Darlin, I forgive you after all
Anything is better than to be alone
And in the end I guess I had to fall
Always find my place among the ashes
I can’t hold on to me
Wonder what’s wrong with me
--Evanescence
Weschester, New York
1999
The security wasn’t as tight as he thought it would be, not for a mansion with its heavy iron gates and expansive grounds. From his perch on the balcony of the home, he could see the evidence of wealth all around him. Manicured lawns gave way to carefully sculpted gardens. Heavy stone fountains lay quiet and still, though he imagined they were beautiful in bright sunlight.
To the north, there lay a long swimming pool, likely open for business during the daylight hours, this late in spring. Across from the carefully placed furnishings, there stood a sizable tennis court, complete with nets that swayed lightly in the breeze.
Cloaked in black as was fitting his trade, the mutant made a mental note of several balls littering the great lawn, along with abandoned flipflops, towls and various other leavings that spoke of children.
Children.
Looking back into the window where his quarry lay, Wolverine sniffed. His preternatural senses could smell them, not a one of them tinged with fear. As a mutant, he knew the pains most of his species were made to endure when their powers came to them. It was the history of mankind to blame problems on the weakest, to claim the power for strength. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t pretty, it was just the way things were.
It doesn’t have to be that way.
Startled by the presence in his mind, Wolverine balled himself more tightly from his perch on the balcony.
The soft metallic grating that was as much part of him as his hands, brought to life his signature weapon. Claws nine inches long and razor-sharp erupted from the back of his hands. Wolverine turned, seeing no one and scenting no human had passed in some time. Whoever was trying to break into his mind was not nearby.
Where are you going?
He moved on silent feet from the railing to the cool stone under his feet. The French doors had remained open, as was the usual for the man he had come for. Wolverine took tentative steps inside, his sensitive nose finding no one in the immediate area.
Where are you going? This way.
That soft whisper returned. Wolverine flattened his body against the wall, surprised to find the bedroom tidy as a pin. He had seen the schematics, of course, but he knew nothing of the man they had sent him to destroy.
On the dresser, Wolverine noticed were photographs. Lovingly framed, each held a snapshot of a child or young adult, most of them smiling. A bald man sat in a wheelchair in almost every shot. Portraits, he thought, of a man and his family, not the sycophantic followers Smith had spoken of.
This way.
Unable to deny the urge, Wolverine opened the bedroom door, following his impulse to move silently down the hallway. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew that the man he was to kill harbored intense telepathic powers. The man was probably in his mind now, manipulating him into some sort of trap.
The presence was so familiar, though, Wolverine could not deny it.
He saw none of the fine furnishing or thick persian carpets on his way toward the elevator. Only that soft presence in his mind, the entreating whispers to giving him direction seemed to matter.
As the elevator doors opened, Wolverine came face to face with Professor Charles Xavier.
Claws still extended, Wolverine offered a toothy, menacing smile.
“You know why I’m here, Chuck.”
To his credit, the Professor merely smiled, looking casual in his crisp grey suit. “Oh, yes. I’ve been waiting.”
“So, you know how this ends.” Wolverine took one step out of the elevator.
“I hope it won’t,” the aged mutant said quietly. “What if I were to offer you another way, another life?”
Wolverine paused, still smirking. They always tried to bargain, to run, to plead. It fell on deaf ears. Wolverine was a trained killer, an assassin. He didn’t carry mercy in his heart like so many others. It was why Smith always sent him.
“Ain’t another way.”
The Professor smiled more broadly. “There is always another way, Logan.”
Wolverine startled, a growl rising from his throat. “How did you know that name?”
Charles Xavier sat forward in his chair, looking cool and calm in the face of Logan’s feral rage.
“You’re not the only one with gifts.”
***
2023
“That night, I made you an offer. I asked for twenty-four hours, to change your mind, to join my X-Men.” Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair, pulling his hands from the sides of his old friend’s face. “Inside of twelve, you agreed and resigned from Weapon X.”
Though the man before him looked as he had yesterday and the day before that, Charles knew the differences. He could see the hollow loss in Logan’s eyes, the weariness of a traveler who had lived two completely different lives. For fifty years, Charles waited to see this man again.
The man who had saved his life. Twice.
