Logan's infant daughter teaches him a lesson.
Drama. Rating: PG.
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Ororo heard the strange sound coming from the baby's
room—something between a growl and a purr—and it frightened her. Her husband
was not supposed to return until much later in the week and they had many
enemies. Had one such enemy found his way to their child's crib? Goddess, had
Sabretooth so dared?
Her fist hummed and crackled as she channeled the
lightning from the atmosphere and through her body, and her hair danced with the
sudden influx of charged molecules. She rode the steps upstairs on cat burglar
feet, cautiously commanding the winds to silence her steps and mask her attack.
The enemy, if he came unannounced, would learn to truly understand and fear her
code name.
But a change in the growl's pitch suddenly calmed her and
forced her to listen to her instincts. She
quickly understood and, ashamed, she let the lightning die in her hands. Let the
crackling energy dissipate into emptiness. She still crept up the stairs on
soundless winds, but a smile tugged the corner of her lips. She peeked around
the corner, careful to stand downwind from his annoyingly acute senses, and
watched him with an ever-growing smile.
"Bye, baby bunting…Daddy's gone-a hunting…"
Her eyebrow crept a millimeter closer to her hairline. Singing?
This was the first time she'd caught his off-key rumbling, and she found her
heart stuck between sweet laughter and joyful tears. It soothed her in a
comforting, sweet way, though he would never have admitted to either being
comforting or sweet. But she knew him as such, beneath the wilderness bravado.
In the end she simply watched and gripped the doorway a
little tighter, breathing in this moment as a private, treasured time.
"To get a little rabbit skin, to wrap his baby
bunting in…"
His rough hands caressed the bundle, held it closer to
his large chest. He cooed and tickled the bundle's chin, and Ororo nearly
laughed out loud, then. If only she had a camera. No one would have believed
her.
He leaned close, kissed a hidden forehead, and lay the
collection of sleepy arms and legs gently back in the crib. He hovered above the
bed a few minutes longer but his hands were anxiously wringing the railing. She
stepped back, planning to give him space to bond with his daughter, when his
gruff murmur stopped her.
"Kid's out like a light, 'Ro." He was still
facing his child. He absently ran a calloused finger across the thick, black
curls of his infant daughter's tiny head and brushed the long hairline scar
behind her left ear. The surgery was gone, forgotten, and healed. Maybe she
inherited something good from her Pops after all. "She probably won't wake
up fer a while."
"Unlike my husband."
Her smile came through her scolding voice. Ororo wrapped her hands around
his waist and he kissed her cheek quickly. "I was quiet. You should not
have heard me, Logan."
Logan chuckled. "We've been married too long. I know
when you're sneakin' around, ready to fry somebody's ass."
Ororo raised her eyebrow but she let his retort pass.
They had decided, once Mariko was born, to take turns on mission rotations.
Neither were optimists. They understood the risks and knew if anything were to
happen on the field, their baby deserved at least one parent. This had been
Logan's time. The mission, according to the preliminary field reports, should
have taken an additional week, but he had returned far too early.
She rubbed his taut back softly. "I'm sorry."
He grunted and brought her chocolate hand to his lips.
"For what, darlin'?"
"That you had to release your berserker rage in the
field."
Ororo could almost hear his brows slam together.
"How the hell did y—"
She put a finger to his lips, admonishing him gently, and
caressed their daughter's back when she muttered fitfully in her sleep. "As
you said, we've been married too long. Sometimes, when you awaken from a
nightmare, you visit Mariko's crib. And when you have a bad day, you have the
urge just to see her sleep. She reminds you of your humanity, I think."
His face crumpled a little, hardened. She yearned to ease
the pain from him, but he wouldn't accept her touch right now. After he
confessed he would be ready for absolution. But not now.
