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Logan slicked his hair back with his hand. It had a lot of gel in it but his hair was too wild for that.
Frowning, he felt his heartbeat with his right hand, touched his cheek.
“Oh my god, I’m a kid again!” he gulped.
He could feel his child body but it was the mind of the here and now as a man. It was a slightly disturbing feeling. And Forge was gone.
Where the hell did he go??? Logan thought.

Scott licked his own hand and smoothed it over Logan’s mane.
“Eew,” he squealed as Scott giggled. Scott was now also a child but clearly with his child mind and he seemed the same and yet different from what Logan remembered.
He knew now how hard it had been for Scott as a young boy- an angry, shoved aside cast off in the Summer family as the presumed bastard only to have it discovered that his favoured sister was actually the illegitimate offspring, Scott going from boarding school to boarding school and his father trying to erase his public existence with his brazen display of revulsion- with only the Howlett cottage in North Canada as a refuge from it all.
Logan could remember the joy in Scott's eyes when he searched for his "real" family as he exited the plane at Pearson Airport. The way Scott called his father, Pops, and the first to give his mother the moniker, Momo. Logan paused. It had never been 'his" family; it was, and is, their family. But in any case, Logan remembered Scott as being happy with his true family and they called themselves bloodbrothers to this day, but he hadn’t remembered the bags underneath a child-Scott’s eyes. The sadness in them and also the anger which had boiled over at nineteen when he’d tried to kill his father with his laser eye beam powers- only to fail because their powers are redundant against one another. Scott had called it a violent rebirth. Logan wanted to steal one of his father's stash of cigars at the sentamentality.
Yet there were still some traces of his memories of Scott that stayed real. He was so obviously a blueblood with his porcelain skin and his perfectly cut auburn hair and designer plaid vest. Back then they were still approximately the same size, a year later this changed drastically, and so they were wearing the only matching thing they had: Scott’s school uniform and his back up. In Logan’s left hand was a bouquet of flowers his father had given him to give to his mother. He kept trying to put a finger between his collar as Scott giggled. It was the day they were all having their pictures taken at the local Wal-Mart. Scott was babbling about how family pictures were important.
That’s right, Logan suddenly remembered, it was a part of his birthday gifts from the Howletts.

Scott had gotten off the murder charges his father had tried to press, especially after the circumstances of his childhood were revealed to the public including the family trusts and names involved combined with the Howlett father and son testimony. To this day Scott still had the family photograph treasured amongst the Summer’s NYC estates family legacy hall.

Here is now and then his father, handsome as always in a brown suit, came barrelling out of the house and down the front porch, with his own wild mane untamed, and scooped his sons into his arms. Logan, present and past, laughed at this.
This encompassed how Logan lived his life even now: his father, Scott, and he. Scott taking over the family’s international business and bringing it to good for the world. His father still living at the cottage in the Canadian countryside. Logan finishing his Phd thesis at Maine University. But in the summer and on holidays, they were a family again-together.

And then the ladies of his life came outside to join them. His mother, Momo to everyone including her biological son, wore a beautifully soft pink kimono. Logan opened his eyes wide; he needed to remember this perfectly. At the hem was a casual scene of waves crashing, and Logan felt his body move towards her without thought and he gave her the matching bouquet and she kissed him on his forehead, on the tip of his nose, on his mouth and tsked over the state of his hair. He turned around, his child self laughing, and he saw her as Momo called out to his father, "Oh James please! You'll get her dirty...again. Oh James. You and that girl."

Ororo, in a puffy cream dress with a black lace tied at the waist, had already climbed up to her usual perch on his father’s shoulders and giggling for her ‘Uncle Wolvie’ to run faster and jump higher. In response, he sang out in his deep baritone: "C'mere sugarlollipopdarliiiiinnn". Quickly, the man once known as Wolverine, the man who once drew his claws for blood and cheap payment...now he drew them to cut his children's hair and used his tracking skills to show Ororo baby animals in nature. He taught her to respect life through her studies of science rather than take it. Because although she was only one year younger than he, Ororo was a qualified genius- speaking five languages and English being her third- and she went to a special school in Germany since she was two years old and had become a C class telepath and telekinetic already.
Every summer her parents, an African businesswoman and a French UN Diplomat who are both of royal blood, sent her to spend two weeks with the Howlett family while they vacationed alone and then Ororo joined them at their privately owned island after. This was the moment he finally realized there was a word for how he felt about Ororo.
LOVE.

And that he could never tell this tiny goddess who was giggling high above his reach.

Logan closed his eyes or his child self blinked and suddenly he was sixteen again at Xavier’s School for the Gifted. At the edge of the property near the lake was a series of cottages called the TK Zone. It was a place all the telepaths and TKs could go to get a rest from everyone else’s thoughts and the hard work of blocking them out. Ororo was spending the weekend there but not because she was struggling as she was now an A class telepath and a B telekinetic, but because she was working on a journal article for the National Scientists of America and it was Superbowl weekend.

Forge, Summers, and Sarah Drake were partying it up back at the club area the students had dubbed The Greenhouse, with its glass and the steam that quickly accumulated when too many people were inside, and Kurt Wagner was teasing his sister Katya about her spastic dancing. The Worthington twins were helming the party of the year as usual and it was getting crazier by the minute. He could hear them berating Jason Worthington berating the Dj and Warren asking the caterer when the ice cream will be ready. Pietro Rasputin was somewhere making out with his boyfriend, Remy Lebeau. As the X-men’s second generation got older their lives became more and more complicated by the relationships that had come before them.
Maggie Summers was holding court over them all; she was still the precocious Red Queen Apparent...far before her fall from grace. He wondered where she was now since the scandal, and her removal from the full trust fund and being stripped of the Summer name. The last he’d heard she was still barhopping and living in hotels across Europe. He guessed she figured they didn’t care about an American industrial heiress in a continent where royal blood made the most difference. But for today, he could hear her chastising some sheep of hers outfit for clashing with hers.
At fifteen Ororo was already a respected peer in the academic world but she was also a dedicated ballet dancer. X high had, since the day of the last X-Men battle and government sanctions were signed, mostly become a training place for focusing unwieldy mutant powers and a creative arts school. Ironically it probably needed more funding for its legal enterprises than its covert ones. He remembered Ororo was desperate to invent something, a patent it in the school’s name perhaps, and provide a legacy of funding until the copyright ran out.
Logan could feel his skinny chest vibrating from his heart hitting his adamentium invested ribs. He was dressed in shorts and a wife beater. He’d forgotten that. Sighing, he walked up the gravel path, there was the scent of daffodils in the air along with the scent of rain, and knocked on the cotton candy yellow door.





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