks perplexed, which is even more adorable. Kitty was not prepared.

"I just mean that you look great in your suit!" she blurts out, totally smooth and not at all like she's been ogling him for the past twenty minutes.

"Oh, thank you," Piotr says, flushing and looking down at himself. "You are," he swallows hard, apparently forgetting how to speak for a second. "Stunning," he finally gets out. "Very beautiful," he tries again, though, after "stunning," he really doesn't need to.

Now they're both blushing.

"Get a room," Kurt orders, passing them with an armload of flowers that Logan had told him to "put somewhere they look nice and not in a closet again." Kitty sputters indignantly and peeks at Piotr to see his reaction. He's doing the exact same thing to her.

"Unbelievable," Kurt mutters, dropping violets everywhere.

000

Rogue and Remy blow into the Institute in a flurry of boxes and covered dishes at 5:19 P.M.

"Did you just fly in from Louisiana?" Jean shrieks. "Did you cater the wedding from Louisiana?"

"Yes," Rogue says, as if this is a perfectly normal way to cater a wedding. All hesitations on the plane have been vanquished. Rogue is a ride-or-die kind of partner-in-crime. When she commits, she doesn't do it halfway.

"Where should Remy put this stuff?" Remy asks. He's balancing an impressive number of platters that Jean is already envisioning splattered all over the floor. She waves him past her, telekinetically steadying the lot.

"The kitchen, Remy, of course." She ushers him past, tossing over her shoulder, "Get dressed!" to Rogue.

Rogue takes the stairs three at a time and bursts into her and Kitty's room singing "Ta-daaa!" Betsy claps obligingly and shoos her toward the dressing screen, where her dress hangs off the edge.

"Yes, very nice, now hurry! Guests will be arriving any minute now!"

Rogue tosses her clothes off carelessly and slips behind the screen to wiggle into the purple monstrosity. "How's Wade?" she teases.

"Ugh!" Betsy moans, nearly flopping across the bed before remembering just in time that she really shouldn't do that in her wedding dress. "I haven't seen him all daaaaaay." She pouts at Rogue's laugh. "I'm serious!"

"Oh, all day?" Rogue calls out. "That must be terrible."

"Well," Betsy admits, "I saw him in the morning. But not since nooooon!"

Rogue emerges from behind the screen in a whirl of purple dress and ivory skin. Her long gloves cover most of her arms, enough for her to walk arm-in-arm with the best man without any danger whatsoever. Jean is thoughtful about things like that.

"Are you nervous?" Rogue asks. Her hair is all twisted up in a clip, puffing out over the top. It makes her look a little bit like a rooster, but Betsy kindly does not say this. She considers her answer to the question.

"Not exactly," she says. "I'm just a bit worried that I'll forget what I'm going to say."

"I didn't mean the wedding," Rogue says. "What about being married?"

Betsy shrugs. Her smile is maybe a little bit sappy. "I already feel married," she says, "so I'm not nervous about that at all."

"Barf," says Rogue, but she smiles when she says it.

000

At six o'clock, Nick Fury arrives with a stream of guests, dressed in a tuxedo, scowl firmly fixed in place, and swipes the purple bowtie out of Logan's hand. Logan smirks, says, "Cuttin' it kinda close, Nicholas."

Fury ties the bow expertly and gives Logan a blood-chilling look. Logan, blood still comfortably lukewarm, nods approvingly. "Betsy will be happy," he says, and just like that, Fury's scowl melts into… well, a softer version of itself.

"Aren't we supposed to be somewhere?" he grumbles.

Most of the guests are mutants, mercenaries, and other miscellaneous characters that Betsy and Wade count among their varied friend groups. But there are also models from Betsy's agency, bitingly friendly and inadvertently crushing the self-esteem of all of the teenagers in the crowd with every strut up and down the aisle. Brian greets a few unidentified specimens that Logan assumes are some of the more "normal" people that Betsy is still friends with. It has to be Betsy, because the only "normal" friend Wade has is an old blind lady with a bad attitude, and Blind Al is already sitting in the front row next to Ororo, "so I can see."

