Part V: Wherein Scott and Logan Finally Get It On, Logan Becomes a Father, and Scott and Logan Get It On Again
Author's Note: Well, sorry about the long absence, folks. We're back and slashier than ever. Oh yeah, you heard me. It's on now. And I don't pretend to know anything about the legal system or how one is adopted. I'm making it all up – it's a story, I'm an author, it's called artistic licence. What I'm not pulling out of my butt are Logan and Rogue's names: Logan was born James Howlett in the comic canon, and Rogue's movie persona's last name is D'Ancanto. I didn't check comic book canon.
Scott was tired. More tired than he had been in a long time. The kind of bone-deep tired that was almost painful. As soon as the Humans First representative had left the school, the Professor had wheeled himself into Cerebro and hadn't left. While Logan had peeled out of here on the motorbike, set to cover the local area, he and Storm had jumped into the X-Jet and taken off. They had been in motion ever since, two days ago, combing every inch of the country to no avail. They used every mutant contact they knew. Cerebro could find nothing. They could find nothing. Every mutant was present and accounted for – except for those they hadn't expected to find, Magneto and his motley crew. No one knew anything about a missing mutant, any kind of laboratory. Scott was on the verge of flying the Jet into the Humans First headquarters and razing the building floor to floor to find the Experiment, and Logan was growlingly supportive, when the Professor called them home. The students were panicked at the sudden withdrawal of all the teachers, wondering what had gone wrong, if the Humans First woman had ratted on them. If they were in danger.
Scott and Storm staggered into the mansion in the middle of the afternoon. Heads poked around doors as they went – there had been no classes. Logan was coming in from the garage, met them at the foot of the stairs. His omnipresent stubble now had the look of a full-on beard. They didn't need to meet the Professor in his office to know that there had been no luck, but still they went; he just wanted to check that they were all in one piece and send them off to bed. Storm left them at her room, but Logan walked Scott to his quarters. The myopic mutant didn't have the restorative powers that Logan did, and Logan saw that Scott was on the verge of collapse. And he was right. One step up to the stairs and Scott almost swooned. Logan caught him around the waist, hitching him up on his hip.
"You okay?" he asked gruffly.
"S'okay," he murmured, resting his head on Logan's shoulder. "M'just tired, s'all."
Logan grunted and half-carried, half-dragged the other man up the short flight of stairs and down the hall to his room, the room that used to be shared with Jean. They stood awkwardly at the door, Scott leaning against the doorframe and trying to make it look like he wasn't. Something was clearly on his mind, because he was chewing on his lip. And Logan realised with a catch in his breath that his thoughts were probably along the same lines of his. And he wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. But it was a thing, and Logan never had been one for consequences. He stepped inside the room and closed the door behind them.
They stood there and stared awkwardly at each other for a long moment. Logan remembered an equally awkward moment with Jean before her death. Jean loomed large in this room, in this moment.
"This is something we both want," Scott said softly, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes and his emotions – Logan had never realised how harsh that could be.
"Yeah," he replied.
Scott opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He took a single, wobbly step towards Logan. Logan stepped the rest of the way, one large hand coming to rest on Scott's arm, hanging limply at his side. Scott leaned forward. Logan leaned forward. They met somewhere in the middle, with a tentative, closed kiss, lips straight and unyielding, no pressure, and pulled away as hastily. Scott swallowed hard, his lips parting for air, and Logan dove. With a snarl in the back of his throat, he kissed Scott roughly, the only way he knew how. With Logan, everything was rough. As the song went, he hadn't learned tenderness. With Logan, nothing was done in half-measures. And Scott responded in kind. Their personalities had always clashed, both too autonomous, too controlled. They tried to control each other in this kiss, dominate. In the end they had to share the kiss, tongues caressing rather than duelling, lips worshiping rather than ravaging. It may have been a short kiss. It may have been a long kiss. It was one of those timeless, worldless kisses that always seemed to last forever and end too quickly. This one ended with Scott sagging against Logan, his sunglasses an odd sensation pressing against his neck.
