Note: this is conservatively rated 18; there isn't anything explicit here (imho), but Logan's language gets the better of him. Hope you guys enjoy.

Disclaimer: Logan and Ororo's views on certain Stuff and Things in this fic don't necessarily reflect my own! ... oh, and X-Men Evolution doesn't belong to me.

Contrary to popular belief, Ororo wasn't the sole person responsible for the entire mansion's cooking, cleaning, laundry and general housekeeping. At Xavier's Institute for Gifted Children, everyone had a truckload of chores to do. Kitchen duty was rotated among the residents (except Kitty), and everyone was expected to do his or her own laundry as well as keep his or her own rooms clean. The general rule was, if you make a mess, you clean it up. (Logan's corollary was that if you cause structural damage, you pay for it in sweat at the Danger Room and/or waxing the Blackbird)

She used to do all the grocery shopping herself, but that was when the mansion only housed two teenagers and three adults. With the growing population of always-hungry teenagers, Xavier finally saw the wisdom in having the grocer deliver the mansion's various supplies at the end of the week.

And as much as she loved to be around plants, she couldn't take care of the vast expanse of the estate by herself beyond making sure that they were watered daily. The grounds were maintained by a mutant-friendly gardener that she had befriended the first time Charles introduced him to the staff. He came twice a month to mow the front lawn.

Other than that, it was fairly obvious that while Logan slipped into the role of quasi-fatherhood with the grace of a falling tree, Ororo took to sometimes-motherhood with relative ease.

Her naturally caring tendency first came out with the arrival of Scott to the mansion. Perhaps it was because she understood the kind of life that the young mutant had - orphaned at an early age, living on the streets, getting teased by other kids and wondering to whatever higher power existed out there why her parents had to leave him to fend for himself.

Scott had trouble sleeping in his first weeks in the mansion, not only because of the nightmares (thought those did come every once in a while), but because the concept of a roof over his head, comfortable sheets and assured safety was a forgotten dream. Charles sent a telepathic message to Ororo, and immediately she opened her arms to the young boy. It took several attempts before he finally opened up to her, but since then, the two adopt a close friendship. He turned to her whenever he had a problem he felt too petty for the Professor, and when he got into an argument with Logan, she would be the one to sit down and mediate. A secret that most of the mansion's residents don't know is that she and Scott had learned how to love cooking together.

Later, Jean would automatically seek Ororo out in her own first days at the Institute. Females have an innate tendency to flock together, and neither of the two mutants were immune to that. It was Ororo who taught Jean how to choose what color lip gloss to use and how to dress decently but not too decently (Logan remembers scowling heavily the first time Jean went to Bayville High in a midriff-revealing top.) In return, Jean would often slip the older woman hints as to how Logan liked to take his coffee, and if it looked like he needed a new leather jacket, perhaps Ororo would like to gift him with a new one? (These words Ororo ignored for the most part at the time; she already knew how Logan liked his coffee, and she most certainly did not have feelings of that nature for the wild man, thank you.)

-x-

Years later, some months after they did decide to give a relationship a try (Jean had given her a smug, I knew you two would get together eventually! grin when it came out), Ororo comes home from a mission bloodied and unconscious. It was meant to be a basic reconnaissance mission on a shady organization that Charles had picked up on, calling themselves Friends to Humanity or some such. Apparently they took that name a little too seriously, because there were rumors of heavy anti-mutant sentiment surrounding their cause.

The recon had gone awry and though the whole team had managed escape alive, not all of them made it out unscathed; the anti-mutant bigots carried with them some kind of advanced high-powered weaponry designed to withstand some very extreme attacks. Charles strongly suspected they were developed with the purpose of standing against mutants in mind.

Logan couldn't care less about politics right now, though. He sat by Storm's bedside, frowning deeply. She was all right now, Hank had made sure of that first. She'd been injured the worst because she had insisted on being a big damn hero and taking a hit for the team. So yes, it was because of her that her team made it out alive, but he nearly lost her for it.

He thought, for a moment, of what would've happened if he had lost her, tonight. Neither of them held any illusions about the nature of the kind of lives they led; injuries like these were part of the deal of being an X-Man. But this was the first time it was glaring at him in the face, since they started this being together thing. What would he have done, if she hadn't made it? He would've tracked those motherfucking bigots first, certainly. Rip them new holes, mouth to crotch, take their limbs and gut them for good measure. Then, he'd kill them. After that... After that, what?

He hadn't thought too far ahead in terms of him and her. He didn't really have any long-term plans of that nature, but the more he thought about how he almost lost the chance to have something more concretely long-term with her...

But she was all right now, he repeated to himself. He hadn't lost her, or those chances.

He took her slim, cool hand in hers, looked at the contrast of her long, tapered fingers lying in his weathered, calloused hand. Frowned. Wondered, for the first time in his life, if two matching gold rings would look out of place on them.

Upstairs, Charles Xavier smiled to himself, suddenly and inexplicably proud.

