Archive of Our Own

What most stories fail to discuss is what happens after the day is saved. They complete with a delicate happily ever after, wrapped in a bow and shipped off to the Void where the characters, presumably, live in domestic bliss for the remainder of their days.

You wish that were the case.

What they don't discuss is the mourning once the adrenaline has worn off- a gnawing grief that brings you to the knees in the middle of cooking dinner and a pain in your chest that renders you dizzy. They don't discuss they days you feel numb, sitting in the driver's seat of the car with nowhere to go.

You had spent years devoted to the Avengers. In a way, all you knew was saving people. But with Thanos defeated, fifty percent of the population returned to their loved ones, and the team disbanded, you were left with nowhere to go.

Some say if people no longer talk about a thing, it ceases to exist. With your name out of papers and no longer slipped into children's nighttime prayers, you wondered if maybe that were true.

Certain people, however, kept you from fading into the abyss as you knew it.

It was a Sunday morning and the cafe you sat in was packed. Between Sam Wilson being late and the awkward shuffle to steal a table the moment another couple sat up, you had almost gone home.

The conversation had been pleasant but you drifted in and out of focus, not being able to forget what this same conversation would have been like before.

Glancing out the window, you felt as if you were trapped within an aquarium.

The sharp, fluorescent lighting above had given you a migraine and the sounds of innocent forks scraping cake off their plates sounded like nails on a chalkboard in your ears. The passerbys laughing with their friends on the sidewalk shook you as if you were in a snow globe- as though everyone was living, moving... going someplace-while you were bound.

Sam's hand waved in front of you, breaking you from your thoughts.

"You could work for the government?" Sam suggested. He leaned back in his seat and pointed two thumbs at himself. "You've got an in."

You snorted. For several reasons, you'd have to decline but you imagine that sharing the same skillset as Wanda Maximoff would not go over well with the government.

Bringing a piping hot cup of coffee to your lips, you shook your head.

"No thanks."

Sam waved his hands in the air as if to brush off the suggestion entirely.

"Alright," Sam said, tapping his finger against his chin as if to think. "What about dating? My sister met her boyfriend on Tinder. Have you tried that?"

You raised your eyebrow at him as if to ask, "really?"

"I'm serious!" Sam defended. "Some lovin' could be good for you."

Besides the fact that that sentence alone made you throw up a little in your mouth, you couldn't think of anything less appealing.

Not to be a snob, but you weren't sure if the bright-eyed men holding fish in their photos and promising to let you steal their sweatshirt were right for a woman like you. In the past few years you had become a reclusive storm with trauma a mile long. Sprinkle in the fact that you were a former Avenger who dealt with the threat of danger and uncertainty daily, that was a recipe for disaster.

Who could deal with a life like that?

You shuffled in your seat.

"Can we change the subject?" You asked, clearing your throat.

Sam looked at you for a moment before leaning in. His arms laid crossed on the table as his voice lowered.

"Listen, I get. I do." He said, glancing at the passerbys. "But when Tony left you that land, he didn't want you to sit around and be alone forever, okay? You're alive and you've got some pretty cool wizard-"

"Witch-"

"Whatever, powers." Sam finished. "You think Nat or Steve would want you to sit around and mourn them?"

Despite how you failed to meet his eyes, instead opting to look at the dregs of your coffee at the bottom of its glass, his words hit you deep.

He was right.

"No," You said. "but I don't know what to do, Sam. What's next for me?"

Sam leaned back in his seat and shrugged.

"The whole damn multiverse is open." He sighed, lifting his own mug up to his lips. "You'll find something."

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A divination witch set you on your path.

Since breakfast, you hadn't been able to shake off your conversation with Sam. After your fellow Avengers' deaths, it had almost felt wrong to do something for yourself. Why did you get to live while the others perished?

But now you wondered how upset they would be to find out you had become a living ghost. You couldn't bear their disappointment.

It took you three fake fortune tellers before you found a proper witch in a hole in the wall shopfront. The pleasantries were short before her power overcame her.

Her eyes rolled back as the candles scattered about flickered. The light above you flashed as the bulb exploded, raining glass over your head. With a pen in hand, she scribbled on the paper in front of her. You listened to the etching of lead against paper while shielding yourself from the falling pieces of glass.

In an instant, as if you had imagined it, the lights fell back to their usual dim appearance, the rumbling stopped and she cleared her throat, suddenly composed.

She handed you that same piece of paper and sent you on your way.

Now, as the sun set beyond the horizon you skimmed the paper once more. Your candles had been lit and the aroma of the potion that had used up most of your stores wafted throughout the space, gurgling in its cauldron. Your symbols had been etched on the floor, written with your fingers dripped into the prior substance.

Now all that was left was the setting sun.

Check.

It was now or never.

With a deep breath you sat on the floor. The wood creaked beneath you as you did, as if your home could feel the weight of the spell you were about to cast- the future you were about to create. You crossed your legs into an all too familiar position and laid your hands palm-up on your knees.

The beat of your heart quickened in your chest, uncertainty threatening to take hold. You took a shaky break and cleared your throat. The silence of the room made it echo in your ears.

