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rainintheevening · 1 month ago

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🍁🍁Comfy-vember 🍁🍁

Day 9: Scars

Grant Ward & Phil Coulson, Agents of SHIELD, Saving Grant Ward AU, aftermath of torture, non-sexualized bathing/washing, the author does not recommend postponing medical care for a shower

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The first thing Grant demanded was a shower.

"It's been three weeks, okay? You don't want me in your medbay like this."

Simmons stood with her arms crossed over her chest, frowning down at him where he sat on the Quinjet, which had just touched down in the Playground's hanger. "Just because Trip splinted your leg and I gave you some anesthetic, doesn't mean it isn't serious. You need to get the bone set, and I'm worried about infection. Never mind your shoulder—heaven only knows what those x-rays are going to look like."

Phil stayed seated, feeling Grant's weight leaning into him, though it was less than it had been before. Before Garrett, before HYDRA, before he'd been on the run. There was no denying Grant was a mess—greasy hair grown too long and falling in his eyes, ragged jacket and jeans bearing mud and tree sap smears, a fading black eye, and that nasty red scar in front of one ear that ran down to his neck. But he was here! He was safe, he was home, he was back where he belonged. Phil's kid was home again, and the joy of that overwhelmed any grief or fear for now.

"Medbay is built for messes, man." Trip grinned down at his old buddy. "Think about how many people puke in there."

"I'm with Ward," Fitz put in, hovering over Jemma's shoulder. "He should- um- er–"

"Shower." Jemma's whisper was barely audible.

"–shower if he wa-would like to."

"Thank you, Fitz." Grant opened his eyes to smile at the younger agent. "I'm taking a shower," he said again to Simmons. "I'll get back to you in an hour. In the medbay."

Phil knew that tone, and smiled up at the agents clustered in front of them, now including May; Skye lingered warily in the cockpit. It hit him suddenly that they were all here. Grant, May, Fitzsimmons, Skye, Trip. The whole team, reunited.

But he shook off the warm surge of emotion. Grant had to be cared for. "You're not budging him, guys, sorry."

"And what if you fall and break something else?" Simmons argued. "Splitting your skull open in the shower isn't exactly unheard of, and you're not exactly stable."

Grant sighed, sitting straighter so he could turn his head to look at Phil. "Dad?"

That tired little murmur had Phil swallowing hard, nodding before he answered: "Of course. Don't worry," to Simmons. "I'll go with him."

Grant shifted his weight to stand, and Phil moved quickly, ducking under the good right arm, as he levered himself up on the good left leg.

"At least let us get you a stretcher or a wheelchair." Simmons's hands fluttered out in a helpless gesture.

Stiffly, Grant patted her arm with his free hand, made more awkward by the damaged shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, Jemma. But I'm walking in there."

"He's not unconscious," Trip shrugged, moving to Grant's other side, but Fitz had beat him to it.

"Alright, we've got you," Fitz said, his arm joining Coulson's around Grant's waist.

Grant's smile was soft, and he nudged his chin against the curly hair at his shoulder. "Thanks, Leo."

The pure love and hero worship in Fitz's answering look would have melted anyone's heart.

By the time they made it to the bottom of the ramp, though, Phil was wishing Grant had taken Jemma's offer. Even with the local anesthetic in his leg, and the age of his shoulder wound, he moved slow and painful, only the hiss of his breathing betraying what must have been agony. He'd lost enough weight that Phil could have comfortably carried him, but he doubted Grant would agree to that with such an entourage.

That thought was cemented when the second set of heavy doors slid open to the main hall, and instantly a wave of applause washed over them.

Dozens of agents of all ranks and duties lined both sides of the hall, clapping and cheering as Grant stood frozen. Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw him go first white, then red under the dirt and sweat.

"They're all the ones you saved," came May's calm voice behind them. "At Rabbit's Run and Carlton Place and Foxhole. They know what you did for them."