Fury and Logan take their places next to Wade, who is bouncing up and down on his toes like a five year old. "When is she coming?" he whines to Logan.

Patiently, Logan replies, "Stop asking me that, for the love of Pete! She'll be here when she gets here!" Wade gives him an injured look and scoots away a little bit. Logan rolls his eyes. He's not sorry for snapping, Wade is annoying and he deserves it.

Twenty seconds later, Logan says gruffly, "Sorry." And regrets it immediately, because Wade is hugging him joyfully and… sniffing his neck?

"Get off," he says, shoving. Wade moves off, cackling. Next to Logan, Fury snorts a laugh. Logan grits his teeth.

"He's dead once we're done here," he mutters.

"Sure," Fury drawls. "Tell that to Betsy, I dare you."

Kitty bounces up a few minutes later and gives them all a quelling look. "Are we ready?" she asks.

Logan checks. Guests are here. Flowers arranged. Ushers finished seating people. Reception catered and that Cajun dressed like an undertaker sliding into his seat between Piotr and Jubilee. Ray on the piano, refusing to cover his black eye, but Logan has decided not to care about that. Chuck settled, Jean ready for the signal to come down, Brian waiting at the door to walk Betsy down the aisle. Cell Block Lame-O is poised at the perfect angle to take pictures and video, and yes, Logan is aware that that last nickname is not quite up to par. Forgive the author, she had a long night.

What author? He wonders. Why did I just think that? This is Wade's fault.

Moving on, he gives Kitty a nod. "We're good," he tells her.

She smiles brightly and gives him a thumbs-up. "Great!" she whisper-shouts. "Let's do this then!"

Logan calls her back when she's halfway down the aisle. "Wait!" She scurries back.

"What?"

"Where's the priest?"

She stares at him in horror. "What?" she asks.

"Justice of the peace?" he tries. Her eyes get even wider. "Notary of the public?" he suggests desperately.

"How did we miss that?" Kitty whispers, hands pressed to her mouth.

Seriously. They are seriously about to have to stall this wedding because they don't have someone who can perform the ceremony? How is this Logan's life?

"I'm an ordained minister," Nick Fury says calmly.

What.

Logan prides himself on not being surprised very often. He can afford that, he thinks, because he is old. He is an old man, alright, and there have to be some perks to being an old man, and Logan thinks one of them should be that it takes a lot to surprise you. That's fair, right? He's fought wars, dang it, he shouldn't have to be surprised by things.

But he is. Because Nick Fury, being an ordained minister? How the heck was he supposed to see that one coming?

"What?" he says, but Kitty is already cheering and hugging Fury, which is hilarious.

"Thank God!" she says. "Alright, so you'll do the ceremony, and Logan, you and Rogue have the rings, and it's 6:30, finally, and we're going to have this wedding right now." With that, Kitty stomps back down the aisle as best one can stomp in four inch tall heels.

000

Ray starts playing the piano, blatantly stumbling over several notes because he can't see the music through his swollen left eye. The doors in the back of the room open and Jean starts walking sedately down the aisle. She refuses to speed up even when Ray rushes the music a little, so by the time Rogue enters, Jean is out of time and serenely about to pop a vein.

Logan is biased, of course, but the two of them are jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Between themselves, Rogue and Jean could take out a city block out of sheer presence.

That Cajun tries to breathe, sees Rogue, and immediately starts choking. Logan graciously deigns to be concerned until Piotr thumps him on the back and he catches his breath. Scott is quietly hyperventilating so loudly that Chuck is smothering his psychic signature with a cloud so thick even Logan can feel it.

Wade is practically vibrating.

Rogue reaches the altar and passes Logan with a wink. She glides up to stand next to Jean and the entire room seems to hold its breath as Ray smoothly transitions into the wedding march.

The doors open once more and the guests all rise as Betsy and Brian begin their walk down the aisle.