You closed your eyes.

"Oh maiden, mother, crone,

Show my path

written in thy stone."

The floor rumbled beneath you. A breeze filtered in through the opened window and brushed against you, raising your skin. You heard the sound of wood creaking, churning as if the house were renovating itself- expanding and rearranging the makeup of your walls. Finally, and most odd of all, you heard a lock click.

You turned around.

A door had appeared in your once solid wall.

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So this is what it feels like.

When Logan opened his eyes, he was greeted by a warm, inviting light. The evening sun had begun to peak through the windows of the bedroom, leaving shadows on his arm from where the blinds stood, weakly shielding him from its rays. A jazz song hummed from the distance, luring Logan with its melodic keys.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of pain. The last Logan remembered, he was impaled by a branch- body beaten beyond return. Laura was holding him, the children were safe, and for the first time, he learned what it was like to die.

After all the stories that he had heard, Logan thought that this was it. What comes next. Peace.

It took a bit of effort for him to get his eyes open- something he had experienced more than a handful of times after a particularly strong night drinking. At first, all he saw was light. Blinking a few more times a familiar figure came into clarity:

"Laura?"

His voice was raspy and he felt his vocal chords scrape against one another, dry. Just as he had made out Laura’s figure, she ran from the room.

Logan rubbed at his eyes with his left hand as he gripped the sheets with his right.

"Laura?" He called again. "Kid?"

Finally gaining clarity, Logan discovered that he was in a bedroom. The rocking chair that Laura had been in moments before sat facing him and continued to creek forwards and back after she had left. Throughout the room, various books and bottles littered every surface.

Before he had time to process, you came bolting into the room with Laura at your heel. The mutant rubbed at his eyes, as the image of the two of you wobbled in his vision. Logan, upon your entrance, attempted to lift himself up with a groan.

"Hey... hey." You cooed, gently easing Logan back into bed. "Easy tiger. Relax."

Laura took her place at his side as your soft hands laid against his bare chest.

"Relax?" Logan asked, a dry laugh escaping his throat. "Listen lady, I thought I was fucking dead. Where the hell am I?"

If there was one thing that Logan was terrible at- it was relaxing. And also probably mathematics if he really thought about it, but after nearly dying and being tasked with saving a dozen kids, relaxing was about the last thing on his mind.

He was tempted to fight back. Afterall, you were a stranger and it was rare that one of those had the best intentions with him. That was until he saw Laura- safe and clean and, most importantly, calm- looking up at him with her doe eyes.

The last time he saw her this calm was with Charles. He felt a pang in his chest.

"She fixed you." Laura said as she glanced between Logan and yourself. "She's magic."

Logan furrowed his eyebrows, pulling his eyes away from Laura to look at you.

One of your hands remained on Logan's chest while the other flipped through a spell book on the bedside table. Your hand was gentle against his skin, encouraging him to relax without forcing him into the pillow. Your face was scrunched, focused on the passage below and yet, you seemed perfectly calm. It was odd almost. Logan couldn't remember the last time a person, especially a mutant, had been relaxed in his presence.

A part of him, albeit a one that often failed in the fight for dominance, was relieved to relinquish himself to you. He had fought, and fought, and fought, and fought. And, god, it didn't matter how many times Logan's body healed himself- he was tired. Exhausted.

If it weren't for Laura, after two hundred years, he was ready to die in the middle of that forest.

"Where am I?"

Shifting your attention back to logan, you placed your hands on your hips- leaving the spot on his chest where your hand had once been cold.

You and Laura exchanged looks and the girl giggled quietly.

"Well, the short answer is upstate New York." You responded with a flair, watching as his eyebrow arched. "More specifically? You're in a different universe."

Huh?

Logan glanced between you and Laura. A silence hung in the air as you both looked at him with playful grins on your faces.

Logan had been unconscious for about a week while his body healed. In that time, you had watched over Laura- explaining the different universes, your magic, and the way those with abilities were perceived in your world. By now, this had become home. Logan, however, would need a bit more convincing.

When he realised the both of you were being serious, a congested laugh left his throat.

"Oh c'mon." Logan chuckled in his gravely voice. "I must've hit my head real fucking hard-"

"-She's not lying!" Laura interrupted, squeezing Logan's arm enough to draw blood. "It's safe. Look."

Laura picked up his hand and held it in front of his face.

His wrinkles had vanished, elasticity restored in his skin. His scars had faded into nonexistence. The spot where Laura had just drew blood healed quickly, erasing any trace of injury. He watched the edges of his skin lace together again, born anew.

“How…” Logan began, noting how the callouses on his hands had seemingly disappeared. “How in the hell did you do that?”

You smiled.

“A magician never reveals her secrets.”

Logan continued to stare at you incredulously, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the matter at hand. Despite you never having done something this drastic before, you had seen this look your fair share of times and understood it well.

As the sun continued setting in the distance, the light peeking in had become more faded by the minute. With a wave of your hand, you shut the blinds, and the candles littering the space had alit at once with a resounding "whoosh".

