Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Logan, if you’re going to teach history, maybe make sure you understand it all,” Storm said.

“I do understand it,” Logan huffed. “Hell, I lived through most of it.”

She shook her head. “You understand it from your point of view. You might need to head to the library to do some studying this summer before next semester.”

“Library?”

Storm laughed. “Yes, Logan. The library. It’s on the first floor, it’s like the whole right wing. We have a librarian and everything. She’s really sweet. You might even like her.”

So Logan went to the library for the first time. And that’s when he finally met you. You were sitting cross-legged behind the main desk, glasses slipping down your nose, buried in a stack of books taller than some of the students. You didn’t even notice Logan until he cleared his throat loud enough to scare the daylights out of a nearby student.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, looking up at him, glasses skewed on your face. “Sorry, uh— hi! How can I help you?”

Logan stared for a second, caught off guard by how sweet you sounded and how fast you talked. He glanced at the sign on the desk— Librarian: Miss L/N— then looked back at you. “Uh, Storm said I should do some ‘research for the history classes I’m teaching. Can you point me to those sections?”

“Of course!” You hopped up. “History would be aisles six through seven,” you started walking. “Except…”

You paused. Then you suddenly shook your head and darted into another aisle. Curious, Logan peered down the aisle to see you grab a book and come back and join him.

“Students,” you mumbled, waving the book. “They do try to test me. Anyway, history is aisles six and seven. But if you want government records, then those are eight through ten. Or there’s the good stuff— the personal accounts, diaries, things that feel like people talking instead of textbooks— I’ve got a stash in the room behind my desk.”

You stopped in aisle seven, which was labeled on the bookshelf, and slipped the book you found into place. Then you led Logan over to a corner table.

“You can do your research here,” you offered. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Then you were gone.

~~~

That night, Logan caught Storm before she headed to bed.

“Hey, ‘Ro,” he called, “how long as that, uh, librarian worked here?”

“For almost a year,” she replied. “Y/N is her name, if you didn’t ask that today. She sticks mostly to the library and isn’t included on any missions.”

“Why? What’s her powers?”

“You could just ask her, you know?”

“Storm.”

“Fine. She kinda has two powers. First, she’s a living index. She can mentally categorize and track the location of any item in her vicinity. Books, objects, even people if she focuses, but that takes a lot of energy from her. She also has something called bibliomancy. She can instantly understand and retain any written material— in any language— just by touching it. And with some focus, she can even see the emotional imprints left on historical documents. It what makes her the perfect librarian.”

Logan nodded, realizing that he had witnessed come of your power in action today.

“She would be a good resource for your lessons, Logan,” Storm said with a smirk. “Or maybe, good for you.” Then she slipped into her room.

~~~

The next day, Logan found the corner desk cleaned up and left with pencils, pens, highlighters, and various sizes of sticky notes. All neatly organized. There was also a book on the desk with a sticky note on it. He leaned over and read it.

A good place to start your research. - Y/N (the librarian)

Logan couldn’t help but form a small smirk across his lips. That’s how it all started. Logan expected to hate being in the library, but somehow you made it bearable. You weren’t pushy, just passionate and kind of ridiculous, in an endearing way. You talked fast when you got excited. You tripped over your words sometimes, apologized too much, and made strange little jokes under your breath that you didn’t think anyone heard. He heard all of them and they made him smirk when he thought about them later.

The corner desk was freshly cleaned and organized each day before he arrived. So Logan begun brining you coffee. You always took it with both hands like it was an extra special gift.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said bashfully, the third day in.

He grunted and looked away. “Didn’t want you fallin’ asleep on the Dewey Decimal System.”

That made you laugh and your laugh tugged at Logan’s heart.

~~~

Logan continued coming daily as the weeks came back. He always said it was to look for more lesson material, but deep down you knew he was coming to see you. Sometimes you’d sit with him when you had nothing else to do. You’d show him the historical documents you had and allowed him insight into your powers. One day, you started ranting about the emotion you felt in a mutant journal you had in the library. Logan simply leaned back and listened like it was the most important thing in the world.

You, in turned, noticed things about him. Like the way he held books gently, like they mattered. Especially if you’d talked about it before. Or the way he pretended to be gruff, but always checked in on those students who were staying for the summer. You caught him reading a book you recommended in the kitchen once, brows furrowed, so into it he didn’t notice you passing by. You smiled for the rest of the day.

Months went on like that, small moments mostly shared in the library. You had helped Logan create a curriculum for his class, yet he still kept coming. Not that you were going to complain. You begun recommending different books to him— not just history— and it shocked you when he read them.

Sometimes, you caught him watching you from the corner where he ‘worked’— books opened, but barely touched. You’d glance up and find him with his arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed like he was studying you.

“You reading me or the book?” You teased.

“I’m pretty sure the book doesn’t taught when I drop a pen,” he grunted.

You ducked your head, flushed. “I was trying to laugh quietly.”

One time, you were reaching for a massive volume on the top shelf of the archives— precariously balancing on an old wooden ladder— when Logan walked in and just lifted you down without a word.

“Logan!” You yelped. “I had that!”

“Uh-huh,” he said, effortlessly grabbing the book himself. “And sone strong gust of wind would’ve had you in the infirmary.”

You crossed your arms. “You know, for someone who walks into danger for a living, you’re weirdly obsessed with safety.”

He hands you the book with a smirk. “Yeah. When it comes to you, I am.”

You forgot how to speak for a full thirty seconds.

One late evening, you dozed off at your desk— open notebook beside your hand, glasses askew. He found you like that and didn’t wake you. Instead, he took off his flannel and gently draped it over your shoulders. The next morning, you immediately noted the scent of cedar and firewood surrounding you. You kept the flannel with you for the rest of the day.

~~~

It had been a long day. The fall semester had just started and Logan had spent most of it trying to teach a room full of mutant hormonal teenagers why revolutions started. Most of them couldn’t even spell the word revolution. He was one paper cut away from quitting when he stalked into the library that afternoon. Everything immediately softened.

You were sitting at your desk, glasses low on your nose, a pencil tucked behind one ear, and a mug of some lukewarm liquid forgotten beside you. You were writing notes in a notebook with one hand while the other rested on a leather-bound journal. You looked up when you heard him and smiled.

“Rough day?” You questioned gently, noticed how tense he was.

He grunted. “Understatement.”

You nodded. “You want your table?”

Logan didn’t answer right away, you were already standing. He watched you, the way you moved— careful, graceful in that absentminded way of people who lived half their lives in their own heads.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Table’s good.”

You walked slightly ahead of him, not pressing him to talk. You placed a fresh copy of The Old Man and the Sea on the table like a peace offering.

“You said you liked the way Hemingway doesn’t waste time on flower language,” you said, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “This one’s short. Barely any metaphor.”

He narrowed his eyes at the book. “That code for ‘sad ending’?”

You shrugged. “That’s for you to find out.”

He sat down and you lingered, like you weren’t quite ready to part just yet. And then— out of nowhere— you dropped a little fact like you always did. Something random and useless to most people.

“Did you know Hemingway wrote the last page of this in one sitting?” You said. “He rewrote the rest almost fifty times, but that last page? He never touched it again.”

He stared at you and something clicked inside of him. It wasn’t loud or dramatic or like lightning. It was simply a quiet little truth, settling into place. He was falling for you. For your quiet voice and your messy notes. For the way you lit up talking about old books and dead authors. For your ridiculous facts and your kind eyes and your complete inability to walk past a shelf that’s not perfectly organized. Logan didn’t say anything to you, just looked back at the book.

“You do this on purpose,” he muttered.

You tilted your head. “What?”

“Make me care about this stuff. Books. Characters. History.”

You smiled. “Maybe.”

He huffed and opened the book. You didn’t walk away. You sat down near him, grabbed a different book and began reading. The two of you sat like that for almost an hour. There was no talking, just the soft turning of pages. Logan never felt more at peace. He didn’t know what this was exactly between you, but he knew he’d do whatever he could to keep it safe.

~~~

You didn’t notice at first. It happened slowly— like ink spreading across the page. You were resolving poetry books. Logan was at his usual table, pretending to read. He had one leg propped up with glasses (that you suspected were fake) perched on the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly, he held up a paperback— some beat-up crime novel you recommended— and muttered, “This guy solves a murder in 200 pages and still makes time to fall in love. What the hell am I doing wrong?”

You snorted, not even looking at him. “Being emotionally unavailable and allergic to open communication?”

You meant it as a joke, he knew that. But he still paused.

Then, quietly, he said, “I’m workin’ on that.”

And your heart— your poor, quiet, book-loving heart— did something completely stupid. It skipped. You looked up. His face was open, honest, and vulnerable. You realized that he meant it. He was trying for you.

That night, after he left,, you sat alone at your desk for a long time. You were falling for him. Not in a dramatic, sweeping way you often read about. But in the quiet and comfortable way that has built up over the months since he first stepped foot in the library. You were falling for the man who carried your books without asking. Who somehow remembered your favorite quotes. Who watched you like you were worth listening to. No one had every done any of that. And that scared you.

~~~

It started on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, a few weeks into the fall semester. The library was humming— low voices, shuffling paper, the soft thud of books. It felt safe, untouchable. You were near the back, working with a few students. One was hopelessly lost in MLA citation. Another was trying to translate Shakespeare into slang. You smiled as you juggled questions, your voice calm and steady.

Then the lights flickered. Once and then again. Everything stopped and everyone looked up. And the the fire alarms screamed. It was the kind of sound that split your bones. It was shrill and immediate and telling you that something was very wrong. The students jumped. Smoke began curling out from the air vents— thin at first, but growing fast. You smelled burning plastic, insulation and wires. It was an electrical fire. Fast, unpredictable, and deadly.

You forced your voice to stay calm even though your hands had gone cold. “We’ve practiced this,” you told the students. “Remember what we do. Single file. Stay low. Go.”

You moved quickly, but not frantically. You were steady and in control. You counted heads and kept your voice even. The students needed calm. If they saw you panic, they’d fall apart.

The smoke thickened and something cracked overhead. You heard a distant explosion, the building groaning under its own heat. Somewhere, a student shouted and another screamed.

“Go!” You urged the students. “Jamie, come on!”

But Jamie didn’t move. The boy stood frozen, near the center aisle, eyes wide with panic. Sparks flickered around his fingers— uncontrolled and crackling. He was overloaded, his mutation reacting to his fear. You needed to get the other students out.

“I’ll be back for you, Jamie!” You shouted, ushering the others towards the exit.

~~~

Logan was in the gym. His wrists were wrapped as he used the punching bag. He was trying to turn through the restless energy that never seemed to leave him. Then he heard the alarms and the screaming.

“Fire!” Someone shouted from the hallway. “In the library!”

His heart stopped. He dropped everything and ran. He didn’t wait for orders or to ask who was helping, because you were in there. And he couldn’t handle if anything happened to you.

The hallways were chaos. Smoke filled the upper floors. Students were pouring down the stairwells, coughing and crying. Teachers shouted orders. Storm shot past Logan in the opposite direction, calling for the mutant students who could help calm the flames. Logan sprinted towards the library. He turned the last corner and saw you. You were shoving the last student through the doorway, soot staining your face, with one arm held over your mouth. Your eyes met his, but you were already turning to head back in. The ceiling had already began to collapse between Logan and the library.

“Logan!” You shouted, voice ragged, smoke already eating at your lungs. “Jamie— Jamie’s still in there!”

He didn’t think or hesitate. “I’m comin’!” He yelled. “Just wait!” But you didn’t. “Y/N— damn it!”

Logan’s claws slid out with a sharp shnk, glinting through the dark. He charged in. The heat hit him like a wall. Wood burned, and the walls and ceilings buckled. He cut through his way and found you a second later, kneeling beside Jamie, trying to coax him with a shaking voice.

Logan scooped the boy up in one arm and ordered, “Go. Now!”

You nodded, stumbling after him, one hand against his back to keep balance. You were halfway to the door when it happened. The ceiling groaned. Logan stopped mid-step. A massive beam broke loose from above. Wood and plaster shattered around it. The beam crashed down between you, throwing you backwards and blocking your path to the exit. The shelves near you tipped, collapsing in a chain reaction, pinning you, one leg trapped beneath splintered shelves, the heavy support beam burning at one end.

“NO!” Logan roared.

“Logan!” You shouted, voice breaking. “I’m stuck!”

Logan shoved Jamie towards the door. “Someone get the kid!” Then he turned back and charged into the fire. He jumped over the beam and crouched beside you. “Don’t move. I’ve got you. I swear.”

You looked up at him— eyes wide and scared and full of trust. “Please… Don’t— Don’t let me die in here.”

“Never.”

Logan wrapped his arms around the beam. It was heavier than it looked and heating up with the fire. It seared his skin where it touched him, but he didn’t stop. He roared and lifted, muscles shaking. With a final, desperate yell, he threw it aside. You practically collapsed forward into him, coughing violently, body going limp in his arms.

“I got you,” he breathed, catching you. “I got you, sweetheart. You’re alright.”

And then, another crack sounded. The entire floor behind you dropped a foot with a thunderous boom. Logan didn’t think. He scooped you into his arms, turned, and leapt just as the last of the ceiling gave way. The world came down behind the two of you. He hit the ground hard, shielding you with his body as flaming debris rained across his back. Pain flared but his healing kicked in and his grip never loosened.

“Over here!” Scott yelled. “We’ve got them!”

But Logan didn’t move. He stayed on the floor, arms around you, breathing hard.

“Get me a damn stretcher!” Hank shouted.

You stirred. “Lo—Logan?” You whispered, his name barely making it past your lips.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered roughly. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Your hand curled weakly into his shirt before your eyes fluttered closed again, body sagging. And Logan— battered, bloody, and breathless— held you tighter.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he whispered into your hair, voice breaking. “Don’t you ever…”

They had to pry you from his arms. He followed behind the med team like a ghost— soot-streaked, jaw clenched so tight his teeth shed. His shirt was burned straight through in places, but he didn’t notice or feel it. He only saw you, laying on the stretcher, limp and unmoving.

“You said she’s breathing,” he growled at Hank once you were in the infirmary. “So why the hell won’t she wake up?”

“She inhaled a lot of smoke,” Hank told him gently. “Her body’s in shock. She just needs rest.”

But Logan couldn’t rest. Not while you were laying there with machines practically breathing for you. Not while your cardigan— the one you always wore that had ink smudges on the sleeve— was cut down the middle and tossed in a bin like it meant nothing. You were always so careful, so prepared and so calm. He should’ve gotten there faster.