“I came here to kill you.” Logan said with a sardonic smile. “And you offered me a job?”
“Well, I had a few advantages.” Charles remarked slyly. “I, after all, had been looking for you since 1973.”
His old friend gifted him with a weary smile. For the better part of an hour, Charles had taken to explaining all that had transpired in the last fifty years. There was so much to cover, and he hoped, a great deal had changed. Logan had the gift of hindsight, having seen what the world would be like if one key moment in history was not averted.
Though Charles did not know over-much about the life Wolverine led in that avoided future, what he did know was enough. How awful must it have been, indeed, for Charles to send his friend on such a perilous journey through time itself?
While Logan recovered from his trip into Charles’ mind, he felt a familiar presence outside of the door. He knew he could not keep her at bay for long, no matter how selfishly he wanted to keep his friend to himself a few moments longer.
There was, after all, a lot to catch up on.
The thought brought amusement bubbling to his lips. Nearly every day since 1999, Charles and Logan had spoken, often in this very office. He was, to Charles’ pleasure, a true friend, an equal. Logan had started out as a cold-blooded assassin, but turned into a man anyone would be lucky to call friend.
“I fear our solitude is over.”
Let her in, Elizabeth.
Knowing this was going to be incredibly difficult for Logan, Charles sent a brief, calming nudge toward the man’s mind. It was unavoidable, as the decisions his younger self made in the altered timeline were now converging with a consciousness that knew nothing of them.
“Logan.”
As the door swung open, Charles winced. The woman entered with the grace of a goddess, tears staining her dark cheeks. Wolverine looked up, confused when the slender woman known as Storm crouched in front of him.
Her hands went to his face and it was with great sorrow that Charles watched Logan flinch.
“Storm?”
Rain pattered at the windows almost immediately. Charles reached out, taking his adoptive daughter’s shoulder with one hand. He could feel the tremble there, even as Logan looked between them with a mixture of confusion and terror on his face.
“Logan.” Ororo’s voice was hollow, filled with a million things she could not, would not, say. “It’s happened.”
The statement forced Charles to squeeze her shoulder gently. “I’m afraid so, Ororo.”
“What’s happened?” Logan questioned, though his mental link with Charles provided him with an empathic glimpse of what he was feeling. Already the reality was dawning on him. He had an entire life that was, once again, robbed of him by forces outside of his control.
Storm slowly stood, the fingers of her left hand habitually twisting the gold band that rested there. It was a nervous quirk she developed about three minutes after her wedding. Charles watched with his hands in his lap, wondering if all of their preparations were going to help her in this trying time.
“I’ll...check on the children.” It seemed that Storm would leave as quickly as she arrived. Charles shared a soft, sorrowful look with the woman standing in the doorway, her soft brown eyes watching Storm as she tried to escape.
“Storm.”
Logan’s hand shot out, grasping her left wrist before she was out of his reach. Because he was watching them closely, Charles noticed how she grasped his hand, as though the extended limb was a link to the man she shared her life with.
“Wanna tell me why that ring matches mine?”
Raindrops fell more forcefully against the windows of his office. Though the forecast had called for sunny skies, Charles had not the heart to tell Ororo to internalize her feelings. This would be the most difficult time of her life, after all. She deserved to feel every moment of it without scorn.
“I will.” Ororo said, her soft cocoa gaze on the floor. “When it’s time.”
She pulled her arm away, sweeping from the room without a thought to Charles or Elizabeth.
Logan’s eyes followed her, staring at the spot where she vanished into the hall. Charles hid a smile. Perhaps Storm was worrying herself over nothing. Logan couldn’t take his eyes from her. Even the passage of time, the bending of realities could not shake the feeling Charles had that Ororo and Logan were meant to be together.
“Chuck?” Logan’s voice pulled Charles’ mind back to the present. “I need information and I think I’m gonna need it fast.”
Exhaling sharply, Charles motioned for his wife to enter the room. She did so silently, closing the door with a quiet snap behind her. Logan turned to look at the woman, the lack of recognition forcing Charles to wonder if he had ever met the woman in his former life.
“This is Elizabeth Braddock-Xavier.” The telepath answered the unspoken question. “My wife.”
