[It's been an incredibly long day. In between all the killing, and the emotional turmoil that followed once her father found her, and the whole decontamination process that she was forced through; Laura was beyond exhausted and had no idea why. She had done far more physical things lasting a lot longer. She had no idea that emotional trauma could take so much out of her.
Logan had to carry her back to the mansion for most of the way, partly because she had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder. Once they had gotten there and tended to what needed to be done, Laura had been up and on her own feet, though more than a little groggy and out of it. She was so caught up in her own thoughts and guilt that she was more withdrawn than normal.
By the time that everyone went their separate ways, she thinks she'll be content to curl up with a picture book from the library. She isn't really able to read it though, and ends up ditching the book to go track down her dad. His anger and disappointment from earlier still haunt her and she wants to see how he looks at her when she crosses his path.
She's surprised to see him dozing off on one of the couches. He's reclined back so she just silently crawls on up to make herself at home on his chest. The sound of his heart combined with the rhythm of his breathing do an amazing job of calming her enough that she hopes he won't do something like push her off. she's not really sure how dads are supposed to act when they're angry.]
[ He's no stranger to mental exhaustion. Wounds will close, flesh will knit and his body might heal, but there are deeper cuts still that will not mend so easily. He's been burned again and he let it happen, and part of him, some low and ugly and shameful part of him, wanted it.
After the fights and their return as a broken quartet, after Jean and Kurt were tended to and decontamination was set to the soundtrack of Laura's terrible screams, Logan feels like he's going through the motions once they're on the EL Line back to the mansion. Like he's standing at a distance, an observer as he fills Charles in as best he can, showers offensively-chartreuse disinfectant off his skin, and tries to reach Ororo over his TAB again.
Logan isn't sure when he fell asleep, his head pillowed on the arm of this overstuffed couch, one leg up on the cushions, but he's keenly aware of the little figure resting on him. He doesn't need to open his eyes to know who they are. Not for the first time, he wonders why. Why does she seek him out when he's still so fucked up? He's no decent father; he's not even a decent man. He's in no fit state to look after a child.
Why, then, does the thought of her caught by slavers make his blood boil? Why does he care about her so fucking much it hurts?
Logan shifts, but he doesn't push her off. Doesn't open his eyes either, just wets his dry lips and wordlessly lifts a hand to touch her shoulder, then the crown of her little head.
He could have lost her, and that, truly, is a thought that terrifies him. ]
[Laura doesn't know what love is. She never was given it growing up, apart from what Gabriela and the other nurses could do briefly in secret. She still remembers the look of wary disappointment that Gabriela had given her the first time that Laura had raked her own claws down her arm over and over, just to watch it bleed and heal. Even when the nurse had looked at her that way, she still showed her little signs of affection. It's like that now with her father. The look of disappointment he gave her will never go away, but he still shows her that he cares anyway.
She may not know what love is apart from a textbook definition, but she knows that she doesn't care for anyone or anything more than her father. She prefers him over the yellow spandex version of him in her comics, she values him more than her red rubber ball, and she finds more security with him than she does with her toy horse.
She also knows that seeing him come back charred and slowly healing over scared the hell out of her, just as much as the doctors pulling her away from him to be decontaminated.
Now there's nothing but quiet. Quiet and the feeling of him breathing, skin pink and new. His hand touches her head, and she can't help but smile. He's not pushing her away. He still cares for her. The way her heart feels full and warm all at once makes her wonder if this is what love feels like. She thinks it is, but she can't bring herself to say anything about it. She hasn't said a word at all in hours, actually.
Her little hand goes up to touch at his cheek, fingertips rubbing against stubble. If she were a normal little girl, she might press a kiss to his shoulder or something sweet. Laura isn't normal, so she scoots up enough that she can sniff at his neck and make sure he still smells just the same as always despite being burnt so badly. Her eyes keep threatening to fall shut, heavy as they slowly close and she nods off, only to snap back awake a second later.]
[ A murmur, that's more a low rumble in his chest as she touches his cheek and gives him that sniff. Under the clean soap, the fresh clothes, the hint of decontaminant lingers alongside the ash, the smoke, and the pervasive scent of adamantium.