~~~

Hours passed. The infirmary emptied. Students checked in, then shuffled back to bed with minor burns or bruises. The library and a few offices were the only parts damaged by the fire, thankfully. Everyone said you were a hero. That you kept your head, got the kids out, and went back for one.

Logan couldn’t hear them. He couldn’t stand the praise. Not when he had the image of you pinned until the burning ceiling like his worst damn nightmare come true. He paced outside your room like a caged animal. Then eventually, he stepped inside. You looked small in the bed, swallowed by white sheets, wires, and tubes. Not to mention, the cast on your leg from where you had been pinned. He finally sat beside you, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“You should’ve let me get him,” he muttered. “You should’ve run.”

No answer, just the hiss of the oxygen line. He stared at the floor.

“You weren’t supposed to be in danger,” he continued, voice cracking. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt. I was supposed to— damn it… I was supposed to protect you.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, fingers digging into his eyes. “I’ve seen a lot of bad things. I’ve seen people die. I’ve killed people. And I’ve walked away from it every time. But I saw that ceiling start to fall and I thought—“ His breath hitched. “I thought, if I don’t get to her, if she dies in front of me—“

Logan couldn’t finish his thought. He looked at you then, really looked. Your lips were parted slightly. Your brow twitched in sleep. Your chest rose and fell so faintly it made his throat close.

“I don’t know was this is,” he whispered, reaching out and gently taking your hand. “You and me. But I need it. I need you.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve lived too long and lost too much to sit here and pretend like I’m not— like you down’t matter to me. You matter so damn much.”

He gave your hand a slight squeeze before standing. He began pacing against, too raw to stay still.

“I’ve been through wars, Y/N,” he continued. “Literal wars. I don’t panic. I don’t break.” He turned towards you, eyes wild. “But when I heard you scream my name— when I saw you trapped— I didn’t feel like the Wolverine. I felt like a man who was about to lose the best damn thing in his life.”

He paused, letting the silence swallow the confession. Then, slowly, he sat beside you again, taking your hand.

“I’m not good at this,” he whispered. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Your hand twitched, just barely. He froze and watched your fingers curl ever so slightly around his.

Then your lips moved, cracked and dry. “Logan?”

His head snapped up. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

You blinked slowly, eyes hazy but warm. “I knew… you’d come…”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “You’re damn right I did.”

~~~

The first few days after the fire were slow. You drifted in and out of sleep, lungs sore, throat raw, and muscles weak. Logan never left. He dozed in the corner in a chair far too small for his frame, arms crossed like he was trying not to fall apart. He read silently when you slept. Sometimes your favorite books, sometimes books you recommend him. He dog-eared the pages now, though— something you’d once jokingly told him was a criminal offense. You forgave him.

And when you stirred, no matter how late it was, his eyes opened instantly.

“You good?” He would ask, low and gravelly.

You would nod.

Then he’d pour your water, help you sit up, and tuck a blanket around your shoulders like it mattered.

~~~

It took four days before you were allowed to walk with crutches, only for a few feet. Hank suggested that you wait for a nurse.

Logan shut that down with a grunt. “I’m helping her.”

You leaned on him. You had crutches under your arms and his hand warm and steady against your back. Each step felt like a mile, but he didn’t rush you. He matched your pace without complaint, murmuring encouragement into your head like it wasn’t tearing him up to see you this fragile.

“You’re doing great, darlin’,” he murmured. “One more step. I got you.”

You did better than expected. Until you caught sight of your reflection in a hallway mirror. You paused and took yourself in. You looked like a ghost of yourself.

“I look awful,” you whispered.

Logan stepped in front of you immediately. “Hey.” You wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Hey.” He tilted your chin up with two fingers. “You look like someone who ran into a fire to save your students and lived to tell the tale. You look like someone who fought like hell. And you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in days.” You looked at him, stunned. “I’m not just sayin’ that to be nice.” You leaned into his chest then, and he held you without hesitation. “Let’s sit for a bit. You’ve earned it."

~~~

When you were strong enough to leave the infirmary, the first place you asked to go was the library. Or, what was left of it. Logan pushed your wheelchair through the blackened archway. Most of the debris had been removed. The air still smelled faintly of smoke. One half of the room was under reconstruction, while the other half was a staging area for what survived. Like your desk. It was charred at the corners, but still standing.

“I thought it would feel worse,” you whispered. “But it just makes me want to fix it.”

Logan smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Then let’s fix it.”

And you did. Not all at once, but slowly and together. Logan handled the heavy lifting— shelving, building, and hammering. You directed, sorted books, and drafted up a new cataloging system from scratch. You insisted on doing it right. He insisted on carrying every single box, even when it meant trips back and forth for hours.

One day, Logan caught you trying to lift a stack of reference books by yourself.

“What did I say about heavy lifting?” He reprimanded, taking the books from you.

You pouted. “That I shouldn’t do it.”

“Exactly. Now go back to bossin’ me around like you’re good at.”

You snored and flopped into the chair he kept beside your desk just for you. “Fine. But you’re doing the labeling next.”

He groaned dramatically.

~~~

The library was almost finished. The last shelves had been installed that morning. The paint on the walls was fresh, faintly smelling of cedar and hope. Books were still waiting to be shelved— new, old, and salvaged. But tomorrow, the doors would open again. Students would come back into the space.

Logan found you sitting in the middle of the library— on the floor, back against the last bookshelf, with a half-unpacked box of hardcovers beside you. You weren’t moving. He hesitated behind a shelf at first. He took in the sight of your shoulders hunched forward, hands gripping your sleeves, face buried in your arms. Then he heart the sound, soft and shaky. You were crying. He crossed the room in three strides and knelt beside you.

“Hey. Hey—“ His voice was gentle. “Talk to me.”

You lifted you head slowly, eyes red and glassy behind your glasses. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, wiping at your face with your sleeve. “I didn’t want anyone to see—“

“Too late… what’s wrong?”

You looked around the room. At the new shelves, at your desk that Logan had fixed up, and the corner you claimed for him. “I should be happy… I got it back. We rebuilt everything. But I keep thinking about that day. About how close it was. I smell smoke in the carpet still. I still dream about the beam coming down. About not making it out.”

He was quiet for a beat and then, “You almost didn’t… I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t think or stop. Just ran. And I was still almost too late.” Another tear slipped down your cheek, and Logan caught it with his thumb before you could. “I almost lost you. And I never—“ his voice cracked, “I never told you what you mean to me.”

Your breath hitched.

“You’re the first quiet I’ve ever liked,” he continued softly. “The first calm I didn’t want to run from. I come in here and it’s like… everything in me stops trying to fight… I kept tellin’ myself I’d wait. That you needed time. That maybe I was imagining it. But then I saw you lying there and I realized…” he swallowed. “I love you.”

You stared at him, eyes wide. “I love you too.” Logan froze. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had. It was so good— safe. But every time you walked in with a drink or fixed a shelf without being asked or quote Jane Austen just to make me smile—“ you laughed, “I fell a little more.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath since the fire. And then he pulled you in. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, just home. His arms wrapped around you, anchoring you in the silence, and you melted into him, face tucked under his chin. He kissed your temple, then your cheek, and then your lips. It was a soft, slow kiss, full of everything you’d both been too scared to say.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your lips. “Always.”

You nodded, arms tightening around his waist. “And I’ve got you.”

~~~

The next morning, you stood at the front desk, one hand wrapped around a still-steaming mug of coffee (from Logan, of course), the other smoothing down the table displays you’d been arranging since sunrise. A small vase of fresh flowers sat in the center, also from Logan though he hadn’t admitted it out loud. Just grunted and muttered something about ‘color’ before setting it down.

Logan came back just after seven, leaning in the doorway with a lopsided grin and another coffee in hand.

“You open yet?” He asked.

You smiled. “Always. At least for you.”

He strode over and set his coffee down, then pulled you gently into his arms. His hands curled agains your back, grounding. You leaned into his chest and closed your eyes. You breathing him in.

“Feels different,” you murmured.

“It is,” he said. “You’re mine now.”

“Took you long enough.”

He chuckled. “Took us long enough.”

~~~

The first few kids trickled in quietly. They looked around with reverence, whispering to each other about how it didn’t even smell like smoke anymore. Then came the regulars. Jamie was the first to say it. He paused in front o your desk and stared at Logan, who was pretending to organize the display table but was actually hanging around way too casually.

“Are you two, like, together now?” Jamie questioned.

You froze, but Logan didn’t flinch.

You cleared your throat. “Jamie—“

“Because if you are, that’s awesome,” Jamie grinned. “You guys were, like, a slow burn romance novel. Everyone knew. You just didn’t.”

Logan gave a small shrug. “Told you we weren’t subtle,” he muttered under his breath.

Jame waved a few other kids over. “Guys! It happened! They’re official!”

Soon, a small crowd of amused, excited students gathered around the front desk. They whispered, giggled, and pointed between the two of you like it was the best gossip of the year. You buried you face in your hands while Logan just crossed his arms and smirked.

“Alright,” he said gruffly, but not unkind. “You got ten more seconds to gawk before I assign everyone a ten-page paper on 20th-century revolutions.”

Groans echoed immediately before they scattered in seconds.

You blinked at him. “You wouldn’t actually—“

“I might,” he shrugged. “But they’re right.”

“About what?”

He reached over and pulled you into him. “You and me? Best damn slow burn I’ve ever read.”

Chapter Text

The week after you both confessed your feelings had been sweet. It was quiet and a little awkward. Logan still brought you coffee every morning with a kiss. You still saved him the same table in the library, but with more notes. You talked more and laughed more. And maybe stared a little longer than necessary, but who was to blame either of you. You share soft kisses occasionally, along with smiles and nervous looks.

You were just locking up the library for the evening, when you turned and suddenly Logan was there.

“Shit,” you breathed, pressing a hand to your chest. “You move too quiet.”

He chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t know you swear.”

“Try not to… what’s up?”

“I just— I wanted to catch you before you disappeared for the night.”

You smiled. “You’ve caught me.”

“I was thinkin’…”

You tilted your head. “That’s always a good start.”

He huffed out a small laugh, still not quite looking you in the eye. “I was thinkin’ maybe… you and me. We could, uh, I dunno. Go somewhere. Like, on purpose.”

Your heart fluttered. “Like a date?”

His eyes finally met yours. “Yeah. Like a real on. Not just me makin’ excuses to be in the library.”

You giggled. “I like those excuses.”

He shrugged. “Still got more if this goes bad.”

You took a step closer, reaching out so that your fingers brushed lightly against his. “It won’t.”

“So… you wanna?”

“Logan, of course I want to go on a date with you.”

He looked stunned for just a moment— like he wasn’t sure what he expected, but that answer had knocked the wind out of him. And then he nodded, lips twitching into a kind smile he gave only to you. “I’ll come up with something good.” His hands timidly came to your sides, pulling you in. He gave your lips a light kiss.

You smiled. “It already is.”

~~~

You were expecting something simple. Maybe coffee or a movie or a walk in the garden. What you didn’t expect was to find Logan standing outside your door in a fresh flannel and cleaned leather jacket, holding a picnic basket. You noticed how he looked deeply uncomfortable, like he might bolt.

“This is not a trick,” he muttered. “I swear.”

You held back a laugh. “Did you… pack dinner?”

His ears went pink. “Jean said you liked stars. And quiet. Figured the back hill would be better than a crowded restaurant.”

You gave him a peck on the cheek before smiling. “It’s perfect.”

~~~

The two of you walked in silence at first. It wasn’t awkward. Logan had the picnic basket in one hand and your hand in the other. When you reached the top of the grassy hill, Logan laid out a blanket like he’d done it a thousand times, though he clearly hadn’t. Then he opened the basket. Inside you found six sandwiches, a few bags of chips, two water bottles, a small thermos of coffee, and a flask of something strong.

“Fancy,” you teased, sitting down beside the basket.

He shrugged, joining you. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I made three kinds.”

You glanced at him. “You made all this?”

“Yeah, well, I’m tryin’ to impress ya.”

“Logan, we’ve already said ‘I love you’.”

“Still doesn’t mean I need to stop impressin’ you. Besides, it’s kinda hard to order takeout when Scott insists on background checks.”

You laugh, fully this time. Logan simply watches you, like the sound of your laughter is the only thing in the world that matters.

~~~

The stars were finally out. The two of you had eaten and drank and laughed more than you expected. Logan talked more than you’ve ever heard him talk— about motorcycles, teaching, how bad Scott is at poker, and the one time he got stuck in the elevator with Hank and a box of frogs.

Now, you’re curled up beside him on the blanket. The two of you are laying down, but not touching just yet.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Logan looked over, confused. “For what?”

“For this. For trying… most people haven’t with me.”

“Well, it’s easy to try when it’s you.” He leaned over and kissed you.