Most of them were hostages released in the wake of Grant's silent but deadly run on the HYDRA ranks. He'd assassinated almost a hundred HYDRA agents and operatives in the US and Europe, all in the span of two months, and while carrying a bullet in his shoulder. Not even Natasha could match that, Phil thought, pride welling in his chest.

As they came down into the hall, Agent Morse stepped forward, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.

"Baby Bird." Grant nodded at her.

"Baby Hawk." She grinned. "Welcome back."

Phil wanted to chuckle at the normalcy of their friendly banter, but he could feel Grant's arm trembling around his neck, Grant using all his strength to stand tall in front of the crowd.

"I suppose I have you to blame for this circus."

"Nah, it was Mack's idea."

"Mack." Grant smiled faintly over toward the big man. "Now if you'll excuse me, Birdy, I need a shower."

"And then medical attention," Simmons piped up rather crossly.

"Yeah, that's obvious." Concern creased Bobbi's forehead as she took in his current state. "Well, I certainly won't stand in your way." She stepped back into the line of agents on the left.

"Showers are down two levels with the bunks," Phil said softly, as they stepped forward again. "We'll take the elevator. Straight ahead, then to the right."

Grant did not reply, he was exerting every effort to limp as strongly and steadily as possible down that hall. Some of the agents they passed stood to attention and saluted, some just nodded or tapped a fist over their heart.

What a contrast to the outrage and anger that had gripped the surviving SHIELD members after they saw the footage from the Treehouse massacre—Grant Ward following John Garrett as obediently as a leashed dog. Phil, had been one of his only defenders, along with Fitzsimmons. Even when Grant had betrayed Providence, Phil had clung to his belief that his kid was just playing the game, keeping his cover by giving information that may or may not result in deaths. It was a far better idea than the alternative.

And Phil's belief had been vindicated.

Just Phil, Grant, Fitz, and Trip stepped into the elevator, and the second the doors closed, Grant sagged heavily into Phil, almost falling.

"Steady, steady!" Fitz exclaimed, then froze as his frantic tug on Grant's injured arm elicited a deep groan from him.

"Just– gimme a minute," Grant squeezed out.

"It's okay, Fitz," Phil said, hooking his fingers under Grant's belt to support him better.

It was... different sticking with an injured member of his team this far. Usually by now he'd stepped back, taking the team leader's long view, taking stock and planning what to do next, while other more qualified people did their jobs. Especially now that he was Director Coulson, and not just another agent. But this was Grant, this was his son. Grant trusted him like no one else. And Phil was more than grateful to have this time with Grant, after so long.

"I wanna sleep for a week," Grant whispered, somewhere around Phil's collar.

"That can be arranged." Trip looked both concerned and amused. "Are you sure you're up to this, man?"

Grant did not lift his head from Phil's shoulder, even as the elevator halted, and Phil barely caught his whisper: "I just want to get him off me."

Phil stiffened, and Grant straightened hastily, shaking his head. "No, no! That's not what I– I just–" He made a frustrated sound. "I smell like HYDRA," he said at last.

"You smell like shit," Trip said dryly.

"Exactly."

Phil had been blocking it out best he could, but in the narrow space of the elevator, it was impossible not to notice the reek of sweat and blood and something rotten that clung to Grant. Phil did not blame him at all for wanting that shower.

It took them another ten minutes to reach the men's showers; a long narrow space, with benches along one wall facing a row of shower heads, half enclosed, half not.

Fitz was sent for a chair, while Trip helped Phil remove the splint from Grant's leg and cut the bottom of his pant leg off so it could be put back on over bare skin.

"Are you sure you don't want me to-?" Trip held up a hand against Grant's glare. "Nah, it's okay, man. I'll leave you two to it." He glanced at Phil. "Want me and Fitz to stand guard outside?"

"One of you at least, if you wouldn't mind." He was about to ask if Trip could fetch something clean for Grant to wear, when Fitz came in, carrying the chair, and a handful of clothes.