Laura's a warm comfortable weight on him, and her hair is soft beneath his hand, something he never realized before. He plays with it a little now, rolling a dark strand between his thumb and forefinger.
What had her mother looked like? It's a thought that comes suddenly, unbidden and unanswerable. Gabriela wasn't her mother, though she fought as hard for her as if she had been. Did Laura have her mother's hair, or maybe her dark eyes? How had she been chosen, was it for money, or did she really have any choice at all? ]
[Laura wonders the same things about her mother often. What she looked like, what she might think of having a child like her. She wonders if she'll end up looking more like her mother or Logan in the end. She'll never get to meet or know her mother. But she has him.
She makes a small grunt in response to his question, nodding her head. It's a slight motion, because she doesn't want to interrupt his toying with her hair.
Her touch eventually drops away from his face as she shifts atop him, lifting her head so she can look at him instead. She scoots so she can press both of her hands against his cheeks, moving until her forehead presses against his. The tip of her nose squishes against his too, but she doesn't smile. She slowly breathes in and out and tries so desperately to show him that she cares about him. Sometimes actions are just as challenging for her as words are. It's almost like she thinks that allowing this proximity with someone is a show of affection, mingled with an unspoken apology.]
You stink.
[She says it in Spanish. The words clipped and distant. ]
[ His hand leaves her hair, touching her shoulder instead. What the hell is she doing? Logan releases a beleaguered sigh, and opens one eye to stare into hers.
He scrunches his nose, brows knitting as he tries to parse what she's said. It's familiar, something that's popped up in one of her scathing rants. The penny drops. ]
Laura...
[ It's a warning, before he shoots back, in grumbled, perfect French: ]
[She lifts her head and looks down at him in confusion, before pushing her fingers against his lips. She doesn't know that language, and doesn't want to hear it. Communicating is hard enough without something she doesn't understand.]
We stink.
[She corrects herself, this time in English. They've both showered and the smell of soap and clean clothes is present for anyone else. But for their senses, the stench of the decontamination combined with ash and charred skin and the scent of blood that still lingers...it's all Laura can smell. And she isn't sure if he'll want to know that she finds it to be a comforting smell. The blood of other people means they're the ones left standing. They won.
She can't tell him any of this though. Instead she asks,]
[ Both eyes open this time, flinty under his dark brows. Logan purses his lips beneath her fingers, blowing out to dislodge them. He almost got to sleep. This day, this fucking terrible day, almost got to end. ]
I'm not angry, Laura. Not anymore, [ he amends, quietly terse. ] I'm disappointed. There's a difference.
[ Biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper, he swallows that alongside his pride. He continues, honest with her as he's always been, ]
You scared the shit out of me today. And I didn't like that.
[The ticklish sensation of his breath against her fingers causes her to tear them away and glare down at him. It's not a wholehearted glare as much as something huffy, which quickly fizzles out to innocent curiosity as she tries to make sense of his words.]
¿Por qué?
[She doesn't understand. She doesn't think he's capable of being scared. Sad, yes. Broken, definitely. But he's so brave. Wolverine doesn't get scared.
Her finger presses against the corner of his mouth, trying to pull it upward into a smile. She likes him better when he looks like that, without the stress of life and having her around weighing him down.]
[ He catches her wrist, letting her finger slide against his grizzled cheek. ]
Afraid. I was afraid, for you.
[ They've covered the yelling though, the telling-off with Charles at the helm. What little light there is in the room gleams wetly in his eyes, while his hands slide up to take her face, the fire returning in his voice. ]
[He guides her motions and she allows him, tipping her head off to the side as her eyes study his face. She can easily make out the dampness of his eyes, and it strikes her as unsettling because she's the one that's put them there. His fear is her fault.
And she thinks she understands exactly what he's saying.
He won't lose her. He can't. ]
I understand.
[The words are barely whispered, but she knows he can hear her. The gravity of this conversation makes her unable to really speak all that loudly. But he's getting her to talk at all, which is what she needs.]
Bad things happen to people you care about.