~~~

Back at the mansion, the two of you lingered at your bedroom door. Neither of you wanted to say goodnight. Logan was standing just a little too close, like his body couldn’t help it anymore. His hand was still holding yours.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said softly.

You nodded.

He leaned in, brushing your noses together before kissing you again. His hand let go of yours so that he could take a hold of your waist. Yours tangled into his jacket. When the kiss finally broke, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Was tonight okay?” He asked quietly.

“I’d like to do it again,” you replied.

“Tomorrow?”

You laughed. “You’re eager.”

“I waited a long time for you. Can’t pretend otherwise.”

~~~

The kitchen is its usual morning mess— half the adults are gathered for breakfast as students ran around. Storm was calmly pouring coffee while Scott argued with Kurt about whose turn it was to do dishes. You walked in with a soft smile on your lips, wearing your usual cardigan and glasses.

Jean caught your mood instantly, lifting an eyebrow at you. “Well, well,” she smirked into her mug.

You paused. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… you look like you had a very good night.”

You froze. Behind you, someone choked on their drink.

“Bobby,” Storm warned.

You kept your expression as neutral as you could. “I had dinner.”

“With Logan,” Jean added. “Picnic, stargazing, lots of staring?”

“… maybe.”

“Did he bring the thermos?” Storm looked at you knowingly.

“How did you know about the thermos?”

“Because I lent it to him and I told him not to screw the night up.”

You sat down, flustered. Logan walked in a moment later— causal and calm with his hands in his pockets. He surveyed the room until his eyes landed on you. He smirked, one reserved only for you.

You glared at him, glasses slipping down your nose. “They know.”

He shrugged, sitting beside you. “Yeah, well, it’s not like it was a secret.”

Scott muttered into his toast, “Help us all if Logan starts humming.”

Jean nudged you under the table, whispering, “He’s so into you.”

“I know,” you mumbled as Logan took your hand with a grin on his face.

~~~

Logan quickly became hopelessly addicted to touching you.

The Hallway

You were walking down the corridor with a few folders in hand when Logan passed you going the other way. He didn’t stop, just ran a hand low across your back in passing, warm and protective. You glanced over your shoulder. He smirked but kept walking.

The Pocket Tug

You were shelving books when he appeared behind you— hands full of coffee and muffins. Instead of setting them down like a normal person, Logan tugged gently on the back pocket of your jeans with two fingers to get your attention. You turned, amused.

“Your hands are full,” you teased.

He shrugged. “Didn’t mean I couldn’t say hi.” He leaned in and kissed you— soft and slow.

“Also, it’s ‘doesn’t’. Not ‘didn’t’.”

“Grammar police.”

Then he captured your lips again. He only released them when someone coughed from the doorway.

The Kitchen

You were making tea. Logan wasn’t even hungry, he could just sense you in there. He walked up behind you and slipped his arms around your waist, face buried in your shoulder.

“I’m trying to stir,” you mumble, smiling.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “You stir. I’ll hold.”

Reading

Logan found you on the couch in the library. Your feet were up, you had a thick look in your lap, and your glassed were slipping slightly. Without a word, Logan lied down and rested his head in your lap. He closed his eyes like this was the safest place in the world. You didn’t stop reading. Your hand found his hair and began to card through it.

~~~

Months later…

You’d fallen asleep against him on one of the couches in the library. Your hand was gripping his shirt and your head was on his chest. He didn’t sleep. He just held you— warm and still, letting your breath soothe the haunted parts of him. But even in all that closeness, something lingered.

Logan hadn’t kissed you like he wanted more. And you hadn’t asked. It’s not that he didn’t want to have sex with you, he just didn’t want to push you. He couldn’t help but wonder what your thoughts were on the matter.

So the next morning, Logan walked down to the greenhouse, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, jaw tight. Jean and Ororo were tending to the plants, using this time to catch up with each other and gossip. He can hear them laugh and wondered if he should turn around and forget about it. But he didn’t, because you matter.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat.

Booth women looked up, curious.

“Hey, Logan,” Jean greeted.

“You alright?” Ororo asked gently, wiping the dirt from her hands.

He shifted his weight. “Can I ask you both somethin’? Personal.”

Ororo lifted an amused brow. “You? Asking permission?”

Logan scowled. “Don’t get used to it.”

Silence fell between them for a moment.

“It’s about… her,” he admitted. “The librarian. Y/N.”

Jean’s smile softened. “Of course. Is Y/N okay?”

“She’s fine. Better than fine. Just—“ He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was wonderin’ if she ever… well… If she’s ever talked to either of you about… y’know… being ready. With me. That way.”

“That way?”

“You know what I mean. Intimacy. Sex.”

Ororo set down her watering can. “Logan.”

He lifted a hand. “I’m not askin’ for details. I’m just— she’s been real quiet. And I don’t want to rush her. I just don’t wanna screw this up by moving too fast or waiting too long or— hell, I don’t know. Anything.”

The women exchanged a glance before Jean carefully spoke up. “She’s never brought that up. Not to us, anyway.”

Logan frowned. “She hasn’t?”

“No,” Ororo confirmed. “If she’s nervous, she’s keeping it to herself.”

“But it’s not fear,” clarified Jean. “Not from what I can see and sense. It’s just… tenderness. Caution. She loves you, Logan. Deeply. Maybe even a little too much.”

That made his heart lurch in his chest. “Too much?”

“She’s never had someone like you. Someone who listens and waits. She’s probably afraid the second she gives all of herself… you’ll disappear.”

“I ain’t going anywhere.”

“We know. But she’s the one who needs to hear it.”

~~~

You were resolving a stack of books when you heard boots behind you. You didn’t turn, you knew it was Logan.

“You ever wonder,” he spoke up softly. “Why it’s always so quiet when I walk in here?”

You smiled faintly. “Because you respect the sanctity of my temple?”

He snorted and then silence fell between you both. He followed you as you placed the books perfectly back where they belonged.

“You nervous around me?” He suddenly asked.

You turned to face him. “What?”

“I mean, lately. When we’re alone. You get quiet. You lean in close, but you don’t… you never pull me in.”

You opened your mouth and then closed it. Not knowing what to say.

“I don’t want to pressure you. I just… I’ve been thinkin’ about being close to you. Real close. And if you ain’t ready, that’s fine. If you are— well, I just want to know if we’re on the same page. I want you, not just your time.”

“I… I thought I was the only one thinking about it.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yes, I’ve been nervous. I didn’t want to push or ruin anything. And I didn’t want you to feel like you had to—“

“I don’t have to do anything. I want to.”

You took a step forward. “Okay, so maybe we stop being nervous together.”

~~~

It was after hours. The library was empty and only lit by the various reading lamps scattered throughout. You were seated at your desk, books scattered around you and mostly forgotten. Your eyes skimmed the same line for the fourth time. Logan was across from you, reading something thick and ancient. He hadn’t moved far in his book either.

“Do you ever actually finish a book,” you teased, “or do you just keep rereading the same page to look smart for me?”

He raised an eyebrow and gave you a small, crooked grin. “You accusing me of fakin’ literacy?”

“I’m just saying… I’ve seen you on chapter five for a week.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the scenery.”

Your face warmed and you quickly looked back down at your page. Logan stood slowly, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and walked around the table. When he reached your side, he leaned against the edge of the table, one hand braced near your book, the other trailing lightly across your shoulder.

“I like bein’ here with you,” he whispered.

You glanced up. “I like you being here too.”

He ran his fingers gently along your jaw. His touch was feather-light, reverent. You closed the book and fully looked up at him— his eyes dark and intent. He moved even closer, tilting your chin up as his thumb brushed your cheek.

“I think about kissin’ you every damn time I walk in here,” he muttered.

Your breath caught. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Logan’s lips met yours— slow, warm, and unhurried. You leaned into him, your hand gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands moved to better hold your face, deepening the kiss slowly.

He pulled back enough to whisper, “you okay?”

You nodded, breathless. “I’m good.”

He lifted you gently from the chair, guiding you towards the oversized armchair near the fireplace. You straddled his lap as he sat down. Your mouths found each other again in between soft laughs and short gasps. His hands settled at your waist, strong but patient. Yours explored his shoulders, his neck, and then the back of his head. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, kissing a trail up to your ear.

“Still okay?” He checked again.

“More than okay,” you replied.

The two of you lose yourselves in it— the touches and soft sounds. Logan never stopped checking in though, every movement a question. You tugged his shirt up. He pulled back to let you slip it over his head. You traced your fingers along his chest, memorizing him with touch, wishing you could like you did with the books. He watched you with something close to awe.

“I like the way you look at me,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Like you’re mine?”

“Yeah.”

Logan pulled you back in for a kiss. Your legged wrapped around his waist as his hands tug at your sweater. His lips began to trail slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

He kissed just below your ear and growled, “you always smell like old books and warm paper. Drives me nuts.”

You were about to reply when—

“Logan,” Charles interrupted.

You and Logan froze.

“Apologies— Logan, we need you immediately,” that was Ororo.

You shoved yourself upright, practically falling off his lap as you scrambled to fix your sweater. Logan grunted as he grabbed his shirt and threw it back on.

“Were they— how long were they— were they standing there?!” Your thoughts are frantic and not coming together.

Logan didn’t look particularly embarrassed, just irritated. “They’ve seen worse.”

“That is not comforting.”

He brushed your cheek with his knuckles. “You okay?”

“No!” I’m going to die of mortification.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead. “You’ll live.” Then he called over his shoulder, “Give me one damn minute, Professor.”

“Of course, Logan,” Charles responded, sounding amused. “One minute.”

“Make it thirty seconds,” Ororo said. “The satellite images are degrading.”

Logan let out a heavy sigh before focusing back on you. “You want me to tell them off later?” He grabbed your hand.

You shook your head, still embarrassed. “Please don’t.”

Lifting your hand, he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “You sure?”

“I’m not even sure I’ll ever recover from this.”

“We’ll pick up where we left off. Soon.”

You managed a tiny nod. “Okay.”

He gave your knuckles one last kiss before he let go, striding out the door. You buried your face in your hands.

~~~

You didn’t sleep well that night. Too many thoughts and too much mortification. In the morning, you showed up to breakfast late, dressed in a hoodie and no eye contact. You made it halfway to the coffee pot before you realized that it was too quiet. You looked around realizing that most of the adults and students were looking at you.

“Oh my God,” Jubilee hissed. “It’s true.”

“What’s true?” You questioned.

“Don’t play innocent,” Kitty chimed in with a grin. “You and Logan were totally—“

“Nope.” You spun on your heel. “Nope, nope, nope—“

You walked right into Ororo, who looked entirely too pleased.

“Good morning,” he said sweetly, stepping aside. “Sleep well?”

You groaned and covered your face. “This can’t be happening.”

“I did try to knock. The door was open. Blame Charles.”

“Oh, I absolutely blame both of you.”

You finally poured some coffee and retreated to the farthest corner of the room— trying to disappear into your mug. Of course, that’s is when Logan walked in. He strolled in like he didn’t get caught in a heavy make-out session with you twelve hours ago. He walked right past the gawking students, nodded at Scott, gave Jean a crooked grin, and made a beeline for you.

You hissed under your breath, letting the embarrassment talk, “please don’t sit with me.”

“Too late,” he replied. He dropped into the chair beside you and draped his arm along the back of yours.

“We should be acting subtle.”

“Nah. You were gonna pretend it never happened. Thought I’d remind ‘em you’re spoken for.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m in love with you. It’s different.” Your stomach flipped in the best way possible. “They’re gonna talk either way. Might as well give ‘em somethin’ worth talking about.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek before leaning back with the smuggest expression you’ve ever seen.

You buried your face in your hands.

~~~

The library should’ve felt like home. It usually did. It was your sanctuary, your space. But today, it had been hard to stay grounded. Every time a student wandered in, you flinched at their glance. Every whisper from the hallway made your shoulders tighten. You caught a lot of them peeking through the doorway like something romantic or scandalous might be happening between the shelves.

Logan noticed. At first, it was little things. You didn’t hold his hand. You stayed at your desk instead of joining him in the corner. When he went to help you push your glasses back up your nose, you twitched and offered a shy, distracted smile. He didn’t say anything at first. But now, it was evening. Logan watched you from across your desk. You were reading, at least pretending to. You hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

Finally, he set his own book down and spoke up, “Is it me?”

Your eyes snapped up. “What?”

“This,” he gestured gently between you. “Us. The space you’re takin’. Is it because of me?”

Your stomach twisted. “No. No, Logan, it’s not— It’s not you.”

He nodded slowly, but stayed quiet.

“It’s everyone else… I know we were… seen. And I know I’m not great with people or attention…. Or gossip.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “It’s like I went from invisible to tabloid headline overnight. And I don’t know how to exist in that space. I feel exposed.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on your desk. “You don’t owe them anything.”

“I know that. But they look at me like I’m something new now. Not the quiet one with the books. Just ht girl who’s with you. And you— Logan, you’re not subtle.”

He grunted. “Ain’t my fault you make me soft.”

That earned a faint smile from you.

“But I hear you. And I’m sorry I made it worse.”

“You didn’t. I mean it.” You reached across the desk and took his hand. “I love you. I’m just… struggling with being seen.”

Logan nodded. He gave your hand a squeeze before rising and moving to your side of the desk. He crouched beside your chair and gently took your hands in his. “Then we take the light off you.”

“What?”

“We let it die down. I won’t touch you in public for a bit. No jokes. No kissing your neck in the hallway—“

“You did that once.”

“And I would love to do it again. But if you’re not comfortable, I’ll pull back too. Not ‘cause I don’t love you, but because I do.”

“You’d do that for me?”

He lifted your hands up and kissed them both on the knuckles. “I’d do anything for you, sweetheart.”

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face into his shoulder. He held you tight, warm and steady.