-x-

When Hank had released her from the infirmary a week later, Logan took her to his room.

"Fuck Hank and fuck his bedrest," he'd said of the doctor's strict instructions. "I've waited days to do this." She chuckled softly (he liked that, when he made her laugh) and smiled at him indulgently. She knew her body well enough to be able to tell that she could take whatever he dished out, something she whispered in his ear on the way up. So if and when Hank found out and managed to lecture them on the importance of rest (if he could get past blushing like a tomato, anyway), Logan could always point to Ororo and tell him it was her fault just as much as it was his.

He hadn't planned on being overcome by his feelings during, and after. They ended up reaching for each other again and again, once the thought that they'd almost lost this, very nearly lost each other, registered. It clouded their rationale a little, but that's what happens when you're overcome by passion, he figured. ("I just love you so damn much, Ororo.")

After their fifth (Sixth? Who counted these things?) round, she collapsed against his bed and willed her heart to slow down. He lay on his side, his front to her back, panting hard against her neck while he came down from his high. She brought a hand up to rest on his (he'd been clutching her hip hard enough that there'd be bruises there in the morning. Hank'll kill him, he figured. Logan would laugh, and kiss them better.)

Once they'd relaxed a little, she started stroking the back of his hand lovingly.

He grinned into her neck, his own hands beginning to wander idly and only slightly naughtily. She laughed and swatted his hands away.

"Logan, no."

"Why not?" So what if he was being a little whiny, no one else was around to hear him.

She let his hands wander for a few more seconds before she shifted herself away to lay on her back beside him (instead of against him.)

"We aren't," she paused, thinking and gathering the right words. "We haven't been particularly - careful, if you'll notice."

He did notice, two or three rounds ago. Found that he didn't care, though he probably should have said something then. He frowned.

"About that," he glanced at her. "Got me thinking,"

"Don't strain yourself, my love."

"Ha ha. Funny, 'Ro." He swatted her behind, and got a playful smile in return. He had to make a concerted effort to suppress the immediate surge of want at that.

"I was thinking," he began again, "... about kids. Don't you want any?"

She sat up (slowly, she was sore and tired) to give him a curious look. "... I would not object to any." She said, finally. "I think I would love having a son or daughter." Or both, her mind supplied. Maybe more. "Why?"

He lay on his back, folded his arms behind his head - it was easier to say this without directly looking at her curious blue eyes. "Almost lost you, 'Ro. Had me thinking about all the things we never would've been able to do together." He turned his head so he could glance at her briefly. "You'd be a great mom, would'a been a shame."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I wouldn't object to any either, 'Ro. I guess."

"You guess?" she smirked.

"Fine, I'm sure."

She gave him a look that told him she still wasn't convinced about his stand on this. "Do you realize," She began, shifting so that she faced him fully, tucking her long legs under her, totally unabashed in her nudity. At any other time he would have been completely distracted by the sight that afforded him- but tonight he couldn't not pay attention to the serious light of her eyes. "That with the lives we lead, and the world in constant peril and chaos, there would no end to the responsibilities we have in fighting for a better world for mutants everywhere that bringing a child into this kind of world right now may not be... the best of ideas?"

"You put it that way, then it ain't never gonna be the right time."

She looked at him in a way that seemed to imply that he was just proving her point in spades.

"So," he continued, "either you'll never have any, or you can make it a giant fuck you to the world by deciding to have some." He grinned, satisfied at how he'd come to this conclusion even as she rolled her eyes heavenward at his choice of words.

"How astute of you, Logan." She said dryly. But the way she was smiling at him was almost fond, even sweet.

He sat up, finally, huffing with the effort. "Look. I'm not saying we actively try for kids." He allowed, struggling with the words. "Just... if I happen to knock you up tonight, tomorrow or whenever... I wouldn't mind, either."

She frowned, ignored his crass language in favor of trying to see where he was going with this. "Correct me if I'm wrong, my love, but are you saying, in other words, that we stop practicing safe sex, or..."

He scowled. "Come on, darlin' that ain't what I'm saying. Just..." He waved his hand vaguely. Where were the words when he needed them? "It's just... I didn't realize that I even wanted that life with you, 'Ro, til you were lying in the infirmary back from the dead. Almost lost that chance, you know? So now..."

She leaned over to him, interrupting him with a kiss that started out chaste, but deepened into passion tempered by love. He responded in kind, one hand rising to the back of her neck to pull her closer.

"I love you," she said, simply, when she pulled away. Her smile was gentle, and the sight of it might have made his heart leap to his throat for a second. "And for the record, I think you would make a fantastic father, Logan."

"Maybe. Got enough practice with the rugrats down the hall, anyway." He chuckled, shaking his head. Gently, he maneuvered the both of them to lay back down on his bed. "But look at us, doin' things in the wrong order. Might give Charley a heart attack if he knew we were havin' this talk before I gotcha a ring..."

Her answering chuckle was soft and warm and inviting as she molded herself to his side contentedly.

"And since when have you ever done anything by the book, my love?"