"You need to sleep," Logan said shakily. The conflicting, confusing emotions were back. He stepped away, leaving Scott to sway blearily on his feet, turned on his heel, and stalked out. He went right to his room and collapsed on to the bed, face-first. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling until his own fatigue got the better of him and he drifted off, still fully clothed.
They didn't feel fully human (fully mutant?) until the morning of the second day that they had returned. The teachers tried to achieve some sense of normalcy, but with the older students pulled out of class for intense training with Logan in the danger room, and the newly completed perimeter sensors and defences, it was hard to do. The students coped remarkably well. They didn't act up, they helped out, they tried to be as normal as they could. And nothing happened. Humans First kept on soapbox showboating, but their initial impetus had worn off. Few new members joined, and they limited themselves mainly to letter-writing and peaceful demonstrations. In fact, the world of politics was suspiciously quiet. Well, not quite suspiciously quiet, but almost that quiet.
It was when they had showered and slept and generally recovered that Logan and Scott met again, in their midnight retreat of the cool, tiled kitchen. The moon was full and bright, streaming through the bay window, so they didn't bother with the lights. They stood, barefoot and shirtless, in the middle of the kitchen, just looking at each other. Silvery moonlight on reddish glasses made them look purple, and Logan wished he could see beyond them. They kissed, bathed in moonlight, arms sliding over worn fabric and bare skin, drawing comfort from the other. They didn't talk. They had done all their talking before, stretched over iterant nights of a la mode and alcohol. There was no need for talking now. They would talk later, but for now all they did was explore. Tongues explored mouths, hands explored bodies, soul explored soul. Logan found it odd, the sensation of the sunglasses, smooth and cool where there should have been skin. Scott found it odd, the bristle of stubble under his fingers, his cheek, his lips.
They stopped just short of a further intimacy. Both were physically ready, their bodies straining almost painfully for each other, breath quickening and veins pounding, but they stopped. Scott had to be careful, or he could inadvertently rip holes in the school. Logan had to be careful, or he could inadvertently rip holes in Scott. So they made out like horny teenagers whenever they got the chance, and more often than not night found them curled around each other in Logan's bed. That was how Rogue found them one morning when they had inadvertently overslept. She had bounced into Logan's room after the barest of knocks, nervous and excited.
"Logan, they've – oh my god!" She clapped her hands over her mouth as she skidded to a halt. Logan was awake in a second, Scott somewhat behind him. He growled, glancing around wildly, pulling the sheet up even though he was decently clothed in a pair of sweatpants. He rolled off the bed, reaching around Rogue to shut the door. "Oh my god," she repeated, eyes as big and round as saucers, as Scott finally got with the program and sat up in the bed, looking suitably embarrassed.
"Look, kid, this is not . . ." Logan started, then realised that what he was saying was a lie. "Me and Scott . . ." That didn't work either. "We're a pair of . . ." Goddammit! "Kid, this has got nothin' to do with you."
"Oh my god," Rogue said for a third time, her mouth gaping open. "You . . . he . . . you and Scott . . ." She gaped a few times, soundlessly. "My world is rocked."
Logan looked at her with concern. "Are you gonna be okay?"
"I think so," she said faintly. "I mean, I'd be kind of a hypocrite if I wasn't, right?"
"I, uh, I'm just going to go . . ." Scott murmured, twitching his t-shirt straight. "You two can talk."
"Coward," Logan muttered as he fled the room, and ran a hand through his hair, pacing in a small circle. "Okay, kid, so . . . yeah. Me and Scott. Don't spread it around, will ya?"
She shook her head solemnly, sitting down rather hard on the edge of the bed. "Wow. You and Scott. You are so wrong for each other – and yet so right."
"Yeah, well, we're still workin' things out," he said gruffly, slightly embarrassed. "Nothin's set." He jumped topics abruptly. "You wanted to tell me something?"
"Oh!" she said, startled. "Oh. Right. They've set the date for the custody hearing. Thursday. You and Professor Xavier are going to be interviewed by a social worker and a judge. Well, and me, too, since I'm over 16."
"Hey, that's great, kid!" Logan said, and he meant it. "Wait. I'll have to shave again, won't I?"