~~~

You tried to act normal when Logan told you he was leaving.

“It’s a week,” he said, running his thumb across your knuckles. “Ten days, max. Just a recon mission.”

You smiled and kissed him goodbye like you were strong enough to handle it. But when the het took off the next morning, a tightness settled in your chest that wouldn’t go away. You had always lived with the risk. Being at the mansion meant danger was part of the job— his job especially. But now that he was yours— now that you had something to lose— everything felt more fragile.

~~~

The first night, you didn’t sleep. You sat in the library long after hours, rechecking the same cataloging spreadsheet three times, only to realize that your eyes hadn’t moved down the page at all.

The second night, you tried sleeping in your own bed. Logan and you had only shared a bed a few times, just because you or him had fallen asleep first while reading. Still, you missed his familiar weight next to him.

The third night, you snapped. You walked the hallway barefoot, your cardigan pulled tight around you. You didn’t even think about it— moving like you were sleepwalking. You were at his room in an instant. The scent hit you the second you opened the door— leather, smoke, and cedar. You shut the door quietly behind you and crawled into his bed. You slept for ten hours.

~~~

Logan opened the door to his room just past midnight. His clothes were torn, blood drying on his knuckles, and muscles aching from a fight he hadn’t wanted. He expected silence and to be alone, instead he found the soft lump of your shape in his bed. He took a careful step forward. There you were— curled up in the middle of the mattress, his pillow under your cheek. Your face was peaceful but tired, like you’d fought something in your dreams and finally surrendered. His heart cracked. You didn’t stir when he moved or flinch as he sat beside you and brushed his hand gently along your arm.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered.

You stirred, eyes blinking slowly open. You were confused for a heartbeat. But when your gaze landed on Logan, you surged upright and threw your arms around his neck.

“I thought—“ your voice cracked. “I couldn’t—“

“I know,” he murmured, holding you tight. “I’m sorry.”

“You were gone too long.”

“I know. I missed you every second.” The two of you sat like that for a long time. “I’m going to go clean up and then I’ll be right back.” He kissed your temple. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

As promised, Logan cleaned up quickly and came back to lie beside you. He pulled the blankets over both of you and cradled you close.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you whispered.

He kissed your head. “Sleep now. I’m here.”

~~~

You woke slowly, warmth surrounding you. Logan. You were half on top of him, your cheek against his chest. His arm was slung protectively across your back, keeping you close. Even asleep, he held you like he was still afraid you might disappear. You tilted your head and looked up just as his eyes opened.

“Morning,” you whispered.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice still full of sleep.

You shifted up slowly until you could kiss his jaw, then his cheek, and then finally his lips. “I missed you.”

He kissed you again. “Missed you more than I’ve missed anything.”

You giggled. “You’re dramatic in the morning.”

“Only ‘cause it’s true.”

~~~

A few days later, you and Logan were curled up in his bed, reading. One of Logan’s arms were around you, keeping you close to his side. You could feel him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. You lowered your book and closed it softly on your lap.

He glanced over. “Good?”

You nodded. “Very.”

He turned back to his book, but the corner of his mouth twitched up like he was trying not to smile. You looked at him for a moment. At the little crease between his brows as he read. The way his breathing was calm around you.

“I’ve been thinking,” you murmured.

He glanced at you again. “Yeah?”

You slide your book aside and shifted closer to Logan. “I, uh… I want you.”

His breath caught slightly. Slowly, he closed his own book and put it to the side.

“I know you’ve been waiting for me to be ready,” your fingered brushed the hem of his shirt. “I think I am.”

He cupped your cheek with one warm hand. “You don’t have anything to prove.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to be with you. The way I want to be.”

His jaw flexed as his eyes searched yours like he was still not sure he was allowed to believe this was real. You leaned in first. Your kiss was soft— a question, not a command. And Logan answered with everything he had. The kiss deepened gradually, his hand sliding to your hand and the other to your waist. But he still let you guide the pace. You shifted to straddle his lap, causing his breath to hitch but his hands remained gentle.

He pulled back, lips brushing yours. “You sure, sweetheart?”

You met his eyes and nodded. “I’m sure.”

He kissed you again— slower and deeper this time. You felt his hands roam your back, slipping under your shirt. The two of you continued, slowly pulling pieces of clothing off of each other. He carefully moved you so that he was hovering over you. Then he paused again. One hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing your lower lip.

“You okay?” He checked in again.

“Yeah,” you nodded, breathless. “You?”

He gave a low, half-laugh like he couldn’t believe you were even asking. “Sweetheart, I’m tryin’ real hard not to fall apart.”

You smiled. “That’s okay.”

His jaw tightened. “Tell me if I go too fast. If anything doesn’t feel right, I’ll stop. I’ll always stop.”

“I know…” you reached out and touched his cheek. “That’s why I’m not scared.”

He kissed you again and this time, there was no more space between you.

~~~

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting pale gold light through the window. Your head rested on Logan’s bare chest, one arm draped across his stomach. He had an arm around you while the other hand lazily stroked your back beneath the sheets. Logan shifted a little beneath you and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice scratchy.

You hummed into his skin. “Don’t say anything yet… I want to stay like this for a little longer.”

“Me too.” His fingers traced lazy circles against your spine. “You feel okay?”

“More than okay.”

He exhaled, a breath of relief.

“I mean it. I don’t regret it at all.”

“And you’re not worried about what anyone’s gonna say?”

“Not anymore.”

He pulled you closer. “I love you. All of you. Always will.”

You looked up at him. “I love you too.”

~~~

Since the two of you had been more intimate, the little moments had gotten more heated.

Another Library Make-Out

It started out innocent as it always did. You were sitting in his lap at the table in the corner. You were laughing, breathless from a shard joke. His hand slipped up your back and just like that, he was kissing you. Open-mouthed and hungry. His hands gripped your hips like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. His tongue teased yours and you sighed into it, fingers tugging at his hair. A book fell off the table, but neither of you stopped.

Shirtless

Logan was fixing a leak in the faculty room— shirt off, low-slung jeans, and sweat glistening down his chest. You showed up with a drink and an innocent smile. You didn’t mean to stare, but you do, and Logan noticed.

“You’re gawkin’,” he muttered.

“You’re… sweaty,” you replied quietly.

He grinned. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

Next thing you knew, your back was pressed against the wall. Logan’s hands were braced on either side of your head and his mouth was on your neck.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your skin.

You didn’t.

The Bedroom

You entered his room late, needing comfort. You immediately got slammed into the door with a kiss that stole your breath. Logan muttered your name like a prayer between kisses, lips finding the base of your throat, the corner of your mouth, and your collarbone. His hands roamed— reverent and greedy all at the same time.

“Tell me what you need,” he said into your skin.

You gasped, fingers curling into his shirt. “You… just you.”

He lifted you— easily— and laid you on the bed.

The Kitchen

You were cleaning up after dinner when he grabbed you from behind, hands slipping under your shirt and mouth finding that spot just below your ear that made your knees weak.

“Every time you bend over,” he murmured against your neck, “I lose years off my life.”

You giggled, flushed. “Then stop staring.”

“Not a chance.”

His hands slid lower as his hips pressed against yours. The oven timer beeped, but neither of you moved.

The Shower

You were washing your body when the door creaked open. Suddenly, Logan was behind you, slipping under the stream, kissing water from your skin, with his hands gliding up your sides like the steam belonged to him.

“Needed to touch you,” he murmured. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You turned and kissed him like you meant it. He lifted you. Water ran down you as he pressed you into the tile.

Afterwards, the two of you were tagged up in the sheets, skin slick with het and breathless laughter. He continued to touch you like he was still memorizing you. He dragged slow fingertips down your arm, your stomach, and across your lips.

“You’re never gettin’ rid of me now,” he murmured.

“Good,” you smiled, half-asleep. “I never want to.”

Chapter Text

You were mid-sentence with a student in the library when the intercom buzzed.

“Miss L/N, please report to the War Room. Immediately.”

You looked at the intercom, confused. You weren’t a field agent or on any active roster. The last time you set food in the War Room, it had been to deliver Scott a stack of historical intelligence reports you had processed through touch alone. So when you walked in— notebook in hand and pencil behind your ear— you were already on edge.

Logan was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, clearly there under protest. Scott, Ororo, Jean, Hank, and Charles were seated around the table. There was a digital map of a European countryside glowing above the table.

Charles offered a smile. “Thank you for coming, Y/N. I realize this is out of the ordinary.”

You stepped closer, glancing warily at Logan. He didn’t look at you, not yet at least.

“There’s an underground archive in Budapest,” Charles continued. “One of Magneto’s old hideouts. But the intel suggest something new has been hidden inside it. Something encrypted.”

You frowned. “And you need me to go in and… read it?”

“More than that,” Jean said. “We can’t even find it. It’s not on any blueprint. But if it’s there, you might sense it. Books, logs, handwritten codes. You’d be able to see it all, and maybe what it means.”

Scott added, “We need eyes that can see beneath the surface.”

Logan finally straightened. “Absolutely not.”

Everyone turned to face him.

You tried, “Logan—“

“No,” he interrupted. He pushed off the wall and stepped between you and the table. “She’s not trained for the field. She’s not a fighter. She’s not goin’ into some unstable bunker in the middle of Eastern Europe.”

“I haven’t said yes yet,” you said quietly, but he wasn’t listening.

“She’s never been carried a comm. She reads books. That’s her job. That’s what she’s here for.”

“She’s standing right here,” your voice was sharper now.

That made him pause. He turned to you, not angry but scared. “Y/N—“

“And she’s glad to know what you really think of what she does.” You stepped past him, avoiding the slight raise of his hand to touch you. “I can help.”

Jean nodded slowly. “You won’t be going in alone. We’d all be with you. You’d have protection.”

Logan scoffed. “She shouldn’t need protection!”

“I deserve to be allowed to make this choice, Logan,” you said firmly. “I’ve spent years cataloging the past. Sorting through everyone else’s battles from a safe distance. But if I can do something— if I can help how— don’t take that away from me.”

Charles interjected gently. “The mission is voluntary. The moment you say no, the subject is closed.”

“Y/N…” Logan muttered, stepping closer. “What if you get hurt?”

“Then I get hurt,” you answered. “Just like you do. Just like anyone else out there.”

~~~

Later that night, Logan found you in the library. In leaned against one of the bookshelves, watching you for a moment. You could feel his presence and ignored him.

“I’m sorry,” the words were so quiet, you almost missed them.

You remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He pushed himself off of the bookshelf and stepped towards you. “I… I was scared. I still am. I don’t like the thought of you goin’ out in the field.”

“You said that all I do is read,” you mumbled.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I know you do more— I’ve seen it. Please, darlin’, tell me how to fix this.”

“I’m going on that mission tomorrow… I can’t have you doubting everything— doubting me every step of the way. I need you on my side.”

“I’m always on your side, sweetheart. Even when I say stupid shit.”

That got your lips to quirk up a bit. “You promise?”

Logan closed the gap and took you in his arms. You didn’t fight him. “I promise,” he whispered against your head, pressing a kiss to it. “I’m sorry for my stupidity. But I’m not sorry for wanting you safe.”

~~~

You stood just outside the Blackbird, arms folded over your chest as your heart thudded against your ribs. You had a thrown together suit on with a bag of books and notebooks slung over your shoulder. You looked like you were ready but your stomach was in knots. Logan came up beside you in full mission gear. He didn’t speak right away, just rested a hand on your back.

“You don’t have to go,” he said, voice low.

“I know,” you murmured.

“You’re not a soldier.”

“I’m not pretending to be.”

He turned you gently to face him. You let yourself lean into his chest. His arms came around you immediately.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“Me too,” Logan admitted. “You don’t belong in danger. But… you do belong on this team. And if you’re going in, I’m not lettin’ you go in alone.”

You smiled weakly against his shoulder. “That’s one of the sappiest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up.” He kissed your temple. “You come home, alright?”

You looked him in the eye. “Only if you do too.”

He kissed you hard then— fierce and full of the fear neither of you wanted to name. It lingered on your lips long after the jet took off.

~~~

Budapest was cold and grey when the jet landed. The target was buried under layers of old brick and stone, in a long-forgotten library. You moved with the team. Jean stayed beside you while Logan was always close. Your fingers brushed the scattered books and pages.

“Cold,” you muttered, using your powers to feel the pages. “Fear. Someone was hiding something here. There’s another room.”

“How do you know?” Scott asked.

“Because the paper says so.” You pressed your hand to the wall and closed your eyes, focusing. “There’s a hidden door. And a safe behind it.”

Logan watched you work, watched your power unfold. Every book and page you touched told a story.

“You’re incredible,” he muttered under his breath.

You looked at him bashfully. “You’re just saying that because I found the secret passage.”

“No. I mean it.”

You smiled but before you could respond, the floor exploded. You didn’t remember falling— only screaming. The support beams gave way and sent you through the crumbling floor and into darkness. You landed hard— the air leaving your lungs and your ribs screamed. Above, you heard shouting.

“She’s down!” It was Logan. “The librarian’s down!”

You tried to sit up but pain stabbed through your side. Rubble pinned on leg and you couldn’t seem to find your communicator. Your hand reached out and padded around in the dark. It found a file and pressed against it. Sudden— information exploded in your head. Project Helix. Funding orders by multiple Senators of the United States. Weaponizing mutant abilities in children. You pulled your hand back with a gasp.

A heartbeat later there was a crash beside you. Logan dropped in, claws out and eyes wild. He turned to you, panting and shaking.”

“Sweetheart—“

“I’m okay,” you tried to calm him. “My leg’s stuck. Can’t move.”

He dropped to his knees beside you, already working to free you. You winced when he finally was able to pull you into his arms.

“What is it?” He immediately asked.

“Ribs,” you gasped.

“We’ll get you looked at in the jet.”

He stood and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting yourself cry just a little.

“I don’t belong in the field,” you whispered.

“No,” he agreed. “And that’s okay.”

“They’re experimenting on mutant children, Logan.”

“What? Who?”

“The government. It’s in the files. The papers.”

