Paternal Instincts: A baby arrives at the mansion, and Logan's not quite sure how he feels about it.

Evolution was a messy and complicated business, and as soon as you thought you might have figured it out, everything changed on you.

You realized that there were people out there like you, and then that they weren't as much like you as you'd thought. You realized there was a logical explanation for your existence, but then you realized that even though you knew what you were, you still didn't know how you'd gotten to be that way. Why you? Why not someone else? How did this whole thing work, anyway?

And then there were the things that changed what everybody thought. Things like an infant born a mutant. Everyone knew that mutant powers manifested at puberty, and that if they manifested earlier, they didn't do it much earlier. This baby, waving its tiny claws in the air from the basket on the church steps, broke all of those rules.

There weren't many people who were willing to protect mutants. There weren't many who would have taken care of the baby. But this baby wasn't just born a mutant, she was born lucky, and the priest who picked her up knew exactly what to do. He'd met a man once, a man who knew a guy who knew a place where mutants could go. A place where they could be safe.

The baby was taken to a friend, who took her to a friend, who took her to a friend, on down the line. The friends of the mutants. She slept in nursery cribs, drank formula donated by a dozen congregations to be given to the poor, rode in old car seats in older church vans, and wove her way slowly across the country. Eventually, she made it to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and that was where she stayed.

What didn't make it to Xavier's was the note they'd found with her, the note that said a dozen awful things about her, that called her a devil and a punishment and a tiny, breathing mistake. The letter railed against her father, detailed a one-night stand and said her mother should never kept the baby, but now the letter was long gone, left in a dozen pieces in a landfill somewhere back along the road. The baby was safe, and all of that was in the past.

In the present, the baby was not a devil, a punishment, or a mistake. She was merely a mystery. Hank wondered why her powers had come out so soon. Ororo wondered where they would put the baby so she could be taken care of without waking all the older children twelve times a night. Charles wondered if more babies would be coming their way soon.

Logan just wondered.

The moment the baby's tiny fist had shot out two thin bone claws from between the knuckles, every eye in the room had turned to him, including the eyes of the priest who had brought her here. Beast's tests had just confirmed what everyone already knew – she was Wolverine's. He just couldn't figure out how. He didn't know where she'd come from or how she'd gotten here. Mostly, he didn't know why everyone seemed to think he should care. He hadn't wanted a baby. He hadn't expected a baby. And he wasn't sure why everyone seemed to think a few lines of DNA up on the screen in the infirmary were going to change that.

A crash rang out from upstairs and Logan found himself left alone with the baby as the others ran off to see what it was. They didn't approve of leaving the kids to fend for themselves for too long, but he thought the whole lot of them might make fewer messes if they had to clean them up themselves. Though with the baby – the baby really shouldn't be left alone. Probably.

Logan didn't know much about babies, but he was pretty sure you were supposed to watch them all the time so they didn't choke on their spit or throw poop at anyone. Or something. And apparently now that he was a dad, he was supposed to be the one watching the baby. Like a little bit of scientific evidence was going to turn him magically into the father of the year.

A second crash sounded from upstairs and the baby started crying. "Great," Logan growled under his breath. He walked over to the lab table where Hank had set the baby on a blanket while he did the few tests they'd thought were necessary. The infant's eyes were screwed tightly shut, her face was as red as the wispy baby hair on her head, and her arms were flailing, claws extended and slicing through the air, as she screamed with all the force of a surprisingly strong pair of lungs.

"Oh, come on," he muttered. He thought quickly through everything he knew about babies. They ate, they slept, they pooped. If they were crying, it usually had something to do with one of those things. Maybe she was mad that the noise had woken her up. What was he supposed to do about that? She'd just have to get over it. Maybe her diaper was dirty. He sniffed her, keeping his head away from the reach of her claws. Nope. Not smelly.

So, either she was hungry or whatever was wrong he couldn't fix anyway. Great. He decided he'd better go find the baby formula the priest had brought with him, because that was really all that was left to try. It was probably in the kitchen somewhere.

He was halfway out the door when he realized that he couldn't just leave the baby here. Especially not when she was wailing like this. He'd have to take her with him. Walking back over to the table, he realized he had no idea how to hold the baby. The others had all been handing the baby off to each other like it was nothing, but he hadn't held her yet. No one in their right mind handed Wolverine a baby, especially when he stood there glaring at anyone who moved toward him with it.

Thinking back to the way the others had held her, he decided that he thought he could probably pick the baby up without breaking her. She was so small she looked like she could snap in two in his hands. But then, if she'd inherited his powers, she probably wasn't as breakable as she looked. He hoped she wasn't as breakable as she looked.

Reaching down, he started to pick up the baby, only to be scratched in the arm by the flailing claws. He growled under his breath, frustrated. The scratch would heal, of course, it already had, but he couldn't help feeling like any of the others could have picked up the baby without getting stabbed. "Stop it."

The baby kept screaming, slashing him across the chest and tearing a hole through his shirt as he tried to cradle her in his arms like the others had. "Oh, you think you're tough, huh?" Suddenly, she hiccupped, right in the middle of a scream. Her eyes flicked open in surprise and she hiccupped again, then fell silent. He didn't know why she'd stopped, but he didn't much care. Anything was better than the screaming. Quiet now, she looked up at him intently, as if realizing this was a new person, her dark eyes staring into Logan's face.

Logan studied the baby in return, as her face faded to a less vibrant red, then to pink, then to a peachy color. Her claws retracted back into her hands as she moved her right fist to her mouth to suck on her knuckles. Taking her other hand gently in his, he watched the skin grow closed again. "Tougher than you look, anyway," he muttered. The baby cooed back at him. "Right," he added, "You have no idea what I'm saying."

The thought occurred to Logan that he could probably put the baby back down now that she'd stopped crying. But then, it didn't hurt to keep holding her in case she started crying again when he put her down. She yawned and Logan found himself smiling at her. Maybe the baby wasn't so bad when she wasn't screaming. She looked up at him again for one long moment, long enough for him to notice how brown her eyes were.

"Hmm. Got my eyes," he muttered pensively. Now there was an odd thought, one he hadn't ever expected to have. His daughter had his eyes. His daughter. There was another thought he'd never expected to have.

Suddenly, it all hit him. This thing in his arms – she was his. The thought was electrifying, terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. His heart pounded with the shock of it. Wolverine's senses went into hyper drive, his own heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears, with the baby's echoing it more slowly as she snuggled into his chest, apparently deciding that she liked him. She smelled like him. She looked like him. She even fought like him, or she would when she grew up. The baby fell asleep again, but Logan was far from drowsy. He felt more alert, more alive than he had in ages.

Storm walked into the room, her feet soft on the floor, but not silent enough for him to miss, on edge like this, and Logan whirled around to face her, clutching the baby defensively to his chest until he could be sure it was her. He was pretty sure he could take off someone's head with one hand even if he was using the other to hold the baby.

Ororo smiled like she knew something he didn't, and Logan suddenly felt awkward. "Baby's asleep," he growled. "Don't wake her up."

Storm seemed to get control of her face, but Logan couldn't help feeling like she was holding back a grin. "Ok," she answered quietly. "I think we're going to keep her in Charles's office until we figure out where to put her." She started walking toward him. "I can take her."

Logan walked the rest of the way to meet Ororo in the center of the room, but at the last moment, he couldn't quite let go of the baby. "What, I can't carry my own kid up a flight of stairs?" he asked hostilely, shoving past her. Storm followed Wolverine out of the room, not bothering to hide her grin once she was out of his line of sight. Evolution changed everything, eventually. It just didn't always do it the way you expected it to.