"Oh my god," Wade says softly. Logan agrees.

Brian's smile is so bright, it's basically LED, but Betsy outshines everyone, radiant in long, white satin. Logan glances at Wade and smirks when he sees that the Merc with the Mouth has finally been struck speechless. He and Betsy haven't taken their eyes off of each other for a second.

And then there they are, Brian taking both Wade and Betsy's hands and pressing them both to his lips before joining them together. Logan does not grimace, but he makes a mental note to remind Brian that kissing Wade's hand isn't really the best idea. Who knows where it's been?

Nick Fury clears his throat.

"Can I just say," he starts.

"No!" Betsy and Wade chime together and then immediately start giggling. Fury rolls his eye.

"I'm saying it anyway," he declares. Pauses for dramatic effect and then says, "It's about time, you two!" Rogue breaks out in laughter and the rest of the X-Men follow. Wade winks at Fury.

"Aw, you do care, Nick," he coos.

"Shut up," Fury orders. "All of y'all," he adds. The room quiets. The non-mutant guests mostly look scandalized. Logan is enjoying this way more than he had thought he would.

"Now," Fury says, "y'all are getting married today. There's lots of stuff I could say here, but you've definitely heard it before, so I'm gonna skip the boring parts and get to the part we care about. What do you want to say to each other?"

They give each other nervous looks, suddenly shy. Betsy clears her throat and says, "I'll go first." She clasps Wade's hand a little tighter and takes a deep breath. "Wade," she says. "The first time we met, I thought I was going to kill you."

"Don't you mean–"

"No, don't interrupt!" She was smiling. "You weren't going to be able to kill me, but I was afraid I would have to kill you. And then I didn't, and it turned out you had really nice eyes, and suddenly we were getting dinner. And it's been crazy, Wade. We've had some crazy times, been some crazy people. I stole that woman's body for a while. You disappeared from the franchise for years. I almost can't believe we're really here. But we are, and we're going to be together for the rest of eternity and even after that if I have any say in it. I'm so in love with you," she stressed, pulling Wade closer to her. They were standing almost nose to nose now. "I will be here when you're lost and I will search for you until you're found. I will follow where you go, and when I go, I will be dragging you behind me."

Logan is not crying, but if that demon spawned photographer is taking pictures of him right now, there's going to be murder tonight.

"Anyway," Betsy wraps up, "I love you and I want you forever and now I have you forever, so I'm happy." She reaches up to dab at her eyes with her knuckle and Rogue stifles a whine of horror at the smearing of mascara.

Fury is trying hard to look unimpressed, but he's not doing great. "Wade?" he says, after clearing his throat a couple of times.

Wade's face has gone pale, like he's standing on top of a cliff and is about to throw himself over.

"Uh. Um, yeah," he stutters. Betsy squeezes his hands and he swallows. "Okay. Um. Betsy. I love you," he blurts it out and it seems to settle him, now that he's finally said it in front of everyone. "I love you more than anything in the whole world. I love you more than chimichangas. I love you more than killing Hydra agents. You've changed my life and I want to spend forever fighting with you, loving you, holding you, kissing you, following you–" He probably would have kept going, but Logan clears his throat somewhat pointedly and he refocuses. "The point is, everything you want from me, you've got. You've got me forever. I can't wait to call you at three in the morning to bail me out of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and tell everyone there that you're my wife."

The room titters. Fury looks furious. Betsy looks exasperated and also like she's trying not to be charmed. Too late. Wade goes on, earnest as only Wade really can be, with his own special flavor of the emotion, "I've lived a lot of life… and died a lot of death," he adds. Logan snorts. "And I know now that I want to keep on living with you until I finally run out of lives. So, uh. Yeah, that's it, mostly. I love you."

Betsy beams at him. Brian is definitely sobbing in the front row. Logan grits his teeth and thinks angry thoughts, which is only slightly harder than usual. Yes, this is very touching, but also the cummerbund on his tuxedo is stupid and keeps sliding around his waist, so Logan is already Not Happy.