~~~

You sat in the jet, wrapped in a thermal blanket, staring down at your notebook. You had written down everything you had absorbed from the file. Your ribs were wrapped tightly, with the promise from Hank that you’d be okay in a few days. That didn’t make Logan feel any better.

When you got back to the mansion, everyone reconvened in the War Room. You sat at the table with your notebook in front of you. Logan sat to the side of you, watching everyone else in the room.

“It’s called the Helix Initiative,” you explained. “It’s funded by multiple Senators and private biotech firms. They’re running covert programs through small clinics and youth outreach centers— targeting young mutants under the guise of treatment They’re developing ways to split mutations. Control them. Turn them into assets. Drones.”

You continued to tell the team all that you had found in the files. You were dismissed as soon as you had explained everything, leaving your notebook with them.

As a plan formed to get more information as days went on, you were brought into the briefings to make sure everyone understood what you had found in the files and to add anything. You spoke only when asked, offered what you had learned and never forced it.

One of the junior field operatives— a new recruit, eager, and trying too hard— leaned over to Scott and spoke in a low voice that wasn’t low enough. “I still don’t get why she’s even a part of these meetings. She’s not combat-capable. She’s just a librarian.”

The word ‘just’ landed like a slap. You froze and your stomach dropped. Logan moved before you could. He stood slowly. Everyone went quiet.

Logan’s voice was low and dangerous. “Say that again.”

The recruit’s face paled. “I— I didn’t mean—“

“No, go on. Say it again. Say she’s just a librarian.”

“Logan,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm.

He didn’t look at you, his eyes stayed locked on the kid. “She’s the reason we even know Helix exists. She’s the reason we’re finding more information. She’s the reason any of you are sittin’ here talkin’ strategy.” The room was dead silent. Logan stepped closer. “She doesn’t need claws or plasma blasts or damn teleportation. She sees through lies that satellites can’t catch. She finds things that your fancy tech misses. And you think she doesn’t belong?”

“I’m sorry— I didn’t mean—“ the recruit stammered.

“She doesn’t need to fight. She’s the reason we don’t have to walk into anything blind.”

You squeezed his arm. “Logan,” you called again. “That’s enough.” Logan finally looked at you, taking in how you weren’t angry, simply tired. You focused on the recruit. “Don’t apologize to me. Just listen better next time.” You turned back to the others. “Continue.”

And just like that, the meeting went on.

~~~

The library was quiet. You were curled up in your chair behind your desk, blanket over your legs and a half-read book in your lap. You hadn’t turned a page in twenty minutes. You heard the click of his boots before Logan appeared. He stepped inside. You didn’t look up right away and he didn’t speak. He just walked over and stood beside your chair, letting the silence stretch.

“You didn’t have to defend me,” you finally said softly.

“I know.”

“But you did.”

“Damn right I did.”

You closed the book and looked up at him. “It wasn’t the first time someone’s said something like that, you know. It’s just the first time someone said it in front of so many people.”

“It wasn’t right.”

“You can’t fight all my battles for me, Logan.”

He knelt in front of you, hands resting gently on your knees. His eyes— always intense and a little tired— softened. “I know you’re strong, baby. You’re sure as hell smarter than all of us. I know you don’t need me to speak for you.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I love you.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m not a fighter…”

“No, but you’re mine. And I’m gonna protect what’s mine.”

You laughed a little. “That’s… kind of possessive.”

He shrugged. “Comes with the claws.”

You reached out and ran your fingers down the side of his face, tracing his mutton chops. “You scared that poor recruit half to death.”

“Good. Maybe now he’ll think twice before opening his damn mouth.”

“Thank you… for always seeing me.”

He leaned in and kissed you. “You want to go back to reading?”

You nodded. He settled on the ground next to you as you grabbed your book. He leaned his his against your thigh as you read, your fingers carding through his hair.

~~~

Logan knew that the recruit’s words had hit you harder than you cared to admit. So Logan was going to make sure that you still knew your worth to him.

The Tea

You walked into the library one morning to find a travel mug waiting on your desk. There was a post-it note stuck to the side.

“For the girl who keep this place smarter than the rest of us combined. - L”

The Repaired Books

Two nights later, you came back from dinner to find a stack of old, battered books you had set aside for mending, fixed. Not perfectly. Some of the stitching was a little uneven, and one binding had a new scratch through the leather— but they were all intact. At the bottom, another sticky note.

“They were looking at me all sad. Figured I’d give ‘em another chance at being loved like someone once gave me. - L”

It took all you had not to cry. You placed the sticky note with the other in your drawer. You began to show him how much he was worth to you as well.

The Notebook

Logan was always grouchy when it came to paperwork. You had seen him stare at mission reports like they had personally offended him. So one afternoon, you quietly slid a small, handmade notebook into the drawer of his dresser. The cover was plain leather and inside were lined pages with a short prompt at the top of each.

What pissed you off today?
Something you don’t want to forget.
What made you laugh?
A memory that finally came back.

You don’t tell him it’s from you. You know he knows. And a week later, you see it tucked in his jacket pocket.

The Playlist

You caught him one afternoon fixing something in the garage— white tank top on with grease all over him. You walked past with your phone in hand and said nothing. But when he flipped on the radio, your playlist began playing— the one you made just for him but never told him. The playlist held classic rock, a few blues tracks, and a quiet instrumental version of Johnny Cash’s ‘Hurt’. You never sat it’s from you.

But when he walked into the library later that night, he kissed your forehead and muttered, “Track seven almost got me crying’. Thanks for that.”

~~~

You were shelving some books with Charles rolled into the library one morning.

“Do you have a moment?” He wondered.

“Of course,” you replied, giving him your full attention.

“I need to ask something of you. A favor. And, potentially, a risk.”

“What kind of risk?”

“There’s a meeting scheduled tomorrow with several government leaders. Tensions are high now that we’ve uncovered the Helix Initiative. They’ve requested someone come with me— someone composed and non-combative.”

“And you want me?”

“I trust you. And they’ll listen to you in a way they won’t to me or Storm. You’re more grounded.”

“Alright. If you need me.”

“I do. But there’s one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Logan can’t attend. He’s too volatile. Too infamous. His presence would agitate the discussion. I need calm— you.”

~~~

You told Logan in his room. You didn’t want to. You wanted Charles to be the one to break the news, but that didn’t feel right. Logan’s reaction was instant.

“No.”

“Logan—“

“No.” He began pacing. “He wants to send you into a damn den of wolves and I’m supposed to sit here and play nice?”

“I said yes.”

“Why the hell would you say yes?!”

“Because it matters and Charles asked me.”

Logan’s hands balled into fists. “He asked you because you’re quiet and smart and non-threatening. Because he thinks they’ll see you and forget what they’re afraid of.”

“He asked me because I’m capable and I am.”

“I know that! I know you are. But they don’t deserve you. They’ll twist your words, try to make you a mouthpiece—“

“I won’t let them.”

He stopped pacing and turned to face you. “You’re mine, like actually mine. And now you’re walking into a room full of people who would vote to erase our kind if given half a chance. And I can’t go with you.”

“I’m not going into battle. I’m going into a meeting.”

“Same thing. Only with more backstabbing.”

You stepped towards him and placed your hands on his chest. “I’m scared too. But I trust myself. And I trust that if something goes wrong, you’ll get me out.”

His jaw flexed. “I don’t like it. Not even a little.”

“I know.”

“But if you’re goin’, I’m going to need you to wear a comm. And I want eyes on the building and a way in if I need one.”

“Logan—“

“I’m serious, baby. All of that needs to happen, or you’re not going.”

“Okay, okay. We can talk to Charles.”

~~~

You walked into the secured government building beside Charles. You were dressed professionally. Your pulse drummed in your throat, but you tried not to show the slight nervousness you felt. The officials— senators, advisors, and military men— turned as you and Charles entered. They all were familiar with Charles, but you were an unknown.

One of them squinted, studying you. “And who is this?”

Charles replied evenly, “An advisor. Her knowledge of international mutant operations is unparalleled.

You offered you name and extended your hand. Some of them shook your hand, others blatantly ignored you. You sat beside Charles at the long table and the meeting began. It was tense from the start. Words like containment and monitoring were thrown around like solutions. The information found in Budapest was used as a warning while you were used as an example of “acceptable cooperation”.

You’re not usually one to break, but you had heard enough. You leaned forward, calling attention to yourself.

“I’m not here to be your model mutant,” your voice was calm yet firm. “I’m here because I can read your polices better than your own aides. Because I understand international law, historical precedent, and the way your words will be written into action. I know how fear turns into legislation. I know what happened to us in the ‘60s and again in the ‘80s and how those documents were quietly sealed. I’ve read them.”

One of the men scoffed. “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s context.”

There’s silence for a moment, tense.

Then one of the quieter women leaned forward. “What would you suggest?”

You glanced at Charles, who gave you the slightest nod. So you answered. You were measured and thoughtful yet sharp. You recommended oversight committees with mutant representation. You offered language that reframed mutants as citizens rather than anomalies. The room shifted, not because you shouted, but because you were unshakable.

~~~

Logan, who had listened in the entire time, was leaning against the SUV, waiting for you. You walked right up to him.

“Hi,” you said, small and tired.

He looked you over, hands going to his waist. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Tired. A little shaky.”

“Yeah, well, you were terrifying in there.” He pulled you closer.

You laughed into his chest. “Terrifying?”

“Dead calm. Sharp as hell.”

“You listened?”

“The whole time.”

“And?”

“You were perfect.” He kissed you before turning and opening the passenger door for you. “Let’s go home, darlin’. I’ll cook.”

“You can cook? Like, not just put sandwiches together?”

“I can try. We’ll survive.” He glanced around. “Where’s the Professor?”

“He’s staying back to talk to a few people by himself. Kurt’s on standby to get him.”

“Great.” He leaned in and kissed you again. “That means it’s just you and I.”

~~~

The drive home began quietly. You were tucked into the passenger seat, legs curled under you. Logan was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your knee. You were currently rambling off about historical political meetings. Logan had a smirk as he listened.

“And then in—“

Before you could finish the sentence, the road exploded in front of you. Logan slammed on brakes while his arm shot out to make sure you didn’t lurch forward too much. The SUV skid sideways, tires screeching. A second explosion came behind you.

“Hold on!” Logan shouted.

But you were already ducking, heart pounding as the windshield shattered inward with a deafening crack. You heard the sound of gunfire before you could fully register it. You didn’t even realize that Logan had jumped out and rushed around the vehicle until he ripped your door off and cut your seatbelt off.

“Out! Now!”

Logan grabbed your hand and you stumbled out. He pulled you behind the SUV and pushed you down.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

Then Logan was up and charging. He was a blur— tearing through the first wave of attackers with brutal efficiency. You tried to stay low but one of them circled from behind and fired a taser. You cried out as it clipped your shoulder. You hit the ground hard, vision swimming.

“Target down!” The man shouted into his comm. “We’ve got the girl—“

But he did not. Because Logan heard your cry and was there in seconds. He grabbed the man by the vest and yanked him back, slamming him into a nearby tree.

“You touch her again,” he growled, “and I’ll make sure they never find your bones.”

The man slumped, unconscious. Logan dropped to his knees beside you, ripping the taser barb free.

“Sweetheart?” He called, voice softer. “Hey, look at me.”

Your breath stuttered. “I’m okay… I’m okay.”

He cupped your face, checking your pupils. “They went for you. Not me.”

“It’s because I let them know what I can do… I’m a liability now.”

“You are not a liability.”

He lifted you gently into his arms. You could hear more vehicles coming. He rushed into the forest, running like your life depended on it— and to him, it very well did. He ran until he found a small parking lot of cars for campers. He kicked the door in of a nearby car and set you down in the passenger seat before hot-wiring it.

“I thought I was helping,” you rasped as he sped to the mansion.

“You did,” he said. “And that scared the hell out of them.”

~~~

The car roared up the driveway of the mansion at nearly 80 mph, tires shrieking as Logan slammed the breaks just outside the front steps. You were curled up in the passenger seat, in shock and in pain where you had been tased. Jean and Storm ran out of the mansion with others close behind.

“Logan—“ Charles began, but stopped short at the sight of you.

There was blood where small scrapes littered your skin, you were burned where you had been tased, and your clothes were torn.

Storm gasped. “Oh my God—“

“She’s fine,” Logan growled, lifted you into his arms again. “She’s alive.”

“Take there to the infirmary,” Jean said urgently.

He carried you straight past Charles, jaw clenched, and breathing ragged. Jean hurried alongside him, already scanning you with her powers and doing her best to soothe your nervous system.

“She’s in shock, but okay,” Jean stated. “You did good, Logan.”