"Agent May brought these." He held out the clothing: Grant's old Seahawks sweatshirt, a SHIELD-issue t-shirt and underwear, and a pair of flannels Phil didn't recognize. "Agent MacKenzie, er, gave the trousers."

Phil smiled, noting how Fitz's transitions from a word he couldn't remember to one he did were getting smoother. "Tell them both thanks."

"Clearing out now, sir." Trip patted Fitz's shoulder in a way that served to steer him back toward the door. "Holler if you need anything."

The clank of the door shutting echoed in the sparsely outfitted room, and then there was silence, except for a pipe gurgling, and the harsh sound of Grant's breathing.

Phil knelt beside him, involuntarily reaching to push back the shaggy hair from his forehead. They'd laid him flat on the floor for stability while they moved the splint around, but Phil couldn't help thinking he looked nearly dead, stretched out like that.

Grant opened his eyes, squinted up at him.

"You ready?" Phil asked softly.

"Think the granola bars are kicking in." Grant sighed, sat up carefully. "Let's get this over with."

They started with peeling off Grant's jacket, and two button-down shirts. "Haven't worn a t-shirt since Anchorage," he muttered, letting his left arm fall back into his lap.

Phil nodded silently. He remembered the shock of Grant's body hitting his, in time with the crack of Garrett's gun. That bullet had ended up in Grant's shoulder, rather than Phil's brain.

He frowned at Grant's torso, counting three puckered spots of skin, obvious gunshot scars. "Where'd you get those?"

Grant had already started to shiver slightly, and sat forward instead of back against the cold cinderblock wall. He took a moment to reply. "Garrett. On the Bus. Trying to get Fitzsimmons."

Phil was kneeling in front of him where he sat on the bench, so he could look up into Grant's face. There was a distance in Grant's gaze he understood, but didn't like. "Jemma was sure you were dead. She said you got shot at least six times. Fitz was heartbroken."

A spark in the dark brown eyes, a twitch of the lips. "He's a good kid. Leo the lion, bravest of them all."

"But Garrett kept you alive."

A nod, and Grant looked away.

Phil took a deep breath, quelling the anger and sadness that welled in him, and reached slowly to cup Grant's cheek, press his fingers to sweat-sticky too-warm skin.

"I'm glad you're alive."

A glance at him, before Grant's eyes welled up, and he covered them with one hand. Phil's heart cracked a little; four hours since rescue and this was the first time he’d seen tears from from Grant.

Grant slid his hand over on top of Phil's, now hiding his face behind both of them, but he gripped Phil's fingers painfully tight. He said nothing, but a few deep breaths later, he let go, sat straighter, rubbed his eyes.

"Okay, let's move."

They had to cut the waistbands of his jeans and underwear above the injured leg to get those off anywhere close to comfortably, and then Phil turned on the water, giving it time to warm. Grant would need that; Phil hated hearing the little teeth chatters and quick breaths behind him as he collected the company-issue soap and shampoo from a shelf, along with washcloths and a clean towel. Koenig deserved a raise for keeping this place so well-stocked, Phil thought.

At last he helped Grant gently to his feet, and half-carried him into the now-steaming shower, lowering him to sit in the chair Fitz had brought.

A little gasp escaped Grant as the warm water hit him, before he relaxed, tilted his head back to let it wash over his face. Phil moved back to the curtained entrance, awkward and uncertain now. He'd set the soap and things within Grant's reach, but it wouldn't be easy for him to wash himself in his current state. He decided to wait for Grant to ask before he tried to help any further.

He had a sudden sharp recollection of being a child in the bathroom doorway, watching his mother help his father bathe, near the end when the cancer had robbed him of his strength. It was the same mixture of embarrassment, helplessness, and love that filled Phil now.

Sweat beaded on his brow, and he became aware of his heavy jacket and boots, and the water splashing on the cement floor. He left the coat, socks, and boots on the bench, along with his watch, rolling up his sleeves as he walked back to the shower stall.