Logan, more confused than ever, tugged at the bedsheet that had laid over him, kicking his feet over the side of the bed with a humph.

Laura had told you that he would be difficult... stubborn even. The life that he had lived, albeit longer, was not unfamiliar to yours. It was hard to trust and more difficult to accept comfortability. Even after being comatose for a week, in autopilot fashion he was onto his next mission. Despite you not affording the same grace to yourself, you weren't going to let that happen to him.

“Laura, honey,” You said. “Why don’t you let your dad and I talk a bit, okay?”

The child glanced between you and her father before nodding and making her way from the room. The door shut behind her with a click.

The air in the room felt thick. You could feel Logan's eyes burning a hole right through you.

You cleared your throat.

"Look, I'm sure you've got a lot of questions-"

The man ran one of his hands through his tussled hair while the other scratched his overgrown beard. As messy as he was in this state, a deeper part of you couldn't help but think of him as the definition of rugged.

"You think?" Logan quipped sarcastically. "Where's the rest of 'em?"

The other mutant children.

"They're here too." You said, crossing the room to your rocking chair. "I'm part of this sort of ... uh... organization.. for people like us. With special abilities. When I ended up in your universe and came back here, I contacted some people I knew and they've adopted them. We're starting a school for them too, but otherwise they're going to grow up like any other kid. Not soldiers." You crossed your legs, allowing the old wooden chair to creek back and forth. "They deserve it."

Logan couldn't help a scoff that escaped him. A light, tired smile fell to his lips as he thought of a new school for mutant kids. The old Logan would have laughed, but with the death of the professor remaining a fresh wound, it felt like a relief.

You did what he couldn't.

"A school, huh?" He asked.

You smiled.

"A school."

For a moment, silence hung in the air. The only sound was the persistent creak of wood emanating from your rocking chair.

"Logan, I-" You pierced the silence.

"I'll take the kid and get out of your hair in the morning."

And there it was.

What you had been fearing the past week.

"Logan," You treaded carefully, fearful that one wrong movement would send him out the door. "Don't. I'm serious when I say that I want you here. I... it's been nice."

He looked at you quizzically. As if a cartoon lightbulb had flashed with an animated ding! above him, the answer came.

"That uh... what did you call it? Organization?" He pondered, looking at you solemly. "Let me take a guess- it's not around anymore?"

A silence hung in the air once more.

"Let me take a guess," You said just above a whisper. "Yours isn't either?"

His unresponsiveness answered your question.

"Right, well," you said, ceasing your rocking. "If you want to go, I won't keep you here. I'll help you out in whatever way you need to get your life started. But between us... I like the company."

You pushed yourself to your feet.

"I'm going to go start dinner." You announced, slipping towards the door. "Think it over and let me know."

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Laura was perched in front of the television while you sat planted behind her, braiding her damp hair. The blue light of the television reflected off of her face as she absentmindedly shoved popcorn into her mouth— focused solely on the screen.

Above the crunching of popcorn kernels you heard Logan's sock padded feet make their way into the room.

His hair was still wet and you could tell that he had tried to tame it by brushing his fingers through either side, sticking it up.

Logan smiled when he was greeted by you and Laura dressed in pajamas watching some princess movie on the television. Although he would never be caught dead in pants with ice-skating penguins on them, instead adorned in the matching gray sweatpants and t-shirt you laid out on the bed for him, he found it.. comforting. One would even say "cozy" and "domestic" if they had it in their vocabularies, to which Logan did not.

All he knew was this was a far cry from what he had been experiencing the week prior.

"Hey," You smiled up at him, nudging your head to the next room. "Dinner's in the dining room. I'll be there in a minute once I finish up her hair."

He wanted to argue about how you didn't need to make dinner for him or, better yet, spend the effort to come keep him company, but Logan knew better.

And, to be completely transparent, he didn't want to say no.

Logan instead nodded and pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against. He moved towards the dining room, grabbing a handful popcorn from Laura's bowl as he went past.

"Hmph!" She snarled, snatching it back.

Logan shrugged and shoved a few kernels into his mouth, "Taxes."

You giggled as you watched the two of them interact, tying off Laura's hair.

"All good to go, missy." You announced.

In the dining room, the candle that you had left burning on the table illuminated Logan's face. The warm tones of the flame highlighted the curve of his nose and the reddened blush on his cheeks from the warmth of the space. An old jazz song played on the record player as Logan leaned back in his seat, taking a sip from the glass of whiskey you had left for him on the table.

When he heard your footsteps, Logan looked up and tipped the glass towards you.

"How'd you know?"

You shrugged, pulling out the chair beside him.

"Lucky guess."

Leaning forward in his seat, Logan placed the glass back down on the table. The silence between you was comfortable- your feet resting on the rungs of his chair as the melody from the record filled the room.

Logan leaned forward and took a bite from the plate you had laid out, humming as he did.

"You made this?" He asked, mouth full.

You leaned forward, inspecting his plate.

"Well yeah," You responded warily. "Is it okay? I've just been cooking for myself the past few years so it might not-"

"You kidding?" He responded with a chuckle that came from deep within his chest. "I can't remember the last time I had a home cooked meal."