He didn’t answer.

~~~

You were sleeping in the infirmary, stable and taken care of. Logan was posted outside the door like a guard dog with blood still on his boots. His arms were crossed and expression hard.

Charles approached quietly. “She’s safe.”

“She was safe until you asked her to go to that meeting and revealed her powers.”

“I underestimated how quickly they’d see her for what she is. More powerful than anyone gives her credit for. She absorbs knowledge and remembers everything, that’s a threat to them.”

“They tried to take her. She couldn’t even fight back. You gave her a role and painted a target on her back.”

“She knew the risks. She chose this.”

“She chose you. She trusted you.”

“Logan, if I had known, I wouldn’t have asked her to go.”

~~~

You stirred as Logan picked you up.

“Logan?” You rasped.

“Sshhh, baby,” he whispered. “Just takin’ you to bed.”

You nodded, snuggling into Logan more. As he walked past the main doors, the ground shuddered with an explosion. The windows shattered. Logan crouched down, covering you with his body. The doors opened with a loud bang and the alarms screamed to life. Uniformed shoulders poured through. You were more alert now, gripping onto Logan.

“Stand down!” Logan shouted.

Logan let you go and turned, releasing his claws. He lauded himself at the first wave of soldiers, but there were too many. And they came prepared. They quickly released a metal net, sending him to the floor.

“RUN!” He screamed, glancing your way. “Go, sweetheart— GO!”

But you’re frozen. And that it when they hit you with a blast. Logan screamed as he fought harder, trying to reach you but the net began to pulse with electricity. He thrashed but it held. Suddenly, you were being grabbed.

“NO! Let her go!”

You gasped as a needle was inserted into your neck and your out in a second. Logan teared free from the net with a howl as members of the team finally show up to help fight. But they’re too late. Your dragged out and into a jet that disappeared into the night before anyone could follow. The remaining soldiers fled. Logan rushed out into the front, falling onto his knees.

“I’m going to find you, sweetheart,” he promised, staring up at the sky. “I’m going to bring you home.”

Chapter Text

You woke up in a room that didn’t belong to any government facility you knew. You were restrained to a cold metal chair. There were medical equipment surrounding you, some of them were already attached. Your throat was dry and your vision blurred at the edges.

The door opened a moment later. Two figures walked in— a man in military-grade black and a woman in a lab coat. Her clipboard tapped softly against her thigh as she stopped beside your bed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” she noted.

You didn’t answer.

“Vitals are stable,” she looked over the machines connected to you. “Cognitive strength appears intact.”

“What—“ you rasped. “What is this?”

“You’ll come to understand in time. You’ve been chosen. Not harmed, not… yet. Just relocated. The government has great interest in your abilities.”

You struggled against the cuffs, vision sharpening now.

“You’re going to be so useful. Your ability to absorb and store information? Beautiful, powerful, and full of untapped potential.”

“We’re going to help your mind work even faster,” the man finally spoke up, stepping forward. “With the right enhancements, you’ll store every byte of classified data we feed you. Weapons programs. Mutant registries. Government secrets. Foreign intel. And when we ask for it? You’ll give it back.”

“You want to make me a…” nausea rose inside you, “a living vault.”

The woman smiled. “An archive. A perfect one. You will read what we tell you. And when we ask, you’ll tell us what we need.”

“I won’t! I won’t help you.”

“You won’t have a choice.” She gestured to the man, who lifted a syringe.

Your breath caught. “You— You can’t do this—“

“We already are.”

“No! No! Logan!”

And the needle pierced your neck.

~~~

They kept you underground. No windows. No clocks. No sense of day or night— just harsh fluorescent lights and the constant hum of machines. You were in and out. They hadn’t fed you information yet, they were preparing you for it. You kept chanting Logan’s name in your head over and over again, trying to keep you tethered some how. But it was getting harder.

One day, they brought in stacks of files and placed them under your hands. Almost instantly, your eyes went blank and your breath caught. The information from the files began feeding into your mind, filing and organizing itself away. While you— the real you— was being bushed back, filed away itself.

~~~

At first, they tried to keep Logan home. They tried to tell him it was too dangerous without a plan. But he didn’t care. Logan had to find you, it was his sole purpose now. He hadn’t slept since before they took you and basically hadn’t eaten in that long either.

Every lead, every scent, every trace they could find— Logan hunted down like an animal. He tore through outposts and left entire teams bleeding behind him. He didn’t speak unless it was to ask where you were.

Charles tried to keep him grounded. Jean tried to reason with him, but nothing worked. Because Logan could feel it— deep in his metal bones. You were in pain and it was only getting worse. He’d seen his fair share of government experiments and he couldn’t let them turn you into their weapon. Or worse, into a ghost of yourself.

~~~

Every question they asked, you answered— steady, flat, and completely devoid of emotion. You didn’t blink because you weren’t there. They rewired your neural pathways. You still remembered everything. You still analyzed and indexed. But now you did it for them. A living hard drive. You recited names and secrets. You exposed enemies and allies. Whatever they asked of you.

They replaced the files everyday, always checking to make sure you’ve got it all before doing do. The more information you took in, the farther your true self got pushed back.

~~~

Logan could smell you from a mile away. He crouched in the treelike, feral, eyes locked on the facility buried in the mountain. There were dozens of soldiers, automated defenses, and no visible entrances. They thought that would stop him. But they have no idea what they had brought down on themselves.

“Found her,” he whispered into his comm.

Then he dropped it, knowing the team would be there shortly. He wasn’t going to waste any time though. He reached an access point and began tearing through the soldiers like paper. Alarms wailed and lights flashed red, but he ignored it all. His only focus was you.

After fighting like hell, Logan burst into the chamber, tearing the doors clean off their hinges. And there you were. You were restrained to a metal chair with wires and tubes coiled around you with a stack of files under each hand. Your face was blank and too still.

His heart shattered. “Baby…”

He dropped to his knees in front of you and reached for your face— gently and terrified. You eyes were wide open. But they don’t focus or move. You were breathing but you’re not there.

He finally touched your cheek. “Hey. I’m here. I found you.”

You didn’t blink.

“Come back… Come on, sweetheart. It’s me.”

Still nothing.

Then, barely there, a murmur, “…Logan…”

“Yes, baby. I’m here. I got you.”

He ripped the cables from your skin and cradled your body against his chest. You didn’t resist or cling to him— simply limp and distant. He held you tighter and whispered over and over how he was will you and how you were save and he begged you to come back to him.

Logan carried you out of the facility. You don’t speak or move or blink. Your eyes were still open, but you were looking through everything.

Storm reached him first. “Oh my god— Is she…?”

“She’s breathing,” Logan stated, not slowing his pace. “She said my name once. But there’s been nothing besides that.”

Jean and Charles stepped forward from the Blackbird, already reading out with their powers to assess the damage.

“She’s alive,” Jean stated softly, mostly for herself. “But… she’s gone deep. Deeper than I’ve ever felt before. They used her mind like a network. She’s— it’s like she’s filed herself away.”

Charles’ face was pale and jaw tight. “She’s dissociating on a psychic level. Her consciousness is in full retreat. Like a mental coma.”

Logan stopped at the bottom of the jet, holding you tighter. “You’re not taking her.”

“Logan—“

“You are not taking her.”

Jean stepped forward carefully. “We’re not taking her away. But we have to get into her mind. We have to pull her back before she disappears completely.”

“She needs to feel safe.” Logan backed up. “You think putting her in a sterile white infirmary room is gonna fix this?”

“No,” Charles cut in. “But if we don’t reach her soon, there may be no one left to fix.”

Storm laid a hand on Logan’s arm. “She’s not herself. And you’ve done everything you could. But this part… this part isn’t something you can do.”

For a long moment, Logan just stood there— breathing hard and shaking, like he was still fighting. He looked down at you. You didn’t look back. Finally, his shoulder sagged. He walked up into the jet and laid you gently on the cot ready for you. When Jean and Charles moved to touch you, his growled.

“I stay with her.”

Charles looked at the broken man. “Of course.”

Logan sat on the ground beside you and took your hand. He leaned his head against your body. “I need you to come back. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll read every damn book in that library if it gets you to look at me again— really look… You’re not gone, darlin’. You’re not gone.”

Jean placed a hand to your temple, eyes closing. Charles closed his eyes as well. Jean gasped the second she connected. She’s not in a mind, but a vault. There were endless corridors in every direction, filled with bookshelves and data streams. Everything was expertly categorized and catalogued. It was all too neat and silent. She glanced to her left to find that Charles had joined her.

“She built this,” Jean murmured. “To protect herself.”

Charles nodded. “It’s not a prison. It’s a defense mechanism. She’s locked herself in the deepest part of her own mind and thrown away the key. Jean walked slowly down the corridor, reaching out to gently touch the books. All emotion had been stripped from them— labeled by dates. There were so many government secrets with a mix of your personal history.

They could hear Logan still begging for you to come back. Something shifted— a crack formed along the corridor walls.

Jean looked at Charles. “She heard him.”

“She’s listening. We need to keep pushing.”

Jean began to pull the books that had your history on them. The first time Logan held your hand. The night of the fire. The first kiss. The love confession. The vault trembled and then, from the end of the corridor, you appeared. But it wasn’t you. It was a fragile, flickering version.

You spoke without emotion. “I am the Archive. I exist to preserve and protect. Please do not attempt to disrupt the system.”

Jean stepped forward. “You’re not the Archive. You’re Y/N. And Logan is waiting for you.”

You flickered, hollow eyes meeting hers. “He’s… waiting?”

Charles came up and took your hand. “Yes. And he’s not leaving without you.”

You blinked once, then again. And the cracks continued.

~~~

Logan was still talking, whispering about the day he fell in love with the way you corrected his grammar. He was just about to chuckle to himself when your fingers twitched. He froze.

“Sweetheart?” He whispered.

You drew in a shaky breath— ragged and shallow. “…Lo—Logan…”

Logan laughed, half-choked, half-sobbed. “Yeah, baby. It’s me.”

You finally blinked and turned your head. “Logan…”

He pulled you into his arms and Jean and Charles moved back. He didn’t let you go the rest of the way.

~~~

You woke up in the infirmary. It took you a few seconds to realize where you were and that you weren’t alone. Logan was in the chair next to your bed, head bowed forward like he was trying to stay awake and lost the fight. His hand was still curled around yours. You tightened your fingers just slightly causing his eyes to snap open.

“Hey,” his voice was rough but gentle. He sat up and you could see the exhaustion and relief all over his face.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“You want water? I can get—“

“No.” You squeezed his hand tighter. “Just… stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You shifted slightly on the pillows. Every muscle ached and your head was still very fuzzy. “I remember… some of it… They took me.”

“I know.”

“They almost made me forget you and myself…”

He flinched.

“But I didn’t.”

“You said my name. That was the first thing. Back in that damn chair. I knew you were still in there.” He exhaled hard and leaned forward. “Darlin’, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t feel like me yet… Everything is… fuzzy.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got time. You take as long as you need.”

“I’m scared.”

“I am too.” He kissed your knuckles. “But I’m here and you’re here.”

“Can you… read to me?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course.”

Logan reached under the chair and pulled out your worn copy of Persuasion by Jane Austen. He had it there so that he could read it for himself while he waited for you to wake. He began reading. You closed your eyes and let yourself just listen.

~~~
You slept more than you stayed awake. Jean and Hank told Logan that it was your mind trying to repair itself— that sleep was safety. When you are awake, you barely speak. Sometimes you looked at Logan like you didn’t trust what you were seeing. Other times you cried and you couldn’t explain why.

Logan never asked you to. He just held you and wiped the tears. “I’ve got you.”

You kept asking if this was real. And Logan told you over and over that it was. That you were safe now. Even when he could tell that you didn’t believe it, he kept telling you.

The first nightmare hit on the third night. You were screaming before you even woke— voice ragged and hands clawing at the wire you still thought were there. You hit Logan and bit him. You sobbed so hard your whole body shook. Logan didn’t flinch. He simply fought you gently and held you, trying to ground you.

“They’re gone,” he whispered. “You’re safe. They can’t touch you now. You’re not theirs.”

You didn’t stop crying for a long time and he didn’t let go.

Days later, you sat in the library, curled in one of the chairs you used to love. You had a book in your lap but your eyes couldn’t focus. The words kept slipping. You knew the words— your mind still remembered— but your body recoiled. The act of reading, once second nature, now made your hands tremble. Logan watched from the corner. You shut the book.

“I can’t,” you whispered, defeated.

He crossed the room and knelt in front of you. “Then I’ll read to you.”

You looked down, ashamed. “Do you still want me?” The words were so small, broken.

He reached for your hand. “More than anything. Even when it’s hard. Even if it’s never easy again. You’re not a job, sweetheart. You’re mine.”

You nodded and let him take the book.

~~~

One morning, a student knocked over a cart in the hallway and the loud crash made you jump, heart racing. You began to shut down— breath catching, eyes glazing over. But Logan was there in a heartbeat, hands gently holding your face.

“Deep breath,” he guided. “Right here. Just us.”