That was when Phil finally saw the bullet scar clearly, stark on Grant's flushed skin. A dent the size of a quarter in his left shoulder, red and purple lines radiating outward in a strange sort of shatter pattern.

In the narrow space, Grant's back was only an arm's length away, but Phil hesitated to touch him, afraid to startle him. He'd carried that wound for two months– How had he ever survived? How had he kept going? Kept spying and shooting and moving.

"Coulson," Grant was saying. "Dad!"

He blinked, shook his head, cleared his throat. "Yes?"

Grant had his head down, turned, but not quite looking back at him. His hand holding the shampoo bottle was trembling. "Can you-?"

"Of course."

Water droplets pattered against his arms, darkened his sleeves as he worked a lather into Grant's hair, careful and awkward at first, before settling down to the job. He could feel Grant relaxing under his hands, and bit back a smile.

"Feeling better?" he murmured, as soapy grey water slid down the drain.

Grant's only reply was a grunt.

"Just don't fall asleep," Phil warned. "You can do that when they knock you out in the med bay."

"Won't need to knock me out," Grant mumbled.

No, they probably wouldn't, Phil thought. At this rate, he'd be carrying Grant down to the med bay.

"Anything else I can do?" he asked aloud, dropping his right hand to Grant's shoulder.

Grant said nothing, just held up a washcloth, and Phil silently took it.

He eased back a step, as Grant leaned forward, and was thinking of how gentle he'd have to be when he paused, staring at Grant's back.

The bullet hole wasn't the only scar there. There were other, older lines, cuts, burns that almost looked like finger prints, and... was that-?

"Grant. What is this?" He could barely hear his own whisper over the running water.

"What-?" Grant started, before he froze under Phil's touch.

Phil's stomach churned as he traced the raised flesh, the hollow-eyed skull and the eight curling tentacles. Bile rose in his throat, hot and scalding, but he swallowed it back. "Who did this to you?" He hated how his voice broke, how tears burned behind his eyes.

"Sorry, Garrett's already dead."

With a curse, Phil turned away, slammed a fist into the metal wall, but Grant's flinch yanked him back from the anger better than the pain in his knuckles did.

A deep breath, before he found a word. "Why?"

Grant seemed to shrink under his gaze, curling under the weight of that awful brand. But his words came as steadily as they would in any debriefing. "He said I was his. After I– I tried to escape. They tortured me, but he wouldn't let me die. And then he had me branded. To make sure everyone knew which master to send the mutt back to.

"Did you know?" He sat straighter, as if the bitter words gave him strength, glanced over his shoulder up at Phil. "Did he tell you he came to recruit me? In juvie? He got to the detention centre ten minutes after we left. He wanted me for HYDRA. But you beat him to it." A rusty laugh. "The way he harped on that, you would have thought you'd done it on purpose." He sighed, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "After- after I broke, after I shot Firenze... he said he won. He said he got me in the end."

The warmth on Phil's cheeks was not water; it stung in his eyes, burned in his throat. Words, where were they? What was he supposed to say?

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. We should have searched harder, we should have found you, I should have saved you. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came.

Blinking away tears, he looked down to where his hands rested on Grant's shoulders, water pattering over his fingers and dripping steadily down from his wrists... washing over those scars. On the right, the brand of HYDRA. On the left, the shattered mark earned from saving Coulson. He wished suddenly that the brand could have been on the left, could have been punched through by that bullet. Because which one had been Grant's choice?

"He didn't."

It came out in a croak, and Phil cleared his throat.

"He didn't get you in the end. You were willing to die to save me. The whole time he thought he had you, you were waiting to turn it back on him. He might have had your hands tied, but he didn't have you."

Grant sat quite still in front of him, head bowed, and suddenly Phil needed to see his face, to make sure Grant understood the truth. He ignored how water soaked his shirt as he stepped around to turn the shower off, and in the ringing hush, sank into a crouch in front of Grant.