You smiled.

"Well I don't remember the last time I had someone to share it with."

The comment came out before you had the time to quite think about it. You had only really met this man hours ago and here you were, feeding, clothing him, and having an air of intimacy surrounding you both that was owed to a pair who had known each other far longer.

To your relief, a crooked smile rose to Logan's face as he shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence, Logan eating his meal as you relaxed into your seat, letting the music soothe you. The noise from the television playing in the other room periodically carried into the one you sat in but you, and unbeknownst to you, Logan, found solace in it. The company, the warmth of sitting close to someone, and the mashup of various sounds were a comforting reminder that you weren't alone.

After a moment, Logan cleared his throat.

"I'll go find some work tomorrow."

"Logan, you really don't have to-"

He shot you a look- eyebrows raised and lips drawn in a thin line- that told you that he was firm in this.

"Listen," He said. "I appreciate all this, but if the kid n' I are gonna stay, I need to do something, alright? Let me help."

You nodded, biting back your smile at his decision to remain.

"There's a lumberyard up the road if that's your thing." You said bringing a glass to your lips. "The owner's always complaining he can't find new guys out here."

Logan scooped up another bite with his fork.

"That'll work."

"Good." You said with a smile. "Then it's settled. Your new life starts tomorrow."

Or was it today?

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At the end of the first week, Laura's nightmares began.

Her screams- not of her usual rage, but of sadness... fear- would pull you and Logan from your slumber. You'd rush from your bedrooms on opposite ends of the hall towards Laura. His hands would reach for the knob first, but you'd be at her bedside in an instant, brushing past him.

He'd flick on the light as you brushed her hair from her forehead, cooing her awake.

"Laura, honey, it's a dream." You said, shading her from the light as she opened her eyes. "We're right here."

We.

It was the first time that you referred to you and Logan as a pair. A team. The other half that made you whole.

It became the same pattern every night. You'd wake up to her cries, rush to her aid, then read with her until she fell asleep. With you both within reach, she'd fall peacefully back to sleep- staying that way until the morning.

This night, when you went to tuck Laura in, however, you never made it back to your beds. With either of her hands, she held onto one of your wrists, urging you to stay with her as she fell asleep. The look on her face could melt even the Wolverine's heart, how did you stand a chance?

You and Logan made room for each other at the edge of the bed, sitting side by side with your backs against the baseboard. There were whispered sorrys and mumbles of discomfort as elbows collided with ribs and knees with shins.

"Kid did this on purpose." Logan grumbled.

Before you could ask why, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, alleviating the discomfort as you melted into his side.

"There."

At first you stiffened, in unfamiliar territory with the man you had only just met a week ago, but as you heard Laura's breathing turn to snores, you relaxed into his chest.

You could hear how his breath rattled in his chest, your head rising and falling with each inhale. You couldn't help but smile at the fact that Logan smelt like the body wash and shampoo you had left in the bathroom specifically for him. But not the conditioner. You should have guessed.

The nightlight in the corner spun, casting silhouettes of horses around the room. It looked as if they were running, chasing after one another but never able to reach the finish line.

The light ran over Logan's face, highlighting the scruff he had missed from that morning. His head had tilted back against the board, his eyes closed shut. You thought that if he had been normal, you would have noted razor burn on his neck.

With Laura's snores and Logan's eased breathing, you felt your eyes begin to lull, luring you into the sleep you so desperately craved. Laying your head on Logan's chest completely, you surrendered yourself to the wave of exhaustion.

Logan felt your head fall lower on his chest and your body go limp in his arms. As your breathing slowed, your hands fell into his lap and your leg draped over his.

He wanted to laugh. Really, he did, but the idea of waking either of his girls up stopped the laugh in its track, it falling to a scoff that just barely escaped his lips.

If only the man he was two weeks ago could see him now- tucking his daughter into bed and falling asleep with a woman in his arms all without a single worry in the world. Maybe he was dead and somehow made it to heaven.

But then he remembered his imagination couldn't make up a woman like you. One who took him in without a second thought, who worried about if he ate enough, who bought him new clothes because "they reminded me of you". Logan hadn't been able of conceiving normalcy. That, he left to you.

But he was still learning you then.

It was in that moment that his heart skipped a beat for the first time as your face nuzzled into his neck, hair brushing against his cheek. It was such a shocking feeling- one he hadn't known in decades- that his hand flew to his chest.

Then he realized- it was you. You did that to him.

Fuck.

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After a month, Logan got his own vehicle: a truck with a front bench seat. Although it was old and a bit beat up, he took pride in it. And besides, you would’ve been lying if you said your ears didn’t perk up every time you heard that rusty door slam signaling his return from work.

Without thinking, all three of you had fallen into a routine. Laura, who had been playing in the front yard after school, would run up to her father, roping him into whatever she had been getting up to that afternoon. You, hearing the truck's engine turn off and the playful giggles of Laura, would find yourself on the porch watching the two of them- shawl wrapped cozily around your shoulders as you brought a hot drink to your lips.