You breathed in and then out.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed your forehead. “Keep breathing. I got you.”

~~~

It was late. The halls of the mansion were dark and still. Logan couldn’t find you in the infirmary or the library. But when he came to his room, he found you sitting on the floor, knees tucked up to your chest, curled in on yourself like you were trying to be small. You were wearing one of his shirts, sleeves pulled over your hands. You didn’t look up when he entered.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked gently.

You shook your head. He didn’t press. He just closed the door behind him, walked over slowly, and sunk to the floor beside you. You sat in silence for a while.

Then, you spoke up, voice thin and shaky, “I thought I was stronger than this.”

“You are,” he replied, sounding so sure.

You finally glanced at him. “I’m scared all the time. Of sounds. Of people looking at me too long. Of falling asleep and waking up back there. I can’t even read a full paragraph without panicking. I shelved one book and had to go lie down for an hour. I can’t help students. I can’t concentrate. I don’t feel like me anymore, Logan. I don’t know who I am without… control. Without knowing everything… without… reading.” You looked away. “And I can’t stop thinking… what if you stop wanting me? What if I never get past this?”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m broken.”

“No. You’re not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“I do. I know what it feels like to be ripped out of your own head. To wake up and not know what parts of you are yours anymore. To be scared that what they did made you unlovable.” He moved closer, taking your hand and pulling it to him. “But you are still you. Even when it’s hard. Even when you can’t feel it or keep questioning it. I see you, darlin’. I see you. Every piece of you.”

Tears spilled over before you could stop them. You folded into Logan like gravity was pulling you there. You bury your face in his chest and cry. Logan simply wrapped his arms around you and rocked you gently.

“You don’t have to hide the hard parts from me,” he murmured against your head. “You don’t have to be okay for me to love you.”

You cried harder. “I just want to feel whole again.”

“You will. Not tomorrow. Maybe not not week. But you will. And I’ll still be here. No matter what.”

~~~

The library was mostly empty. It was a quiet day— one of those afternoons where the students were either napping on the lawn or sparring in the Danger Room. But a few linger in the library. A girl, maybe twelve, stood hesitantly at the reference shelf. You were sitting behind the desk, just there. A book was opened din your lap— not to read but to feel the weight of it. One of Logan’s flannels were draped over your shoulders, sleeves rolled at the cuffs. Your heartbeat still skipped sometimes when a door slammed. And you still checked the exits without thinking. But you were in the library and that was something.

When the girl at the shelf sighed— frustrated— you spoke up before you could stop yourself. “Need help?”

She looked up, startled. “Uh… yeah. We’re supposed to write about resistance movements in Europe, but… I can’t even spell half of this stuff.”

You smiled, just slightly. “Try ‘Maquis’. M-A-Q-U-I-S. French resistance. I think you’ll like them.”

She perked up. “Is there a book about them?”

“There’s a few.” You stood slowly. “Come on. I’ll show you where they live.”

The girl followed you to the far wall. Your steady, not fast, still healing from the neural drain. But you walked with purpose. You find the book and hand it to her.

She grinned. “You’re really good at this.”

You rose an eyebrow. “At being a librarian?”

“At making it make sense.”

Across the library, Logan stood silent. He leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching your every move. When you turn and catch his eye, he smiled. You tried not to be too embarrassed.

‘What?’ You mouthed.

He just shrugged. But he was already thinking of a dozen ways to tell the others— Jean, Ororo, Charles— that today, you came back. Even just for a moment.

~~~

You had finally done it. After weeks inside the mansion, you decided to take a quiet walk outside. The wind was soft and the sun was warm. You had a book in your hands, just for the weight. You were okay. Until, your chest seized and your breath hitched. Something slipped into your mind. It was subtle at first. A brush of thought. Then it hit, an unwelcome pressure. A mind not your own was inside your head.

You dropped the book and fell to your knees. Your vision blurred and the pressure spiked behind your eyes. Your hands flew up to your head.

“No— no no no no!” You scammed. “Get out! Get out!”

~~~

Logan felt it before he heard your screams. He ran through the halls at full speed, blowing past students and furniture. You were in the garden, on your knees, hyperventilating. You were curled in on yourself like your skull was going to split in two.

Logan dropped beside you, voice low and urgent. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“They’re in my head again— Logan! They’re in— I can’t— I can’t!”

He lifted you into his arms and pressed your head to his chest. “No one’s in there now. Just me. Just me, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

Behind him, Jean rushed through the doorway, pale. “I didn’t mean to,” she stammered. “I didn’t even realize— I was scanning the grounds and I must’ve— Logan, I’m sorry—“

Logan’s head snapped towards her, eyes full of ice.

~~~

Logan gathered all of them. Jean, Charles, Emma, and any other telepathy with regular access to the mansion. He paced in front of them, hands clenched.

“She just started walking outside again,” he voice was low but razor-sharp. “Just started. Like today. And someone pushed into her head like it was a hallway.”

Jean swallowed. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“I don’t care. Accident or not, you don’t touch her mind. You don’t scan her, brush her, or think too hard in her direction. Not without her permission. Not unless she asks.”

Emma sighed. “We can’t always avoid passive contact. We’re trained to keep our fields contained, but—“

“Then train harder. Because if it happens again? I don’t care who you are. I’ll treat you like any other threat.”

“He’s right,” Charles spoke up, calm and firm. “She is still recovering from a psychic violation more invasive than any of us can truly understand. We must respect her mental space. No exceptions.”

Jean nodded. “I’ll make sure everyone understands. And I’ll apologize to her again.”

Logan didn’t respond. He was already halfway out the door.

~~~

You were curled up in Logan’s bed, still shaken and quiet. But you were holding his flannel against your chest like it could anchor you.

When Logan came in, you whispered, “Was it really an accident?”

“Yeah,” he replied, coming to sit beside you. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you.”

“I panicked.”

“You had every right to.”

You looked up at him. “Did you tell them?”

“I told them and made sure they heard me.” He brushed his knuckles down your cheek. “No one touches your mind again without your say-so. Ever.”

~~~

Later that night, you were still jittery. Logan was beside you. Reading, but not really— his focus was mostly on you. You rolled onto your side.

“I don’t want to feel like this,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied. He closed the book. “You wanna try something? Something Jean taught me a while back?”

You nodded. He took your hands and gently pulled you up to sit across from him. He let his hands wrapped around yours.

“Close your eyes.”

You obeyed.

“Now listen to me. Just my voice. We’re gonna ground you, alright? Five things.”

You breathed in and out.

“Name five things you can feel.”

Your voice was shaky. “The blanket. Your hands. My shirt. The sheet. The mattress.”

“Good, baby. Now four things you can hear.”

“The breeze outside. Your breathing. The clock. The paper from your book— it buzzes.”

“Three things you can smell.”

You smiled faintly. “Your cologne. Coffee. And… old paper.”

His lips twitched up. “Two things you can taste.”

“My toothpaste… and… coffee.”

“Okay, darlin’, now one thing you can see.”

You opened your eyes, just enough. “You.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “Still here… still yours.”

~~~

You started to work in the library for one hour a day. In the early morning, when the halls were quiet and the students were still tricking down for breakfast. The smell of books, old wood, and sun filtering through high windows was enough to help your breath settle.

The first thing you did was dust the shelves. Section by section. No sorting or cataloguing. You moved your hands gently along the familiar spines, like you were re-learning a language. Logan didn’t follow you in during that hour. He sat outside the door, reading a book he won’t admit that he’s re-reading just because you once said it was underrated.

~~~

The second week, you began shelving again. Only returns for now. You don’t touch the recommendation board that you used to keep updated or reorganize the new arrivals. But when students dropped books into the return bin, you sorted them one at a time. Some of the students left notes with them.

“I liked this one. Thanks for showing it to me.”

“Can you help me find another with a strong girl lead?”

You didn’t answer aloud yet. But you tucked the notes into a little drawer in your desk.

~~~

The third week, you were in the library more during open hours now. At first, the students tiptoed around you. But the moment you recommended a book to a group of students working on a project, everything shifted.

“Miss?” A new student nervously approached. “I don’t really like reading but Mr. Logan said you could find something even I’d like.”

You glanced at Logan, who leaned in the doorway not even pretending he didn’t send the student.

You smiled at the student. “How do you feel about ghosts?”

By Friday of that week, the recommendation board had two new entires in your handwriting. Logan stood across the room, reading the board over and over like it was sacred. Because to him, it was.

~~~

The fourth week is when you began to work full days. The library had been buzzing the entire week. Students trickled in and out, teacher stopped by. Even Charles paused in the doorway with a proud little smile. You helped with essays, made book recommendations, and repaired books.

Now the week was over and you were exhausted. You made it halfway through Logan’s door before your knees buckled. He caught you in one smooth, steady motion— arms wrapping around you without question.

“Whoa, there,” he mumbled. “Hey.”

“I’m fine,” you murmured, already leaning onto him heavily.

He chuckled. “You’re cooked.”

“Thoroughly.”

He smiled. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you off your feet.”

Before you knew it, you were on his bed in one of his old t-shirts and flannel pajama pants. He disappeared for a few minutes and then returned with a warm plate, a thermos of tea, a water bottle, and an ice pack.

“Dinner of champions,” he commented, setting everything down. “You barely ate lunch.”

“I was busy,” you mumbled, tired.

“You’re always busy.” He settled the ice pack gently against your lower back. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need takin’ care of.”

You didn’t argue. Logan fed you a few bites— not because you couldn’t do it yourself, but because it made him smile and you were too tired to resist how gentle he was tonight.

“You made it,” he said after a while.

“Made it?”

“You got through the week. Every single day. That’s worth something.”

You sighed, leaning against his chest and closing your eyes. “I’m proud of myself. But I’m so tired.”

“I know. You’ve been carrying a lot.”

“How are you so good at this whole ‘supportive partner’ thing?”

He chuckled, kissing your head. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my image.”

“Too late.”

~~~

The next evening, you were in search of Logan. You followed the soft hum of something old-school playing on the speakers in the kitchen. You rounded the corner and paused in the doorway. Logan was at the stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows and apron on. The picture of domestic competence that you never expected to see.

He looked over his shoulder, lips curing up. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You smiled. “You’re cooking?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’ve cooked for you before.”

You stepped inside, the music playing low. “What’s the occasion?”

He shrugged, tossing a few vegetables into a skillet. “Figured you deserved a night that didn’t revolve around trauma. Just good food, soft music, and, well, me.”

You laughed, warm and light. “That sounds perfect.”

He gestured to the counter. “Sit. I’ll finish up.”

You perched yourself on the counter behind him and watched him move around the kitchen. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

~~~

Dinner was simple, but surprisingly very good. You ate across from each other at the tiny table tucked near the window. He lit a candle between the two of you.

You raised a teasing brow. “Romantic, are we?”

He shrugged, but his ears reddened. “Maybe.”

You finished eating with your foot nudged against his under the table.

~~~

The two of you were working on cleaning the dishes with another song came on— slower and sweeter. You hummed softly, swaying a little at the sink. Logan came up behind you, towel for drying still in hand, and leaned in close.

“C’mon,” he urged.

“What?”

He offered you his hand, eyes softening. “Dance with me.”

You hesitated for a breath but then took it. His hand slid around your waist. Your fingers found his shoulder. The two of you moved slowly, turning in time with the soft melody.

“I don’t know how to dance,” you admitted quietly.

“Neither do I,” he pulled you just a little closer. “Don’t matter.”

“Doesn’t.”

He chuckled. “Doesn’t.”

You closed your eyes and let the world blur around you. You let his warmth and the music carry you somewhere far from everything that every hurt. Your cheek rested against his shoulder.

“You feeling’ okay?” He murmured.

“I am now.”

~~~

You were surprised it hadn’t happened earlier in your relationship. It began wit his breathing. You woke up to the sound of it— harsh and fast and uneven. Logan twisted beside you, the sheets tangled around his legs, chest heaving. A growl ripped from his throat, low and feral. Then his claws unsheathed.

“Logan,” you whispered, sitting up. “It’s okay. Hey, it’s just a dream—“

But before you could touch his arm, he lashed out. Metal flashed close to your face and suddenly pain bloomed in your shoulder. You gasped— more from the shock than the actual wound itself. It’s shallow, but your hand flew to the bleeding skin just beneath your collarbone. He woke instantly, eyes wide and wild.

“No,” he rasped, breath catching. “No, no, no— what did I— fuck!”

You tried to speak and to reach him, but he was already scrambling out of the bed. He was already backing away.

“Logan,” you said gently, trying to mask the pain. “It was an accident.”

“I hurt you.”

“It was a dream. You didn’t—“

“That doesn’t matter!” His voice cracked as his shaky hands finally retracted the claws. “I said I’d never hurt you. I said— I said I’d never be that person again.”

Your vision blurred. “You’re not. Logan, you’re not.”

But he was already pulling on his jacket— panic in every line of his body. He refused to look at you. “I need— I need air. And time.”

He was gone before you could beg him to stay.

~~~

Jean and Charles could feel what had happened. You were already trying to bandage yourself in the infirmary when Storm found you.

“He went into the woods,” she told you.

You nodded numbly. “Did he say anything?”

“Only that he was afraid he’d do worse next time.”

“He won’t.”

“I know that. And you know that. But he doesn’t.”

~~~

You found him on a ridge above the lake, crouched low with his knees to his chest. When he looked up at you, his eyes were rimmed red. His fists clenched in the dirt like he was trying to bury himself in it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said hoarsely.

“This is exactly where I should be.”

“I hurt you.”

“You love me.”

He flinched.

You stepped closer. “I’m okay. It wasn’t dep.”

“That’s not the point. What if one day it is? What if one day I…”

You knelt in front of him, taking one of his hands in both of yours. “You’ve never laid a finger on me in anger. Not once. You don’t hurt me.”

His eyes locked on yours— desperate to believe you.

You placed his palm against your chest, over your heat. “This is where you live. Right here.”

He let out a ragged breath and then broke. You held him close while he cried.

~~~

The next night, you came back from brushing your teeth to find Logan already curled up dup on the floor. He had a thin blanket and a pillow, with his body turned away from the bed.