"He…He was just a kid. A baby," Logan
began quietly. He rested his arms and chin on the crib railing. His eyes jumped
to his daughter's face and Ororo kissed his neck softly. "Couldn't've been
more'n fifteen, 'Ro. Maybe younger. He was outta control, wouldn't
listen…carved up half of New Jersey with his mutant signature. Damn near
killed Hank and Jubilee both."
"Is everyone all right?"
"Yeah," Logan sighed. "But it was close.
It took me to make sure they'd come out in one piece. There wasn't any
other way, 'Ro. It was either him or us."
"I know, Logan."
He half-turned angrily. "Then explain it to me: Why
the hell do I feel so torn up about it?"
She smiled sadly and resumed kneading the muscles in his
shoulders and back. "Because life suddenly matters to you. Because you
really wish this world could be a better place. Because you have a
daughter…Because."
He sighed again and watched the gentle rise and fall of
his daughter's back. "Because I care too damn much. Because I've gone
soft."
"And that is a bad thing?"
"Could be. I can't keep second guessing everything I
do out there. Someone'll get killed."
She squeezed his shoulder tenderly. "Tell me, Logan.
Do you like war?"
"No sane man likes it, 'Ro. They might like the
camaraderie, or the thrill of it…but to want it every day, naw. I sure as hell
don't. You know that."
"I know."
Ororo left his side and tumbled into the glider rocking
chair beside the crib. She slowly rocked back and forth but remained silent
until he glanced at her.
"So? What's the catch?"
"No catch," she whispered. "You've
answered your own question."
He chuckled darkly, sitting on the ottoman adjacent to
her. It creaked noisily under his weight. "Yer worse than a 100-year-ol'
Eastern philosopher. C'mon. Explain it to the man still on planet earth."
She smiled a little at that. "Mariko is a teacher,
Logan," she said quietly. She tipped her head back and her long ivory hair
cascaded behind the chair. Logan absently ran his fingers through it. "Our
daughter taught you that it's no longer about how many men you can kill with one
swipe, or how long it will take you to wipe out a platoon. Now you fight for a
reason." Her blue eyes darted to the crib. "You see her, and you
understand that life has another purpose, a purpose apart from war. Apart from
destroying the enemy first and asking questions later. You'll still do what
needs to be done, but now…now, I think, you're more cautious. More restrained.
More willing to see the bigger picture over the obvious. In other words, my dear
husband, you're growing up."
He took in what she said and was silent for a few
moments. The quiet creak of the glider echoed with his daughter's quiet snores.
He glanced outside the window, watching a cloud of lightning bugs signal the
oncoming summer. A cautious smirk crimped the corners of his lips. Of course.
"Huh. And here it only took me a hundred'r so years
to figure that out." He came behind her and kissed her forehead gently.
"I thought you liked your men wild'n carefree."
"In bed, certainly," she said, with a smile.
"Without a doubt."
"Ah yeah?" His smile broadened and he took her
hand. "Should we test that theory?"
Her eyes sparkled mischievously as he guided her to her
feet. "Most definitely."
Logan hugged Ororo with a fierce tenderness and glanced
at his daughter. Still she slept, unaware of her father's new revelation. His
new enlightened path. His new determination to become a better father and
husband. "Thanks, Goddess."
"Thank your daughter, Mountain Man. She has wisdom
beyond her years."
"Like we don't know where she gets it from."
"From both of us, of course." Ororo giggled
softly and led him from the room. "Come. Let's test those bedroom theories
of yours."
He grinned, following her willingly.
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Bye,
baby bunting
Daddy's gone a hunting
To get a little rabbit skin
To wrap his baby bunting in
Bye,
baby bunting
Daddy's gone a hunting
To get a little lambie skin
To wrap his baby bunting in
Bye,
baby bunting
Daddy's gone a hunting
A rosy wisp of cloud to win
To wrap his baby bunting in
--Fin--
AN: The Bye Baby Bunting version used is not the traditional poem…but I love this version, and
I think it fits the story. ;-)