Naked, dripping, hungry, exhausted, scarred, and in pain—this was Grant Ward at his most vulnerable. Phil only hoped he could get it right, could say and be whatever it was Grant needed most right now.

"Grant," he murmured.

A sniff, a shaky exhale, a hand rubbed across his face, but Grant did not look up.

Phil shifted to one knee, reaching up to cup the back of Grant's neck, rest their heads together. "You did what you had to do to survive."

Grant shook his head, drew back. When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed and wet. "You taught me a long time ago there was more to life than survival."

"I trust your judgement on the cost. You're a good man, Grant. Making the hard choices doesn't change that."

Tears brimmed over, and he turned his face away again.

"You stayed alive," Phil whispered. "And I'm grateful."

A shudder under Phil's hand, and then a sob broke out, Grant shaking his head hard. "But I didn't! I didn't try to survive! He wouldn't let me die."

How could his heart hurt anymore? Phil wondered. Not that he could really pretend surprise. Torture could push people in all kinds of directions. But he needed to keep Grant talking, dig out whatever was festering in his heart.

"What do you mean?" he whispered.

"This scar," Grant gulped, lifted a shaking hand to the pink line running down from in front of his right ear to under his jaw. "That wasn't Garrett. That was me."

And now he was sobbing, slumping forward against Phil's chest. As gently as he could, Phil wrapped an arm over Grant's back, their positions making it awkward to offer more physical comfort.

He wished he had a towel to wrap around Grant's shoulders, knowing the chill would get to him sooner or later. Cool water was dripping down inside his collar, and the hard floor was hurting his knee, but Grant had a fistful of his shirt, and Phil would not have pulled away for the world. He pressed his cheek against wet hair, and closed his eyes.

"What happened, Grant? Talk to me. This is our debriefing. Just us. Talk to me."

"He told me they were dead," Grant choked out. "Fitzsimmons. But he kept me alive. Tortured me. No food. No water. Alone. In the dark. For weeks." A last sob shuddered through him, and he subsided to ragged breathing. He was collecting himself, trying to explain coherently. "Garrett wanted to break me. I tried to escape, but–" a deep shaky inhale "–they caught me. Beat me. When I woke up... he branded me. And I..." His voice caught, and he shook his head, shivered.

"I'm sorry, Dad, I'm so sorry."

That tearful whisper tore at Phil's heart, and a couple warm drops slipped down his own cheeks.

"For what?" Even though he knew the answer.

"I was supposed to die bravely. But I couldn't. I wanted it to end! I just wanted... it to stop, so I tried. I stole a knife, went for the carotid. When I woke up... Garrett said I wouldn't get away that easy.

"I gave in, Dad." Another round of sobs threatened, but he fought them back. "I wasn't trying to be a double agent, I just... wanted to eat every day. I wanted to wake up and not hurt. I don't even remember the Treehouse. Because he was right. I was no better than a dog."

"Grant Douglas Ward." His voice came out too loud, and he tried to soften it with a hand on Grant's cheek. "Look at me." He stared into bloodshot brown eyes, gripped Grant's face gently. "Sometimes heroes have to start by saving their own lives. And yours is worth it." A thumb stroked deliberately down the knife's old path. "So thank you. Thank you for surviving. I'm proud of you, son."

More tears, but quieter now, both of them worn and chilled.

Phil leaned in to press a warm kiss to Grant's forehead. "Come on," he murmured. "We better finish up and get you in some dry clothes."

"Okay."

As he stood though, Grant caught his hand, squeezed it. "I love you, Dad." His tiny tired smile was like the sun breaking through clouds.

It took a moment before Phil could answer.

"I love you, son."

He tried to move quickly, cleaning Grant's back, and helping him wash around the splint. The little gasps from Grant at any movement of his leg, told him the anesthetic had run his course, and his kid belonged in the med bay ten minutes ago.