[She uses words he's previously spoken, in a place and time that feels like another life. Slipping free of his hold to her face, she leans down to brush her lips against his scruffy cheek. I love you too, the gesture says. But neither of them can say the words. Maybe he'll realize that her not saying then I'll be fine is as good as saying it.]
[ Right, he wants to say, but a nod will have to do. He's known since he ran charging through the trees, exhausted and dying, that he loves her. Words are hard right now, so they're spoken in action, in the way he hugs her to himself and buries his face in her shoulder.
Soon, though, his grip slackens, his breathing pattern shifts into something slow, and deep. He's drifted asleep again. ]
[Oh...he's...clinging hold of her. Hugging her. Keeping her in place.
She squirms a little, like a cat that doesn't want to be confined, but eventually just gives in. By that point, his hold on her loosens up some. Her eyes are so heavy and she's fought sleep for a while now. The feeling of him steadily breathing beneath her lulls her to sleep in record time.]
[ It's a little before dawn when he wakes her, while the light is purple and their makeshift sun of Ingress light hasn't yet crested the horizon. Someone, he suspects Charles, had draped them both in a blanket in the night- Logan had woken up even earlier to Laura's weight and the soft cover, leaving both behind to get a start on the day.
Now, knelt by the couch, he chances putting a hand to her shoulder, ]
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Logan had to carry her back to the mansion for most of the way, partly because she had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder. Once they had gotten there and tended to what needed to be done, Laura had been up and on her own feet, though more than a little groggy and out of it. She was so caught up in her own thoughts and guilt that she was more withdrawn than normal.
By the time that everyone went their separate ways, she thinks she'll be content to curl up with a picture book from the library. She isn't really able to read it though, and ends up ditching the book to go track down her dad. His anger and disappointment from earlier still haunt her and she wants to see how he looks at her when she crosses his path.
She's surprised to see him dozing off on one of the couches. He's reclined back so she just silently crawls on up to make herself at home on his chest. The sound of his heart combined with the rhythm of his breathing do an amazing job of calming her enough that she hopes he won't do something like push her off. she's not really sure how dads are supposed to act when they're angry.]
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After the fights and their return as a broken quartet, after Jean and Kurt were tended to and decontamination was set to the soundtrack of Laura's terrible screams, Logan feels like he's going through the motions once they're on the EL Line back to the mansion. Like he's standing at a distance, an observer as he fills Charles in as best he can, showers offensively-chartreuse disinfectant off his skin, and tries to reach Ororo over his TAB again.
Logan isn't sure when he fell asleep, his head pillowed on the arm of this overstuffed couch, one leg up on the cushions, but he's keenly aware of the little figure resting on him. He doesn't need to open his eyes to know who they are. Not for the first time, he wonders why. Why does she seek him out when he's still so fucked up? He's no decent father; he's not even a decent man. He's in no fit state to look after a child.
Why, then, does the thought of her caught by slavers make his blood boil? Why does he care about her so fucking much it hurts?
Logan shifts, but he doesn't push her off. Doesn't open his eyes either, just wets his dry lips and wordlessly lifts a hand to touch her shoulder, then the crown of her little head.
He could have lost her, and that, truly, is a thought that terrifies him. ]
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She may not know what love is apart from a textbook definition, but she knows that she doesn't care for anyone or anything more than her father. She prefers him over the yellow spandex version of him in her comics, she values him more than her red rubber ball, and she finds more security with him than she does with her toy horse.
She also knows that seeing him come back charred and slowly healing over scared the hell out of her, just as much as the doctors pulling her away from him to be decontaminated.
Now there's nothing but quiet. Quiet and the feeling of him breathing, skin pink and new. His hand touches her head, and she can't help but smile. He's not pushing her away. He still cares for her. The way her heart feels full and warm all at once makes her wonder if this is what love feels like. She thinks it is, but she can't bring herself to say anything about it. She hasn't said a word at all in hours, actually.
Her little hand goes up to touch at his cheek, fingertips rubbing against stubble. If she were a normal little girl, she might press a kiss to his shoulder or something sweet.