And whether it was while he was drawing the most awful scribble you've ever seen in chalk, or roughhousing on the front lawn, you'd manage to catch Logan's eye.

What you didn't know, was that Logan had his own routine. He'd join Laura in whatever she doing, but when he heard that squeak of the hurricane door opening, signalling your arrival to the scene? He was like a dog. Logan would pause whatever he was doing, looking up to meet your eyes.

Only when you gave him the same, warm smile that he thought about morning, noon, and night, did he find the permission to continue what he had been doing prior.

He'd go back to passing the ball to Laura, giving her pointers on her throw, or pushing her on the tire swing he'd set up a week earlier; but now he had an added pep in his step knowing your watchful gaze was on him. It wasn't daunting, but peaceful, warm, and comfortable. It made him want to be better... do better.

It was always in him, but your faith in Logan is what brought out his potential.

Jean always said he had a soft spot for women. The same bitter resolve Logan reserved for the rest of the population would dissipate in the presence of the opposite sex- a remanent of a bygone era maybe. Maybe.

When the sun began to set- "God damn daylight savings," Logan would grumble- all three of you would begin to head inside, the warm glow of the house inviting the three of you in. Sometimes Logan would hold the door open for you, insisting he be the last to go in and lock up.

You figured it was chivalry. He knew it was the care and concern that had grown for not only Laura, but you.

Alternatively, you'd sometimes catch him before he crossed the threshold. You'd watch Laura skip out of earshot, and gently grab Logan's arm.

The feeling of your touch against his skin was foreign yet familiar, but most certainly welcomed. The absentminded rub of your thumb against the fabric of his shirt was enough to make his heart sink in his chest. Then, you'd look up at him with thankful eyes, peeking beneath your eyelashes and he'd wonder whether he'd physically be able to restrain himself much longer.

You'd comment on something you watched him do and remind him how good he was. But once, in a moment Logan would never forget, as the two of you watched your girl run inside, you snaked your arm around his back.

"We're lucky to have you, you know?"

Logan, stunned, wasn't sure what to respond, but luckily you didn't give him the space to.

"Now, what are we thinking for dinner? I'm starving."

Still, he waited for your foot to cross the threshold before he allowed himself to enter.

That night when Logan went to sleep, the interaction played over and over in his mind. He could feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as he fell asleep to the lullaby of your soft voice reminding him that you were his.

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After how many years does a person stop remembering their own birthday?

For Logan, it was complicated but he stopped considering the day very early on. When there was no one there to celebrate with and you had the "gift" of never ending regeneration, was it worth commemorating another year in a seemingly endless life? Especially with one such as his, he wondered...no. was sure.... that there wasn't anything worth celebrating.

It was like any other day: Logan woke up, ate breakfast, went to work... but unlike the rest of them, when he slammed his truck door shut after a long day on the job, Laura wasn't playing outside despite the sun's rays still peeking through the trees. Shrugging it off, he grabbed his bag from the bed and made his way inside.

On most occasions, Logan would have stopped.

Logan would have heard the hushed whispers between you and Laura, her giggles spurning you on to do the same. He would've noted the click of the lighter on the other side of the door, but in the complete opposite of Wolverine fashion, he had gotten comfortable.

"Just like we practiced-" Your hushed voice whispered from the other side of the thick wood.

Raising his eyebrow, Logan opened the door.

On the other side, you and Laura stood with a homemade cake in your hands. The candle on top- a "1"- flickered brightly as your voices rang out singing happy birthday.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you.."

Logan could count on one hand the number of times he had cried in his very long life, but seeing the two of you standing in front of him, he felt pressure grow behind his dark eyes. Your smile, bright as ever, welcomed him in and he couldn't help but admire the way that the flame made your eyes sparkle.

You had the option of anybody- anyone in the multiverse- and you chose him to share this family and home with. Although Laura may have encouraged you, Logan knew that this was your idea. The cake, the song, the candles, the banner hanging above the door- it had your scheming written all over it. You were warm and kind and, Logan would admit, so beautiful that in that moment, he got choked up. Never had he been shown care like this.

"Happy birthday dear Logan-"

"-Daddy..."

"Happy birthday to you!"

In one hand you brought the cake close to the burly man. With the other, you brushed a stray tear from his cheek.

"Make a wish!" Laura shouted, tugging on his arm.

Pulling himself back into the moment, Logan ruffled his daughter's hair.

"Well I don't know, kid." He said. "Doesn't seem like there's much to wish for."

"Oh c'mon, Lo." You said, brushing his hair from his face absentmindedly. "There's gotta be something."

And something there was. Rather, someone.

The Logan that had existed three months ago was a changed man. To be clear, he was just as stubborn and hotheaded as always, but the unshakable doom, gloom and overall nihilistic manner about him had shifted.

Once, Charles had told Laura that Logan was ready to die... wanted to die. Now, he would never let anything happen to him, not for his own sake but for yours and the mutant girl the two of you shared.

He wanted to wake up in the morning and smell the bitter coffee you brewed for him in the kitchen before work. He wanted to go to work and have the men tease him about his "missus" they knew nothing about. He wanted to come home at the end of the day to hear your laughs and jokes at his expense. Most importantly, he wanted to fall asleep at night knowing it would be the same tomorrow.