But at the same time there seemed to be something lighter in Grant's eyes, in his air, and Phil was certain their conversation had been a good thing. What was that saying? The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable? Well, they'd gotten some of the misery out of the way.

Getting Grant dry and dressed was an arduous process, but at last he sat on the bench, clad in the borrowed flannels and Phil's jacket, preferable because of its zipper. Phil discarded his soaked button down, and took the t-shirt and sweater. May had forgotten socks, so he gave Grant his own, kneeling in front of him to gently ease on one and then the other, at least as far as it could go on the wounded leg.

As Phil hastily laced his boots, he glanced sideways at Grant's pale face, and closed eyes, the way he slumped back against the wall, still shivering.

"I'm carrying you." Not a question, a decision.

"You always carry me."

The words were barely audible, and he wondered if Grant had meant to say that aloud. But he clearly meant for Phil to hear him as he was set gently on the elevator floor, Fitz and Trip fussing around his leg. As Phil made to stand, Grant caught his sleeve, spoke soft but steady. "I'm glad I'm alive too."

Phil could only nod and smile.

Grant was asleep on his shoulder by the time the elevator stopped.

#um... sorry?#this took forever and got super angsty and i am so sleepy right now i hope it made sense #yes grant and bobbi know each other and yes they call each other that because bobbi took the mockingbird title from laura and grant has #always wanted to be as good a marksman as hawkeye so yeah. clint and laura are like older siblings to them #grant ward #phil coulson #antoine triplett #jemma simmons #leo fitz #melinda may #skye #bobbi morse #agents of shield #saving grant ward au #my writing #comfy vember 2024 #scars

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icarusredwings · 1 month ago

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Baby Evelyn update

Todays the day.

Todays the day Wade gets to hold Rachel. Despite protests from both sides, Logan worried he would drop the baby, scott a bit too possessive of her, but Jean had already decided it was important that Rachel become accustomed to different looking mutants from a young age.

Kurt had already had his go, being super careful with the darling child as well as Hank and Gambit who immediately got looks from Rouge as if he were a home cooked deep fried pork chop, collard greens and corn bread dinner.

Rachel had cried with each of them. Every single person, only stopping her crying when spoken to and shushed. Well- not Hank. He gave Rachel back instantly, worried he upset her with his appearance.

Logan had already heard about this and was worried. What if Rachel cried too much and it made Wade feel terrible? He knew if Wade dropped her Jean would personally find a way to permanently kill him, so this worried him just as much, deciding to stay close by so he could scoop up the baby if Wade panicked.

From the moment he saw her, Wade gasped, Squealing and flapping his hands in excitment.

"Logan!! That's a baby!" He announced, as if he was blind or something.

Swallowing, Logan gave a look to Jean. "Are you positive about this?"

She nods. "I am. Ive seen in there. He would never purposely hurt a child."

"You've only seen 2 seconds' worth." He scoffed, the fur on the back of his neck rising up as she slowly handed Rachel to him, who automatically supported the back of her neck and brought her close to his body.

For a coulple seconds he just stared at her the way Wade stared at all things little like babies and puppies, kittens, and even baby opossums. He just was pure like that. Sure, he could merc an evil 17 year old or hell, even a 15 year old but a baby? An infant who couldn't even sit up? There's no way in hell. No amount of money could overdrive his fraternal drive to be a good father.

It wasn't until Wade said "Hi baby" and smiled so widely that Rachel started crying, whining and calling for her mama. "Oh no- don't cry. It's okay. Come'ere. It's alright, baby... shh." He says, putting her into his pec as he bounced her and patted her softly.

Jean smiles at him, giving Logan that look of 'I told you so' when Rachel stops crying.

But Logan only blinks. Rachel didn't stop crying because of Wade. She was staring directly at Logan, reaching out a little hand for him.

Hesitantly, he put his finger out, letting Rachel take his finger. Her hand was so tiny... she was practically a spittin image of Jean minus a few features, like that scrunch in her tiny brow. That was definitely Scotts.