Rogue had to laugh at his expression. "Yeah. Last time, I promise."
"Well, that's a comfort," he muttered. "Now get out of here so I can change. I'll catch up to you later."
She nodded and hopped off the bed, but paused by the door to give him one last speculative look, shaking her head. "Oh. My. God," she murmured, and was gone.
Logan fought the irrational urge to throw something at the door after her retreating back.
Thursday came quickly. Very, very quickly. By the time the hearing rolled around, word had leaked and the entire school knew what was up. Apparently the entire school also knew that Logan would be shaving for this momentous occasion, which meant that the entire school had managed to be in the entrance hall when he made his grand entrance that morning. He folded his arms and scowled, but that didn't diminish the effect of his crisp cream shirt and black pants, and the clean-shaven face. He had even made an attempt to flatten his hair – not that it had worked. But the attempt was nice. Rogue had dressed sedately, neatly, the antique white gloves matching her outfit and looking only slightly out of place with her uncharacteristically long sleeves.
There was a wave of snickers and 'ooohs' as they descended, and Logan's glare did nothing to quell them; it may have even exacerbated them. There was such a chorus of appreciative murmurs that Logan stopped and did a bit of a turn, a smirk on his face. Kitty mimed swooning. Even Professor X was smirking when he emerged from the elevator. "Logan, Rogue, are you ready to go?"
"Yeah," he said, hurrying through the crowd of students with Rogue on his heels. Scott followed them to help the Professor into the car, taking Logan's arm when both the others had been settled, sharing a long look.
"Good luck," Scott said softly.
"Thanks," Logan replied, patting his hand, wishing they could do more. Rogue knew, the Professor probably did know or would before long, but neither felt right.
There was a tense, nervous silence in the car on the long drive into the city, where the hearing would take place. Well, there Logan and Rogue were tense and nervous. Professor X was as calm as ever. Logan was fairly sure there was nothing that could make him lose that serene veneer that was part of his own special brand of intimidation. He sat beside Logan as he drove, shuffling through the papers necessary, the notarised copy of the commendation, Logan's forged identification and the paperwork hiring him at the school, as well as character references from Storm and Scott; Rogue's birth certificate was also in the batch. He had no intention of using his powers of persuasion to sway the judge in favour of Logan; if Logan was deemed unsuitable, he was unsuitable. Xavier was a great believer in the legal system, even if didn't favour his children, his students.
The social worker – or Children's Aid Advocate, as her official title was – was one of those short, stocky women who looked like they would have fit in equally well in the bullpen of the local police department or the front of a kindergarten class. Her close-cropped hair was dyed a deep auburn, and grey eyes managed to sparkle sternly at them, surrounded by the creases of laugh lines and a little bit of age. The judge was an older black man, who looked slightly pouchy and dishevelled, as if he had just woken up from a fitful sleep, with an air of deep abstraction. He greeted them with a rather fishy handshake; the advocate's was firm. They were introduced as Judge Greenwood and Mrs. Colby.
"So, I understand that Marie's parents have put her up for adoption," Judge Greenwood said, flipping open the file on his desk. "Doesn't give any specific reason here." He looked at them over the rim of non-existent glasses. "Is there a specific reason that has any bearing on this hearing?"
"No, I can assure you there is not," Xavier said serenely.
"Alright, Miss D'Ancanto, you do realise that you have no legal say in this matter," he continued, "But I do wish to know your opinion. I trust you are fully aware of the situation, and the two options available?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Well, then, which would you prefer?" he said, folding his hands on the desk and looking straight at her.
She looked slightly taken aback at the direct question. "I, uh, well, the Logan one. Option. Being adopted by Logan."
"Why?"
She glanced down at her gloved hands. "Because I want to be someone's daughter, not just a building's ward. I want to be Logan's daughter."
He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Mr. Xavier, you and Mr. Howlett are, technically, in competition for the custody of Miss D'Ancanto. Who do you feel would make a more suitable guardian?"