Logan, the lone wolf, the Wolverine, in his vulnerability had found a safe haven in Laura and you.

You, who gave yourself freely and optimistically. It almost felt wrong how he wanted more from you, but how could he help it? You gave him a taste and he wanted more.

Taking a deep breath- and rolling his eyes for show- Logan blew the candle out with a wish in mind.

"What's your wish?" Laura asked, bouncing on her toes as the smoke flitted through the air.

Logan, a bit embarrassed but not wanting to admit it, was preparing to mess with Laura about wishing for something completely asinine, but to his relief, you stepped in.

"He can't tell you, silly." You said, placing your hand on Laura's back to guide her towards the kitchen. "If he tells you, then it won't come true."

Glancing over your shoulder, you shot Logan a wink.

God, he was fucked.

Logan and you followed Laura into the kitchen, dragging a few feet behind.

"Didn't wanna know what I wished for?" Logan asked.

The Logan of long ago- the one who had the time and heart to devote to a woman- had slowly appeared the more time he spent with you. It's as if in the warmth of your love, the harsh exterior had melted away.

Sometimes Logan wondered if you were right that first day when you told him the old him was dead. Then, a moment like this would happen and he would be reminded that it was always in him, waiting for the right condition, or person, to bring it forth.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You said, smiling. "I meant what I said. I don't wanna know. I want your wish to come true... don't you?"

Logan in that moment wondered whether you had peeked into his mind. Had you fished out his deepest desires and decided to dangle them in front of his face?

You hadn't given him time to ask. Instead, you left him standing in confusion in the foyer as you rushed into the kitchen.

"Laura!" You shouted, "Do not stick your hand into that cake! Laura-"

Shaking his head in disbelief at what his life had become, a dry chuckled escape Logan's throat.

"Jesus."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Considering the portion of her life that she had spent locked up in comparison to being free, you were proud of the progress that Laura had made. She picked up incredibly quick on the way things worked. She knew not to steal, how to use a fork and knife, to wait until the little green man appeared to cross the street- she was quick, intelligent, and incredibly perceptive.

One part she still struggled with, however, was managing her anger: a trait she had inherited from her father.

It was a minor concern. The life that you and Logan had created for her was one that made the likelihood of outbursts scarce- only a heated argument with Logan over something as silly as a game would be able to bring her claws out... metaphorically of course.

"Logan, she doesn't know what property tax is." You'd say after she stormed off with a stomp and growl. "Give her a break."

"That's not how the game goes." Logan would argue. "If the kid wants to survive out there, she's gotta know how the world works."

"It's Monopoly, Logan!"

However, as with any child, you couldn't always control when those outbursts occurred.

The three of you had had a nightmare of a weekend. A short trip that had otherwise gone smoothly, went up in flames last minute when all flights were canceled due to an impending blizzard. Rather than stick it out, with Logan needing to get back to work, the two of you decided it would be best to road trip back home.

For the most part it was fine. Intermittently Logan would scold Laura for kicking his seat absentmindedly and you'd all argue over whether to use air conditioning or windows, but besides that it was perfectly fine. Normal even. Which was rare for two immortals from a different universe and a witch.

When Laura begged to pull over for a snack, how were you supposed to know that it could go so wrong?

As you browsed the aisles, occasionally picking up a snack, skimming the back and placing it back where it came from., Laura had drifted from your side. A beverage in the back had caught her eye without you realising and by the time you noticed her departure, it was too late.

When you heard her sweet voice turn to cursed growls that resembled her fathers, you were across the store in an instant.

An old man stood before her with a hand wrapped around one of her wrists.

"Woah!" You shouted, standing between the man and Laura. "What's going on here?"

"Your brat kid stomped on my foot, that's what!" The man growled. "You oughta teach that girl a lesson!"

Although you had created a gap between her and the man, that comment had you throwing Laura behind you entirely. A part of you that had been buried for years- an aggression you barely recognized- came to the surface.

"Don't talk to my daughter like that!" You shouted, shoving your finger in his face. "You have some fucking nerve-"

All of the commotion piqued Logan's ears from across the shop. The unfamiliar pitch of your voice had Logan tossing his keys on the counter and quickening his pace to you.

"Oh good," The guy said. "Maybe you can tell your bitch of a wife to-"

In the past few months, Logan had become a man that the old Logan- figuratively and literally- would have never recognized. He was cool, calm, and collected. His outbursts were few and far between and never, ever violent.

But, hearing that bite in your voice? Seeing the fire in your eyes? And, worst of all, some man call you that? No Logan would have let that slide.

A part of him- a primal one that called to action when needed- came out then.

Before he had even had time to process the implication of what the asshole said, Logan had grabbed the collar of his shirt with a growl and slammed him against the freezer. Bottles rattled on their shelves as the collective hiss of a spare few crashing on the floor echoed throughout the convenience store.

"We got a problem here, bub?” Logan hissed.

The confidence of the man whose feet were now dangling in the air had deteriorated. The fear in his eyes was palpable as he gasped for air.