Laura isn't normal, so she scoots up enough that she can sniff at his neck and make sure he still smells just the same as always despite being burnt so badly. Her eyes keep threatening to fall shut, heavy as they slowly close and she nods off, only to snap back awake a second later.]
no subject
[ A murmur, that's more a low rumble in his chest as she touches his cheek and gives him that sniff. Under the clean soap, the fresh clothes, the hint of decontaminant lingers alongside the ash, the smoke, and the pervasive scent of adamantium.
Laura's a warm comfortable weight on him, and her hair is soft beneath his hand, something he never realized before. He plays with it a little now, rolling a dark strand between his thumb and forefinger.
What had her mother looked like? It's a thought that comes suddenly, unbidden and unanswerable. Gabriela wasn't her mother, though she fought as hard for her as if she had been. Did Laura have her mother's hair, or maybe her dark eyes? How had she been chosen, was it for money, or did she really have any choice at all? ]
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She makes a small grunt in response to his question, nodding her head. It's a slight motion, because she doesn't want to interrupt his toying with her hair.
Her touch eventually drops away from his face as she shifts atop him, lifting her head so she can look at him instead. She scoots so she can press both of her hands against his cheeks, moving until her forehead presses against his. The tip of her nose squishes against his too, but she doesn't smile. She slowly breathes in and out and tries so desperately to show him that she cares about him. Sometimes actions are just as challenging for her as words are. It's almost like she thinks that allowing this proximity with someone is a show of affection, mingled with an unspoken apology.]
You stink.
[She says it in Spanish. The words clipped and distant. ]
no subject
He scrunches his nose, brows knitting as he tries to parse what she's said. It's familiar, something that's popped up in one of her scathing rants. The penny drops. ]
Laura...
[ It's a warning, before he shoots back, in grumbled, perfect French: ]
Non, vous puez.
no subject
We stink.
[She corrects herself, this time in English. They've both showered and the smell of soap and clean clothes is present for anyone else. But for their senses, the stench of the decontamination combined with ash and charred skin and the scent of blood that still lingers...it's all Laura can smell. And she isn't sure if he'll want to know that she finds it to be a comforting smell. The blood of other people means they're the ones left standing. They won.
She can't tell him any of this though. Instead she asks,]
Will you always be angry?
[At her, she means.]
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I'm not angry, Laura. Not anymore, [ he amends, quietly terse. ] I'm disappointed. There's a difference.
[ Biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper, he swallows that alongside his pride. He continues, honest with her as he's always been, ]
You scared the shit out of me today. And I didn't like that.
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¿Por qué?
[She doesn't understand. She doesn't think he's capable of being scared. Sad, yes. Broken, definitely. But he's so brave. Wolverine doesn't get scared.
Her finger presses against the corner of his mouth, trying to pull it upward into a smile.
She likes him better when he looks like that, without the stress of life and having her around weighing him down.]
no subject
[ He catches her wrist, letting her finger slide against his grizzled cheek. ]
Afraid. I was afraid, for you.
[ They've covered the yelling though, the telling-off with Charles at the helm. What little light there is in the room gleams wetly in his eyes, while his hands slide up to take her face, the fire returning in his voice. ]
I won't lose you, do you understand?
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And she thinks she understands exactly what he's saying.
He won't lose her. He can't. ]
I understand.
[The words are barely whispered, but she knows he can hear her. The gravity of this conversation makes her unable to really speak all that loudly. But he's getting her to talk at all, which is what she needs.]
Bad things happen to people you care about.
[She uses words he's previously spoken, in a place and time that feels like another life. Slipping free of his hold to her face, she leans down to brush her lips against his scruffy cheek. I love you too, the gesture says. But neither of them can say the words.
Maybe he'll realize that her not saying then I'll be fine is as good as saying it.]
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Soon, though, his grip slackens, his breathing pattern shifts into something slow, and deep. He's drifted asleep again. ]
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She squirms a little, like a cat that doesn't want to be confined, but eventually just gives in. By that point, his hold on her loosens up some. Her eyes are so heavy and she's fought sleep for a while now. The feeling of him steadily breathing beneath her lulls her to sleep in record time.]
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Now, knelt by the couch, he chances putting a hand to her shoulder, ]
Laura.
[ Quiet, unruffled urgency: ]
Wake up.