Fury says, "Now, by the power invested in me by the state of y'all-don't-get-to-know-where it's classified, I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Braddock-Wilson. Girl, just kiss him, you've been dying to all day."

They kiss for a long time. Logan darts a glance at Fury after the thirty second mark and Fury clears his throat as loudly as possible. The audience just watches in fascinated disgust. Betsy and Wade break apart with the most self-satisfied smacking sound Logan has ever heard and turn to face the crowd.

That Cajun stands up and whoops, hollering loud enough to bring the roof down, and then the rest of these heathens Logan lives with are on their feet, shouting and cheering and clapping. The other audience members get into it, and Wade and Betsy run down the aisle and out of the doors in the back to a tune of hooting and shrieking.

"If everyone would give us a few minutes, we'll have the tables set up for the reception," Kitty announces. The guests all obligingly shuffle out of their seats and Jean immediately begins telekinetically rearranging the chairs to accommodate the tables that Piotr, Scott, and Tabby roll out into the ballroom.

The guests cluster around Betsy and Wade while the X-men assemble the reception area. Remy and Rogue disappear into the kitchen with Bobby and Roberto in tow and reemerge carrying platters heaped with gumbo and jambalaya, fragrant spices wafting through the room. The boudin balls are piled on a bed of dirty rice. Fresh salad and crawfish pie and maque choux send heavenly smells towards the guests. Jean looks mollified.

"I suppose catering from Louisiana wasn't the worst idea," she tells Scott.

"Let's eat!" Remy calls. The guests move toward the tables and Logan surveys the crowd with a strange sense of satisfaction. This actually worked.

"Hey," a voice says from behind Logan, "this actually worked!"

Logan turns and here is–

"NICK!" Kitty squeals, bounding up to fling her arms around the neck of the young blond man wearing a dark grey and black bodysuit. "You came!"

"Couldn't miss Mum and Dad's wedding, now could I?" he replies, laughing.

"You bring Laura?" Logan asks gruffly.

"Nah," says Nicholas Braddock-Wilson, twenty-one years old, time-traveler. "She's in Japan right now. Or right then," he grins. "I'm gonna catch Uncle Kurt." He kisses Kitty's cheek and darts off.

"Don't let your parents see you!" Kitty calls after him. Logan glances to his right. Fury's eye is twitching.

"You don't want to know," Logan informs him.

"That's what I thought," Fury says.

A stir by the door draws Logan's attention. "What now?" he growls.

Mr. and Mrs. Braddock push through the crowd to meet their daughter. Wade glances over his shoulder at Logan, wide eyed as a baby deer. Logan smirks at him and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Elizabeth… honey," Mrs. Braddock starts. Betsy looks like she's about to cry for real now. Brian stands to the side looking torn between delight and anxiety.

"We're so sorry, honey," Mrs. Braddock finally says, and then Betsy is hugging her and her father is shaking Wade's hand and Brian falls into the mess of crying, happy Braddocks, and Logan has to look away before he gets feelings in his eyes.

"Come on," says Betsy, wiping her tears away delicately. Her mascara is smudging a little, but Jean will fix that in a jiffy. "Let's party." She and Wade lead her family over to the tables and the reception finally gets properly underway.

000

The ninja arrive before the cake. Logan thinks he probably should have seen this coming.

They drop down from the ceiling, embarrassingly enough, landing on the dance floor like the worst kind of disco divas. Logan catches the Professor's eye and makes sure to glare. Chuck pretends not to notice.

I told you we needed to fix the security system, Logan growls into his head. Logan's telepathic growl is almost as good as his live one. Chuck winces.

Yes, I know, Logan, but that hardly helps us right now. Let's not point fingers. Logan snarls and unsheathes his claws, pointing one specific kind of finger in Chuck's direction.

The guests have prudently scattered to the edges of the ballroom. Betsy is covering her model friends and her parents with Wade's help. Wade looks like Christmas and his birthday came at the same time.