Her eyes were a copy and paste of Jean's, her hair a little darker, more copper than the bright red he knew her for.

Seeing this, Wade grins, turning her to see Logan better. The finger grip became tighter as she giggled, coeing nonsense.

"Now don't go pulling a twilight on the baby, Loagie." He teases, though the way Logan stared at the infant made his smile small.

"...Loagie?"

"What's 'pulling a twilight'?" Jean asks, not very concerned in how captivated the man was in the tiny fingers holding him.

"There's this werewolf guy, and he inprints on Bella's baby. It's weird."

It was now that she frowned a bit. "You're imprinting on Rachel?"

Still staring, Logan gave a soft shake of the head. "What? No! He's just messing around...She just.. wont let go.." he says, blinking again. He couldn't stop staring at her. Litsening to every giggle and coe. As if he was supposed to have memories of his own daughters like this... but didn't..

"Ohh, right.. this is your first time getting to know a baby in a long time, isn't it?" Wade asks, knowing that, biologically, his wolvie didn't have any children. None that were alive anyway. So, seeing a baby must be different for him.

"Huh?"

"I was saying-"

"Can... can I hold her?" He asks, glancing to Jean who was curious about what was going on in Logan's head, but nodded. "Why don't you sit with her and Ill go make her a bottle. Don't drop her or ill kill you~" She sings but Logan knows shes serious. He chuckles. "I know you will."

And so he did, sitting on the couch in the lounge room with the small baby, staring at her, his grip a bit too much. Wade whines, leaning over the side of the couch with a sigh. "I was supposed to hold her.."

"You did hold her."

"Well it's my turn again!"

Reaching his hand out to take Rachel back, Logan grabbed his wrist, looking at him like he couldn't relax enough to let Wade's actions slide.

"Ooh.. Wolvie.." He slowly smirks, pulling his hand away, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "You like her!"

"No.. she's just.. fragile." He says.

"But im careful with her. Besides, you don't act like this with Evelyn!"

".. Evelyn can't giggle like this.." He mumbles, letting the baby try to break her teeth in on his finger, a soft fond smile coming to his face.

The man behind him pouts at first, slightly jealous before slowly realizing that neither Logans got to hold baby Laura or even infant Gabby. So this must be a whole new thing for him. Something he never got to do and missed out on.

Before he could mention possibly giving him this experience, Leo came to curl up on the couch next to him, laying against the Wolverine. Lions usually didn't get along with Wolvies in the wild, but this one adored Logan, his personal mentor.

"Hey kid... do you wanna see?"

Shifting to look at the baby, his tail swished softly. "Did you and Ms. Summers have a baby, Mr. Logan?"

"No, they did not."

Before either of them could awnser, Scott had come downstairs, probably looking for his wife and newly born daughter.

"Rachel is my daughter... Shouldn't you be in class?"

Leo whined a bit, flickering his tail a bit annoyed. ".. I don't like gym with Mr. Wagner.. he doesn't play fair." The child complains, simply wanting to nap.

"Kurt plays fair, Leo. You just get discouraged because you dont like that you cant pounce on him when he poofs away. Trust me.. been there." Logan tells him, giving him a nod of his head, gesturing him to get back to class before Kurt had a heart attack for losing a kid.

Wade ruffles the kids' hair, smirking. "Come on, kitty cat... before the cat fight starts." He mutters under his breath, taking Leo back outside to his class, leaving the modern day Jacob and Edward to fight over their red headed Bella, who was still in the kitchen, unaware of the stare down currently happening.

"...She's beautiful." It's Logan who looks away first, knowing this wasn't his child to defend. As much as he felt it in his bones, there was no reason to protect her from invisible danger.

"Just like her mother." The headmaster mumbles, reaching for her.

Reluctantly, Logan finally gave her up, prying Rachels small hand off his pointer finger.

Watching how Scott took her and held her close made him wonder..

"...Slim."

"What is it, Logan?"