“No!” He gasped. “Everything’s fine!”

“Yeah?” Logan asked, shoving the man up higher, eliciting a whelp. “Why don’t you apologize to the lady then.”

“I’m- ah!” He hissed. “I’m sorry!”

Logan's face burned red as he held him high. A visible vein protruded from his neck.

"Logan." You called. "He's not worth it. Let him go."

The man's shoes scraped against the glass doors he was pressed against.

"Let's just go home."

Logan glanced to where you stood with Laura shielded in your arms. On any given day of his other life he would have beat that man to a pulp for insulting the only two people breathing who mattered to him. He would of let his conscience take a back seat while his fists led, the only consequence being a stinging in his knuckles for a brief moment.

But now, there was stuff- or rather, people... his girls- at stake. Any confrontation with the law could put the dynamic you had in jeopardy. His ego wasn't worth the price.

Logan dropped the man to the floor and wiped his hands against his jacket. Before he could allow himself to turn back and get himself into trouble, he placed his hand on your shoulder and gently guided you towards the door.

"C'mon, let's go."

Later, as the sun set beyond the horizon, Laura laid asleep with her head in your lap. Had she been anyone besides the daughter of the Wolverine, you would have argued for seatbelt safety. However, seeing her content face nuzzled in a sweatshirt on your lap- her feet kicked up onto her father's- how could you say no?

Logan lazily hummed along to an old tune playing on the radio, one arm leaning out the window.

He cleared his throat.

"Daughter, huh?"

His eyes were trained on the road but you saw a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips.

"Am I your wife?"

If he had been the old Logan- before the endless pain, before the wars, before the deaths of his loved ones- he would have told you he loved you right there.

I wish you were.

But he wasn't. Despite his appearance he was an old, disgruntled, traumatized, burdened man. Logan didn't have the same confidence he did decades ago where he could say it, mean it and not worry about the consequences.

And your love, romantic or not, was not something he was willing to gamble.

But God he wanted you.

"If you were my wife, I'd treat you helluva lot better." He said. The smile had disappeared, replaced by a stoic, knitted line.

The fingers of yours that had been running through Laura's hair stopped. Your breath caught in your throat as you glanced out the window, watching the trees on the side of the highway blur past you.

"You treat me pretty damn well, Logan." You said, trying to sound humorous but ultimately falling flat. "I envy the woman who gets you."

This should have been the moment that it changed.

This should have been the moment that Logan pulled the car over to the side of the road and told you that he didn't want to pretend to be a family anymore- three people who were falling into the roles assigned to them- he wanted you to be a family because you were one. It wasn't pretend. It wasn't a facade. You were a family in every sense of the word.

Because he was yours, you were his and Laura belonged to you as much as Logan.

When the guys at work asked about his missus, he wanted to say your name. The lines had been blurred, but he wanted to straighten them out beyond where they had begin- where they were meant to be. You with him, him with you, you all together.

How could he think about another woman when his world revolved around you?

But then Laura stirred in your lap and his built-up confidence crumbled.

She yawned, curling herself into your lap.

"Are we home yet?"

Pulling your eyes from the road, you smiled and resumed brushing your fingers through her hair.

"Almost, honey."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

"Logan!"

Your sharp cry woke Logan from his slumber with a start. Before he had entirely processed that it was your voice calling for help, he had flung the sheets from his body and threw himself out of bed.

"Y/n?" Logan shouted, his sock covered feet hitting the floor.

Below, he heard a shatter. He could make out the sound of distinct pieces of glass sliding across the floor as you screamed his name.

"Get off of-" He heard your muffled voice grunt from the floor below. "Logan, help!"

Hearing your pleas, Logan threw open the bedroom door and ran down the stairs- skipping three steps at a time. He felt his heart pounding against his chest so aggressively that he was sure he would be able to see the imprint of it on his skin had he looked in a mirror.

Despite his descending the staircase at a rapid pace, your voice became more distant the closer he got.

Then, he heard the back door swing open.

Logan dodged his way through the threshold of the living room, running over the shattered vase that littered the floor. Drops of blood stained the rug. The television that had been on when you fell asleep on the couch hours earlier was still playing reruns of your favorite show.

Logan quickened his pace. He felt the chilled breeze hit his skin coming from the backdoor left ajar. When he crossed from the kitchen onto the porch, he froze.

He could hear the rhythmic buzz of the electric collar around your neck- suppressing your powers- from where he stood. Your socks were wet from the freshly melted snow that stained where you stood on the grass. A deep red gash drew blood from your forehead, dripping down your face and over your cheeks.

Behind you, a man stood with a gun to your back.

"Who the fuck are you?" The stranger called, shaking you 'til you lost your balance.

You fell to your knees in front of him with a cry.

"I'm gonna be the guy who kills you if you don't let her go." Logan growled, fists balled up at his sides.

His voice echoed amongst the trees and as sturdy as it sounded, the feeling of his fingernails digging into his palms was the only thing that kept Logan from shaking.