"I believe that Logan would be a better parent," Xavier said, stressing the last word. "No matter what happens, Marie will remain at the school – we're like an extended family all ready. However, I believe that she would benefit from having a legal father rather than, as she said, a building. Buildings can change ownership – I don't see it happening, but it is possible." He paused. "Logan is a good man, and he cares for Marie in a way that I never could."
Logan ducked his head, resisting the urge to growl something deprecating. Judge Greenwood gave that same slow nod and leaned back, obviously finished. Mrs. Colby took over.
"Mr. Howlett," she said, her voice the firm but soothing, attractive tenor of a schoolteacher, "I see from your file that you had no permanent employment before being hired about a year ago by the Xavier Institute. What is the reason for that?"
How to phrase this, how to phrase this . . . "I was a member of the Canadian military before that," he decided on, not technically a lie. "Division top-secret, classified. When I got out, no one would take me on for long because it looked like I hadn't had a real job in my whole life. The Professor here took the chance."
"And an excellent one it was, too," Xavier put in, emphasising the point with a small shake of his hand. "Logan has been indispensable around the school. I don't know how we got along without him."
Mrs. Colby's lips were still a bit too thin, but she seemed to accept that explanation. "Well, you have no criminal record. And a recommendation from Marie's father. Obviously Marie is fond of you. And I am of the opinion that a school does not make a proper guardian for a child, even one so obviously mature as Marie here." She glanced at Judge Greenwood. "I've run the proper background checks. Immigrated to the United States from Canada five years ago –" I did? Logan thought "- and has been clean ever since. I am relieved that she is going to remain at the school, though. I have no objection."
"Nor do I," the judge said, with a note of finality. He opened a drawer in his desk, flipping through the hanging folders until he found the one he needed. "Ah, here we go. Mr. Howlett, I need you to sign here. Mr. Xavier can act as guarantor, Mrs. Colby witnessed, and we'll have all the paperwork to you sometime in the next two weeks." He smiled at them as Logan, relieved, scrawled his name. "Congratulations."
"Thank you, sir," Rogue said softly, shaking his hand as they stood.
"Thanks," Logan said roughly, seizing his hand and pumping it firmly, doing the same to Mrs. Colby, who looked surprised and rather gratified.
Xavier chuckled. "Come along, Logan, Marie. I believe this calls for a celebration." And with great dignity he rolled from the room.
The school was asleep when they got back. Xavier had treated them to dinner and regaled them with fond stories of Storm and Scott when they were younger, of all the students before the mutant-human conflict had gotten so dark. Logan ruffled Rogue's hair affectionately when they parted ways in the dark hallway, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had never felt this inexplicably happy. As he moved soundlessly through the halls, a door opened abruptly and Scott stood there, silhouetted against the moonlight streaming through his window. Wordlessly, he backed up a step and Logan slipped into the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
"So, how'd it go?" Scott asked, his voice neutral – it was unlucky to be too excited about something.
Logan was fully aware just how goofy the grin on his face must have looked. "I'm going to be a father."
Scott broke into a wide grin, one of the first Logan had seen since . . . since. "That's great! Rogue must be happy."
"Yeah, she is," Logan replied. He turned away, unable to stay still, full of excited jitters, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe it. Me. A dad. With responsibilities. I never . . . I mean, I don't seem the type, do I?"
"Actually," Scott thought, tilting his head to one side, considering. "You do. Sort of."
Logan rounded on him. "Say what?"
"Well, not in the minivan and t-ball kind of way," Scott said, waving one hand for emphasis. "More like the protective mother-bear, supportive kind of way."
Logan peered at him with narrowed eyes. "Was that a compliment."
"Definitely," Scott replied, but ruined it a second later by adding, "I think." He paused. "It's also . . . kind of sexy."
It was the first time either of them had acknowledged their physical attraction to the other. Logan stared hard at Scott. Scott stared hard at the floor. Logan moved slowly towards Scott, gathering him into his arms, and lowered his mouth to cover his. This was a different kind of kiss. This kiss had a purpose, a direction. An into bed sort of direction. Which terrified both of them, especially as they tumbled into the broad bed, amidst the rumpled sheets, hands reaching for each other's clothing.
Cue a tasteful fade to black. To be continued . . .