For a moment, He was quiet, trying to think of how to say it. "...You didn't get to raise Nathan... right?"

"No.. what does that have to do with anything?"

"So.. this is your first baby."

"Yeah.. she cries a lot at night, but.. shes my everything.."

Logan snickers. "Yeah.. I can tell. You look like shit."

"Oh wow, thanks...wait why do you ask?"

".... I didn't get to raise Laura.. or Gabby... Or.. really any of them.."

At first, Scott wanted to ask what that has to do with him, what do you want me to do about it? But just sighed, finally letting himself drop the 'I know what i'm doing, im the leader' confidence act.

"I won't lie.. It's rough.. I don't have any baby pictures of him. I dont even know what he got for his 5th birthday. Or his 18th. I don't.... I don't know anything about my own son.. and it's not like he visits.. at least you always know where yours are.." He admits.

Logan frowns, thinking about this. He hated how he felt so similarly. He didn't even know Laura until recently. Not as a person. He didn't even know her favorite color. But now he knew everything. Her favorite foods, what movies she liked, her fashion sense, who she's crushed on, who she currently is crushing on. And he was grateful that she trusted him enough to tell him all these things... so he could only imagine what it would be like if she wasn't in town, let alone in the same decade as him.

"...I think Wade wants a baby.."

Scott turned, giving him a 'wtf' glance and brow scrunch that made Logan chuckle. Yup.. Rachel was definitely Scottys..

"That's... God do I need to put him in Gambits sex ed class?"

He snorted, laughing. It made his face soften, looking at him with a fondess that was old and dried up. Only becoming watered very briefly once every couple of months.

"Maybe! Heh.. no but... really. And.. its not like I would mind but-" he took a deep breath, grabbing at the old sunwashed jeans. "Im scared.."

"What?" Theres that scrunch again.

"You're the Wolverine.. you don't GET scared.."

"I know.. but I am. What if I... what if I mess up? What if.. I dont know. What if Im the worst dad ever? I've never raised a baby before.. not like this." Logan spits out, groaning as his hand goes to his face, leaning forward.

"Psh.. you really are nothing like him are you?"

"What?"

"The other Logan- My.. Logan.. would never even worry about that. Let alone talk to ME about it."

"Why?"

"Because I'd tell you that you're a massive moron."

Logan gives him a side eyed glare. "Wow... thanks.. feel so much better now.."

Scott smirks. "No. Look- Do you know how many times Gabrielle ends up in my office?"

"Yes. I know. She has a biting problem. We are working on it-" He groans, leaning back into the sofa.

"Yes but you KNOW those things... I don't even know WHERE my son is. And you know exactly whos room shes in right now."

"Poor, Ro.."

"Poor Gabrielle." Scott mumbles. "My point is.. you've always been... aware... noticeable.. of things that other people aren't. And I think... I think you would be a great dad. Sure, you get paid in dirty diapers and shitty sleep but.. its worth it."

The two smile at the baby, who was still coeing up a storm, gabbing and giggling.

"Shes very vocal for such a young age.."

"See? I didn't even realize.." He trails off before sighing and standing with a grunt. "Gotta go find mommy. Don't we, my sunshine?" He coes back, nuzzling the tiny thing with his nose. "Whew! And maybe change you... well.. Bye Logan.."

"Bye Cyk...Bye Rachel." He says, watching him walk off as he started humming,

Logan sees as he meets up with Jean, taking the bottle and leaning against her, kissing her head and little rachel kicking her feet, excited to see her mother.

A deep sigh comes from him, getting up as he goes to find Wade. Okay.. okay, you can do this its only a couple of words. It won't be hard. And they're already married so what was the big deal? Nothing to worry about now.

"Wade-" He enters the basketball court.

"I wanna breed you."

The court goes silent, children staring and some compemtly dropping their basketballs. Even Kurt drops from the place he was hanging, landing on his head in shock. "Wha!?- YEowuch!"

"...Peanut...This is a class..."

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