Wolverine looked so startled that Mrs. Xavier burst into laughter. The auburn-haired Englishwoman patted Logan’s shoulder in a familiar fashion, shaking her head as she came to perch familiarly on the arm of Charles’ wheelchair.
“Looks like I am your one and only,” she drawled in an accent reminiscent of her homeland. “You call me Betsy, or Bets, most of the time. My codename is Psylocke.”
“You’re married?” Logan asked, the shock on his face still very much evident.
“Since 1975,” Charles offered casually. “We met when I reopened the school. Betsy teaches English here.”
“And the occasional telepathic defense class.” She tapped her head with one manicured nail.
At this, Logan seemed to have finally reached overload. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees so he could cover his face with both hands. Charles rubbed the small of his wife’s back gently, a soothing habit he had developed in their 47 year marriage.
He had always wondered if Betsy had found him in the timeline Logan destroyed by stepping back into 1973. Much as Logan had with his return trip and the harrowing adventures in Washington, Betsy brought him to life. Logan restored his hope, his dream, Betsy brought him love. He credited both with keeping both himself and the dream alive these many, long years.
“You’re gonna have to give me basics, Chuck.” Logan said, using the familiar endearment. “I can’t walk out there and know nothin’.”
He can handle it, Charles. Betsy’s warm, welcome presence in his mind spoke in her usual soft tone. Especially about Ororo and the girls.
I only hope the same can be said for those girls.
They will be alright. You prepared them well.
“Chuck? Bets?” Logan’s voice was muffled by his hands. “Just hit me with it. Like pullin’ a knife out of your gut. Just do it.”
Betsy shifted a little on her perch, obviously wanting to comfort her old friend. She stayed in her place, though, with Charles’ hand on her back for support.
“You and Ororo married in 2010.” Betsy said quietly. “You dated for around two years before that.”
Logan did not look up. “Married Storm. Got it. Next.”
Charles cleared his throat. “You have two daughters. Laura and Anna-Marie. They are 12 years old.”
At this, Logan dropped his hands, giving Charles a pitying look. Unable to help himself, Charles chuckled. Betsy hopped from her perch with the gusto of a woman half her age, pouring Logan two fingers of whisky before handing it to him. The grateful mutant downed it all in one swallow.
How odd, Charles thought, to be in this situation. Logan had lived two full lives, but had only the memories of a dark, terrible world he risked his life to undo. No one else would know the pain of those turbulent times, because a group of mutants, one brave man, had ever altered the course of history.
Now, though, was the time for Logan to be here, in this time, in the life he so utterly deserved.
Tuning back into the conversation Betsy was having with Wolverine, Charles sighed. Logan was going to have a tough time adjusting, but that was what he was there for. When his friend vanished that fateful day in 1073, he had a promise to keep.
Remember these names. Jean. Scott. Storm. Rogue. Shadowcat. Iceman. Colossus. We’re going to need you to lead us, guide us. Promise me.
Logan did not know that Charles amended that promise. He swore that he would find Logan, he would teach him, lead him, guide him. And, when the time came, he would explain this new world in which he found himself.
The time for that was upon them. Charles had never broken a promise to Logan. He certainly wouldn’t start now.
***
“Well, this is just stupid.”
Laura Howlett had her father’s temper, Ororo thought with a smile. Anna-Marie was more in touch with civility, but Laura had always walked a little more on the wild side. She couldn’t help it. The preternatural beast that slumbered inside of her father had bred true in his youngest child.
It certainly made things interesting.
Both of her girls were beautiful, Ororo thought for the millionth time. They took after their father, with short statures, jet black hair, and obsidian eyes. Ororo’s heritage marked their features only a little, in the line of their chins, that noble brow, and the creamy caramel colored skin.
They were halfway to thirteen, which continually gave Logan and Ororo fits. It was soon, so soon, they would know if their daughters were mutants.
“Daddy is still Daddy.” Laura continued her rant as she paced. Ororo watched cautiously, with Anna-Marie cuddled close. Her eldest child laid her head in her mother’s lap, where Ororo stroked her long, dark hair soothingly. Anna-Marie had a temper of her own, it merely took more for her to show it. Laura, on the other hand, was quick to rage and difficult to diffuse.
Scott once likened the girl to a nuclear warhead.