"Chuck?" Logan growls.

"X-men, move in!" Professor Xavier orders, comfortably serene. Easy for him to be serene, Logan thinks. He's shoving ninja around with the power of his mind, not his metal bones.

Logan is not real happy with this turn of events.

The X-Men leap into action with an alacrity that soothes some of his ire. Maybe ninja are crashing his best friend's wedding (which he planned), but at least the group of highly efficient mutant teenagers he spends all of his time training are proving that they actually pay attention sometimes.

Kitty punches one ninja directly in the mask and Logan practically hears Piotr swoon. He grins fiercely and shouts, "Nice job, Half-pint!"

She looks over at him and exasperation crosses her face. "Behind you!" she calls.

Logan turns to find Prison Was A Learning Experience being menaced by two ninja. He groans. "Hey!" he yells. "Back off! Don't you know a non-combatant when you see one?"

The ninja look offended, if it is possible for people wearing black masks over their faces to look offended (it is). "How were we supposed to know?" one of them grouches, taking a swing at Logan as he approaches. "He's dressed like the rest of y'all."

Logan cannot believe that a ninja just said "y'all" to him. "Just leave him alone," he snarls, slashing at the ninja claws out, despite Chuck's admonishing voice in his head telling him not to kill anyone.

"Yoooooooooo!" Nicholas Braddock-Wilson is whooping it up as he plows through a second wave of ninja with gleeful abandon. Rogue and Remy are fighting back to back, occasionally kicking a few extra ninja in Jean's direction. Jean looks mad, probably because ninja at the wedding was not part of the Plan and Jean hates it when things don't go according to the Plan. Logan has no idea how she stays sane in this place.

Scott lets Bobby call his shots, the latter lounging on top of the piano in what he possibly thinks is a sexy pose and yelling out targets for Scott to aim his eyes at. Scott looks like he's enjoying himself, which is rare enough, and Bobby hasn't missed one yet, so Logan is going to let it happen for now.

Jubilee and Ray are fighting beside one another, frizzing each other's hair beyond anything like necessary and taking turns shocking their ninja opponents. Pretty soon, they don't have any opponents, because even the sock heads can learn who is going to electrocute them and stay away.

Logan ends up next to Wade, who hasn't even bothered to draw his katana and is instead happily swinging away with his fists, knuckles splitting and healing as fast as the eye can follow.

"Just like old times, Jimmy!" Wade chirps. "This reminds me of that time in Japan!"

Logan squints at him in confusion. "You weren't getting married in Japan!"

"No, silly!" Wade giggles. "You were!" And then he throws himself at a gaggle of five ninja and immediately is buried under their flailing limbs before Logan can do more than blink because wait, what?

Best not to think about it, the author suggests. This fight scene needs to wrap up anyway, it's getting lame.

Logan's eyes widen and then narrow in suspicion. Listen, he thought, you leave me out of this whole "author" thing. That's Wade's department.

That's fair.

What was he thinking about?

Oh yeah. He ducks the ninja that flies over his head in a perfect arc and gives Betsy a nod. All around him, black-clad ninja lay in various states of disarray and injury on the floor, while black-clad X-Men congratulate one another on their excellent fighting skills. Bobby is actually flexing his muscles, which Logan should probably put a stop to… oh, no worries, Amara's got that one.

"Everyone alright?" Betsy calls. The non-mutant guests murmur in relief and shock. "Good!" she continues cheerfully. "Then we can get on with the reception! Anyone want to volunteer to clear our unexpected guests away from the dance floor?"

"I'll take care of it," Nick Fury stands up from where he's been sitting on the makeshift stage. He pulls out a cell phone and dials. "I've got some guys in the area. Besides," he adds, rolling his eye. "I'm not much for parties. Congratulations, you two. Please do not contact me for at least a month, or do anything that might cause me to contact you." He strolls away, talking into the phone, and a few minutes later, more people than Logan is actually comfortable with having in the mansion enter the ballroom and gather up the ninja, leaving with as little fanfare as they arrived.