You- precious, kind, loving- you were on your knees powerless, preparing yourself for your own demise. Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes as you heaved, no doubt from the fight you had just lost in the living room. Logan realized that for the first time in the months he had known you, you were scared.

You were like a fortress in a storm- sturdy, powerful, confident- but now it was as though a battering ram had been taken to your resolve, leaving you destroyed. There was something about that knowledge that terrified him even more- if you were scared, he had every reason to be terrified.

"Oh I'm not letting her go," The guy laughed. "The Avengers ruined my life. This used to be the Avengers Compound base and she's going to die here like the rest of them. You can kill me all you want, but she," He pulled your hair, "is going out with me."

As he tugged your hair, your face raised to meet Logan's. By now, tears stained your cheeks, running down your neck and into the hem of your shirt.

Finally, when life was going the way you wanted- in the way you felt you deserved- it was coming to an end.

The only comfort brought was that Logan was here with you.

"Logan-" You cried, a sob lodged in your throat.

Logan could feel his heart shatter into a thousand pieces at your soft, yet broken voice.

Holding back his own emotions for your sake, he breathed shakily.

"Sweetheart... I'm gonna fix this. Just-"

"I love you." You sobbed, hands tied behind your back. Your chest rose and fell with a wheeze as another cry escaped you. "God, I loved you so much it hurt. I wanted us to-"

Past tense.

Just like that, the dam broke.

Tears that had been burning behind Logan's eyes fled the corners, blurring his vision. His fists loosened their grip as one moved to balance himself on the railing. All the while, his chest burned with the fire of a thousand suns.

"Don't talk like that." Logan huffed, blinking back tears.

Then, Logan heard the click of the bullet falling into place.

"Show's over." The stranger announced. "Say hi to your friends for me."

People often wonder what thoughts go through your head the moment before you die. Some say their life flashes before them, others disappear without even knowing. You?

Oddly enough you wanted to remind Logan to clean up the glass in the living room before Laura could step on it. That you had bread rising in the kitchen that he should bake, or remember to throw out before it got moldy. That the deed to your land was in the safe in your office. The combination was your birthday.

But all you could manage was an-

"I love you."

You think that covered it.

You could hear his index finger fiddling with the trigger behind you. You swore later that you could even make out the sound of his knuckles popping as they bent into position.

Both were interrupted by a whiny slishhh as two shimmering claws shot from his torso.

Laura.

Like a gun going off at the races, Logan broke into a run across the yard. When you were feet away, he slid onto his knees in the wet grass and pulled you into him.

If his brain hadn't been so fogged, Logan would have worried that he hurt you from how tight he squeezed you. His calloused fingertips tangled themselves in your hair as your forehead found its home against his own. His other hand gripped your shirt for dear life, feeling the chill of your skin through the cloth.

His warm breath enveloped your face as he held you tighter- fearing what would happen if you escaped his reach.

Soft cries escaped your lips as he peppered your forehead in kisses.

"You're safe now, I got you." He said, more for himself than you. "I love you too, darlin', I'm right here."

Logan heard the earth crunch beside him as Laura wordlessly kneeled beside you both and slipped into your embrace.

.:*

After the first responders had come and gone, it was 3am.

You and Logan put Laura to bed together. When you leaned over to tuck her in, her arms wrapped around you, pulling you into her. Her fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt as her face hid in your shoulder.

For the second time that evening, tears burned in your eyes. This time, not out of fear of the unknown but peace at the future revealed.

You brushed her hair back and kissed her forhead.

"I love you." You said, quelling the shake in your voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

She pulled away and allowed you to tuck the blanket up to her chin.

"Sweet dreams."

As you handed her the stuffed animal you had gifted her the first day, her voice spoke out barely above a whisper.

"I love you too, Mommy."

And the dam broke. As if sensing your composure, Logan reached out and laid a hand on your shoulder.

"Night kiddo."

Logan ushered you from the room, carefully closing the door as you exited. He took your hand in his and led you to your room.

His hands were just as you imagined them- callous and rough. But they didn't scare or deter you. No, they were a physical manifestation of his perseverance. The hands he would use to love, provide and protect you. They had to be strong, they carried the weight of the world in his hands. It was a comfort and privilege to be loved by them.

In your room, Logan turned the lamp on and guided you under the covers. He pulled the covers over your form and as he did, you snatched his wrist in your hand.

"Stay."

It wasn't question, an order, or a command.

It was a plead. A begging on your knees.

"I'm not goin' anywhere."

His voice was dry, tired.

Moving to the other side of the bed, he carefully slid into the space beside you.

"C'mere."

He stretched his arm over your back and eased you into his side. Like a woman stranded in the ocean and he your life raft, you slipped your arms around him and held him as if your life depended on it. You nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent for the first time.

Although it was new, the intimacy felt familiar. Whether because of your dreams made real or that you both had fallen into the place destined for you, you weren't sure. But the ease lulled you to surrender to your exhaustion.

"I love you." You mumbled into his neck, your vision fleeing from focus as your eyes drooped.

Logan breathed in deeply, stroking his face with your knuckles as your breathing slowed.

"I love you too, darlin.'"

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