“He just doesn’t remember us.” Anna-Marie’s quiet tone shot through the blustering Laura’s emotional armor.
Most thought the loud, brash younger twin to be dominant, but the truth was exactly the opposite. There was nothing Laura lived for aside from her sister. It was Laura that spoke of ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, Laura who immediately cowed to Anna-Marie’s wishes. Anna-Marie, for all her gifts, never abused her power over the sister she loved.
“Well, yeah.” Laura said, deflating a little. “But he’s still Daddy.”
“We knew this would happen,” their mother chimed in calmly, though she felt anything but calm. “We knew the year. It just happened faster than we anticipated.”
“We’ll help him, won’t we, Mama?” Anna-Marie’s voice was tiny, afraid.
“When he is ready, we will tell him everything.”
Ororo looked up when there was a light, slightly metallic knock upon the door. Her heart constricted with pain in her chest. She knew that knock intimately, felt the ringing of adamantium against wood in the pit of her stomach.
Laura cautiously opened the door, her labored breathing telling Storm that she, too, knew who had come to the boathouse.
***
For two hours, Logan insisted that the Professor and Psylocke - what kind of codename was that? - fill him in on the important details. He just needed the basics, could only handle the basics. He wanted to know who was alive, who had died, and where they all were.
Once that was ironed out, Logan quietly asked the pair where Storm and the twins lived.
It was a little boathouse out by the expansive lake to the far north of Xavier’s property. He noted that there were a few little homes along the lakeshore, probably the homes of X-men and their families. Logan felt his heart warm a little at this. The X-Men hadn’t been able to have families in the time he’d come from. They were all bound to a war they hadn’t wanted, fighting enemies they couldn’t defeat.
Happiness was a cup of coffee. A good night’s sleep. A lover who might not be there come morning.
This...this place resembled that life not one iota.
The front steps to Lake House #1 was covered in plants. Crawling ivy, flowers he couldn’t name, big, bushy trees he couldn’t even describe. It was a place filled with life, the scent of fresh earth and cool rain. On the front door, a small wood plaque declared that the ‘Howletts’ lived here.
Howlett. Charles had told him they discovered his surname. They were going to delve into that later.
He needed courage to knock, but he knocked. The man Logan suddenly replaced had a family, a family that was going to miss him. Charles didn’t know if he might recover the memories of James Logan Howlett’s life. It didn’t matter. Logan had to discover the truth of his missing years himself.
The door opened a beat later and two familiar black eyes peered into the sunlight. Logan’s breath caught in his throat, seeing himself in that dark gaze. She opened the door a little wider, revealing a slender, petite girl that could be no one else’s child.
Winded, Logan took a moment to merely look at her. She had on a pair of faded jeans, a tank top with the words “Xavier’s School for Weirdos” printed across the chest. Her long hair fell down her back, one long lock caught on her forefinger as she twirled it with nerves.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Her little voice peirced his heart. She said the words as though she had a million times, the phrase worn with love, trust, and reverence.
“Laura, let him inside, dear.”
Storm’s voice was soft, gentle as a spring breeze. The girl named Laura moved to the side, opening the door. Logan’s eyes went to the sofa, where Storm sat with the other twin’s head in her lap. Anna-Marie, that was her name. Anna-Marie sat up with a small smile, offering a little wave.
So, they knew. Good.
“Hey, girls.” Logan said, because it felt right. “Think I can borrow your mother a minute?”
“Sure.” Anna-Marie stood up, kissed her mother’s cheek. There was warmth, affection, a sense of belonging in the simple gesture. Logan understood, in that one moment, that he and Storm had done well with their family.
“We’ll go pester Rogue for a while.” Anna-Marie offered, hooking her arm through her sister’s. “I have my cell.”
“We’ll have dinner at the mansion, Mom.” Laura headed for the door, but stopped to quickly embrace him.
Her scent was unmistakable. Damp earth, a hint of the wild, mingled with the innocent fragrance of childhood. Before he could return the gesture, Laura and Anna-Marie were out the door.
Alone, Logan looked across the room. Storm had not moved, her posture straight and her face revealing nothing. Clearing his throat, Logan hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans.
“So.” The mutant man said softly. “I think we need to talk.