Betsy's mother sputters a little. "Is this what you do with these X-Men?" she asks Betsy. Betsy looks around and grins.

"Pretty much, yeah," she says.

"Oh my," says her mother.

"Capital," Brian pipes in, beaming. "Cake, Mother?" He winks at Logan, confirming Logan's suspicion that he's been turning the British up more than usual today. Nobody actually says "Capital!"

Logan searches out Chuck and finds him chatting happily with Blind Al. The Professor responds to Logan's querying eyebrows with a chuckle and a wave of his hand, so Logan moves on to the rest of his X-Men, one after another, confirming their well being.

That Cajun tries to hug him or something when he gets to him and Stripes. "Aw, Wolvy, you do care about Remy!" he croons.

Logan shoves him away and sticks a finger in his face. "You ever skive off to Louisiana in the middle of planning a wedding again and I'll hunt you down and have your guts for garters," he growls. He means for it to be threatening, but Rogue instantly ruins it by bursting into laughter and calling him a pirate. Whatever. Remy gets the message.

The photographer is staring at Logan with something creepily akin to hero worship in his face. "You saved my life," he says.

Logan rolls his eyes. "Prolonged it, maybe," he says gruffly. "And I might still end it if ya don't back off, bub."

"Look," says Does-This-Tattoo-Make-My-Bicep-Look-Fat, "I'm not trying to seduce Kitty. I swear. Seriously, I'm just here to photograph the wedding." He holds up his camera as proof, though of what, Logan really can't be sure. He doesn't know what photographers do. Mess around with Photoshop probably, which actually makes him a liar in addition to being a jailbird.

"Good," Logan says. "You can keep it that way and you can leave."

"Uh, don't you mean 'or I can leave'?"

Logan shows his teeth. "I said what I meant," he says.

"Logan!" Brian arrives in all his bedazzling blond beauty and sweeps him away. "Come on! We're toasting and it's your turn to make a speech!"

He gives the photographer an extra glare for good measure and makes his way over to the refreshments table, where Tabby hands him a glass of something he's definitely not going to drink now that he knows Tabby has touched it. Begrudgingly, he lifts the cup.

"To Betsy and Wade," he begins. "You two are both nuts. I can't believe I got roped into planning your wedding. Enjoy your life together full of ninjas and S.H.I.E.L.D. Your kid is gonna be just as annoying as you are. I don't know how to make speeches, just drink." He raised his glass and the little brats he's been half-raising all burst out laughing and toast him in return, urging the other guests to "drink up, yes, he's really done, no, he's not going to say anything else."

Logan dumps his glass into Chuck's without the other man noticing and goes in search of a moment of peace. He leaves the ballroom and ducks into the hallway, just in time to watch an avalanche of carnations tumble out of the closet onto Piotr and Kitty, hand in hand and just having opened the door.

Kitty sputters. Piotr blushes and stammers. Logan nods approvingly and decides that inside the ballroom, crazy as it is, at least doesn't have this.

It does have Betsy, stroking Wade's hair and pulling him in for kiss after kiss while the photographer walks around them in a circle, catching every angle, every movement. The two of them clutch at each other like no one else is in the room, breathing into each other, tasting, trembling.

"I love you, hunnybunny," Wade tells Betsy, voice and eyes adoring.

"And I love you," she replies, in his ears and his head and his heart.

"We should do this again sometime."

"Ha!" says Logan, passing by. "Not on your life."

The End

A/N: I would like to thank my seven year old brother for the phrase "who invented that useless nonsense," because it has become a part of my daily vocabulary.

I don't know anything about Cajun food other than that it smells and tastes wonderful, so if any of the stuff I mentioned in this chapter is super obscure or actually is not as good as I thought it sounded, you can blame Wikipedia. Looking at Cajun recipes just made me too hungry.

Well, this is it. See y'all in the archives.