You paused in the doorway. “Logan?”

“Just for tonight.” His voice was rough.

You didn’t push. But you lied in bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, listening to him breath just a few feet away. The distance between you two was heavier than any wound.

~~~

Logan was already on the floor the next night when you entered. In the same spot and posture. You stood at the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to—“

“I do.”

You knelt beside him. “Logan, you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“That’s not the point. I still did.”

You reached for him but he flinched. Your throat closed as you slipped into bed alone again.

~~~

It was the fifth night that became your breaking point. Logan was already on the floor. You stood at the door, waiting for him to break first but he didn’t.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered. “Logan, I need you. And you won’t even look at me.”

Logan didn’t say thing and so you walked out. He didn’t stop you.

~~~

The bed in your room felt wrong. It was too big and too cold. You curled up on your side, waiting to hear the sound of him coming. But he never came and you cried into your pillow.

~~~

The week that followed was painful— for the both of you and everyone around you.

Day One

You passed him in the hallway. He slowed when he saw you. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t. You kept walking.

Day Three

You heard him in the Danger Room while Hank was doing a quick examination of your shoulder, just to be safe. Logan was tearing into the training bots like they had personally offend him. When he limped past the library later, all sweaty, he didn’t look in. You watched him from behind your desk.

Day Four

Jean gently asked if you were okay. You lied and said yes. You knew she could see right through you, but she didn’t push.

Day Six

You almost knocked on his door. Almost. You stood there for ten whole minutes, hand hovering near the wood. But you walked away again. And he heard every footstep.

Day Seven

You found one of his flannels under your bed. It still faintly smells like him. That night, you wore it to bed.

~~~

Logan hadn’t slept. He lied on the floor because he thought he deserved it. He thought it was safer and that distance was kindness. But every time he closed his eyes, he heard you leave again. He whispered your name into the dark. Every night. Over and over again.

~~~

Logan stood by the window in Charles’ office, arms folded tight and jaw locked. Charles watched him from behind his desk, calm as ever, but with that knowing look. The one that said he had already heard Logan’s thoughts.

“You call me here to lecture me?” Logan muttered.

“No,” Charles replied simply. “I called you here because you’ve been bleeding more in the Danger Room than on the battlefield and you haven’t spoken to Y/N in a week.”

Logan didn’t move.

“She walks through the mansion like a ghost, Logan. The students are asking if she’s sick again. Jean asked me if she should start forcing her to check in more. All Y/N says is that she’s fine.”

“She deserves someone who won’t hurt her in her sleep.”

“She deserves someone who won’t disappear the moment she needs comfort. She thought you were that person.”

Logan turned slowly. “I hurt her, Charles.”

“I know.”

“I swore I wouldn’t and I did.”

“You didn’t mean to. She knows that.”

He began to pace. “It doesn’t matter what I meant. What if next time I don’t wake up? What if I— What if I go full animal in my sleep and she pays the price?”

“And what happens when you do similar damage by keeping this distance?”

“… I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Just show up.”

He dropped into a chair in front of Charles’ desk, rubbing his face with both hands. “She’s sleeping in that big bed alone. I know it. And I’m just down the hall, pretending I’m not a coward.”

“You’re not a coward. You’re in love and you’re terrified.”

“I should’ve followed her…”

“You still can.”

~~~

You sat up with a yawn the next morning. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and suddenly tripped. You stumbled forward with a startled gasp, catching yourself on the nightstand before you fell flat. Your eyes snapped down.

“Logan?!”

There he is, curled at the side of your bed. On the floor, asleep. He had a blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon, boots kicked off by the wall. His brows were furrowed even in his sleep. You knelt down beside him. His eyes opened slowly, hazy with sleep and something fragile underneath.

“What are you doing?” You whispered.

“Couldn’t stay away any longer.”

What didn’t you wake me?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

You shook your head. “Logan…”

“I missed you. I missed you so bad I was shaking.”

You leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I tripped over you.”

He huffed a laugh, short and embarrassed. “Romantic, huh?”

You nodded. “Deeply… come back to bed.” You could see the hesitation in his eyes. You held out your hand. “Please.”

Logan slid his fingers through yours and lets you pull him up. You led him to the bed and he climbed in beside you. You curled into him immediately and his arms wrapped around you just as quickly.

“No more running,” you whispered against his collarbone, pressing a kiss to it.

“No more.”

Chapter Text

Months had passed and the two of you were doing better. Yes, there were hard moments, but you two were resolved to working through them together.

Logan found you in the library in the afternoon. Your fingers were running against the spines of a stack of new books, absorbing the information in them. There was a light smile on your face, causing Logan’s lips to quirk up. After watching you for a moment, he came over and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You giggled as he began pressing opened-mouth kisses up your neck.

“Logan…” you whined.

“Mmm?” He hummed, still kissing you.

“We’re in the library.”

“Don’t care. Need you.”

You giggled. He turned you in his arms and finally kissed you on the lips. You melted into him, hands sliding up to go around his neck. Logan deepened the kiss as his hands held you tighter. When the two of you finally broke the kiss, you smiled at him.

“How’s your day been?” You asked.

“Better now that I have you,” he answered.

You rolled your eyes. “Have any plans tonight?”

“Nothin’ much, just takin’ you out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, thought we could go into town. Get some dinner. Walk around—“

“Go to the bookshop?”

Logan chuckled. “I was gettin’ there.”

“When are we leaving?”

“As soon as you’re ready.”

“Let me change and then we can go.”

~~~

You changed into a brand new sweater that you’d been saving for a moment like this. When you stepped out, Logan was leaning against the wall opposite your door. He was wearing a black button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins on his forearms. He had gotten fixed up just for you, and you swore you had never seen him look better. Logan stood up straight, eyes shamelessly taking you in.

“That new?” He questioned, voice rough.

You nodded, biting your lip slightly.

He groaned, reaching out and pulling you closer by your hips. “That sweater’s gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

“Well, you don’t look so bad yourself, handsome.”

The two of you shared a kiss and then you were on your way.

~~~

You practically skipped into the bookshop, dragging Logan along as he chuckled. You ran your fingertips along the spines, whispering facts and stories about the ones you had read and the ones you still longed to. Logan followed closely, watching you more than the shelves because you were his favorite story.

“Logan? Can I get a few books?” You timidly asked, fingers lingering next to one you really wanted to grab.

Logan grabbed the book for you with a smirk. “What other books can I hold for you, baby?”

You quickly pulled him into a kiss. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Logan grabbed every book you so much as glanced at or touched for longer than ten seconds. He ended up walking out of the book store with a large tote full of books in one hand and your hand in another.

~~~

After a lovely dinner at a nearby bistro, you and Logan were walking back to the car. You were leaning into him slightly, growing tired. You glanced up at the stars beginning to show over head and opened your mouth to say something but the only thing that came out was a cry of pain. Something had been shot at you and hit you in the neck. You staggered to the side. Logan turned towards you as black vans slammed into the curb. Dozens of boots hit the pavement. The men were armed and masked and fast, too fast.

“Lo— Logan…” you slurred.

The sedative had hit your bloodstream hard. You collapsed against Logan. He dropped the books and caught you.

“Don’t you touch her!” He snarled as the soldiers closed in.

But even he couldn’t fight off twelve trained men while you were in his arms without the risk of hurting you. Before he knew it, a chain was wrapped around his neck and a sonic pulse device hit him. Logan dropped to his knees. You were passed out now, but he still leaned over you, trying to shield your body with his own. Adamantium cuffs were placed on his wrists and multiple soldiers pulled him up while others pulled you onto a stretcher.

“Let go of her!” He continued to fight, but was failing. “Let go of her!”

Then a needle was pushed into his neck and he was shoved into a different van than you.

~~~

You woke first. Your head ached. You were bound with sleek metal cuffs to a metal chair, once again. Across from you was Logan. He was slumped against the wall, drugged but alive. His ankles and hands were chained. You strained against the cuffs.

“Logan,” you called, voice hoarse. “Lo—“

“Good to have you back, little archivist,” a woman’s voice crackled through the intercom. It was the same woman who took you months ago. Logan had failed to kill her because she got away in time. “We thought that isolating you would make it easier to keep you. But that didn’t work. So this time, we will make sure you have the perfect bodyguard.”

“You can’t use him.”

“Oh, we’re not going to use him. Not directly. But if we hurt you— just a little— if we push I’m the right way? we’ll have the most powerful living databank and the most indestructible weapon… all at once.”

Your stomach turned. Across the room, Logan groaned as he began to wake. His head lifted slowly. His eyes latched onto you and how you were bound to the chair. There’s no confusion or grogginess— just sudden, sharp rage.

“No,” he growled. “No— no, no, no!”

His claws came from his fists as he launched towards you. But the chains held, barely. He snarled like a cornered animal.

“Let her go!” He shouted. “Let her go or I swear—“

“Predictable, Wolverine,” the woman’s voice crackled overhead again. “Almost noodle.”

Then you screamed. An electric shock hit your restraints. You convulsed in the chair, eyes squeezed shut and breath ripped from your lungs.

“STOP!” Logan bellowed.

He thrashed violently, trying to yank free from the chains. But they don’t stop. Not until you slump forward, sobbing, do they cut the current. Logan was shaking.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he rasped.

“I’m… okay…” you barely got out.

“I’m gonna kill them. I’m going to rip them apart.”

“Maybe,” the woman’s voice returned. “But not before we make her what she’s meant to be. And this time, you get to watch.”

Logan snapped the chain that held his right wrist free with a roar. His claws slashed through the air— at the chains, the wall, anything preventing him from getting to you.

“She’s not yours!” He shouted.

The soldiers flooded in. Some with sonic weapons, others in metal-line suits, and one with a pressure device that blasted him back against the wall. Logan took down four before they could fully reach him. And in his mind, he nearly reached you. But a shock collar clamped down around his throat with a hiss and a snap, and before he could rip it off, it pulsed. Electricity flooded through is spine.

Logan’s claws retracted with a scream of metal and his body seized. He collapsed to his knees, but he still strained and reached for you. The soldiers grabbed him and chained him to the wall with more chains laced with adamantium. A metal harness clamped onto his shoulders and more shocks came to keep him down.

“Leave him alone!” You cried.

“We don’t want him hurt,” one of the men said coldly. “Just held. It’s you we truly need.”

Your chair screeched backwards, dragging across the floor until there’s no chance that Logan could reach you in his condition. Logan fought again— claws unsheathing in spasms as he body bucked against the binding like an animal. But nothing budged.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” He snarled, voice cracked and wrecked.

They ignored him. The woman entered in a lab coat, flanked by more people in lab coats. One of them has a tray of various vials and a large injector.

“Nice to see you again, Y/N,” the woman commented. “Are you ready to begin?”

You know that they are going to do— turn you into a vault. Leave you empty of any real personality. All in front of Logan. “No,” you whispered. “Please don’t—“

“We won’t allow what happened last time to. I have different serums for you. Ones that will truly alter your brain to become what we need.” She lifted the large injector and placed the vials on it.

Across the room, Logan screamed. “Don’t you fucking touch her! I’ll kill you! I will kill you all!”

But he can’t move. He can only helplessly watch as he struggles in the restraints. The injector touched your skin, your body jerked as the fluids rushed into it. Your vision went white. And Logan watched you fall limp in your chair as the light flickered from your eyes. Gone in a way that made something in him die.

“No, no, no, no, no, no!” His voice was broken. He strained against the restraints until they begin to cut into his skin. “What did you do to her?!”

But everyone ignored him as the people in lab coats continued to work. They attached cables and wires and tubes to you, everywhere. They rolled in large screens that flickered to life with boxes of data.

Logan could see the twitch in your fingers. The way your lips moved— like you were trying to speak, but the words were caught somewhere deep inside. He knew that you were fighting, but he couldn’t reach you. He tried anyway.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he begged. “C’mon, darlin’, come back. Come back! You’re in there. I know you are.”

Nothing.

~~~

Jean walked briskly towards Charles’ office, her brow furrowed. Behind her, Ororo and Scott, both concerned too. Charles was already waiting, expecting them.

“They’re still not back,” Jean stated. “They would never just disappear without letting one of us know.”

Charles didn’t respond right away. But his fingers trembled where they rested on the arm of his chair. “I tried to reach her,” he finally said. “Her mind is… present. But closed. Muted… almost like—“

“Before. Do you think someone attacked them?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“I’ll get the jet ready,” Scott said, rushing out.

~~~

Inside your mind, it was too quiet where your consciousness had settled. There were no pages turning, no footsteps, no heartbeat. Just the hollow each of thoughts drifting apart like dust motes in water. You were floating in a space that used to feel like yours— your own library, your mind, your sanctuary. But the shelves were empty now. The books were half-burned, pages were torn and scattered everywhere. You reached for them, only for them to fall apart. And worse— you were forgetting why you ever cared.

Something tugged at your from far away. A voice. Begging, growling, screaming. Doing everything it could to try to give you to come back to it. You turned to turn towards it. But your limbs wouldn’t move.

“You hold on, you hear me? Please, baby.”

Your lips parted to respond, but no sound came out. Your hands trembled, fingers twitching as you tried to pull yourself back— tried to grab the voice, the memory, the man tied to it. Logan. You remembered his voice, the feeling of his weight beside you, his scent. But it was all fading. No matter how hard you tired to reach, your mind kept slipping into the void.

And then a new voice cut through. It was a cold and mechanical version of you.

“Stabilization squeeze engaged.”

No.

“Neural imprinting resuming. Subject memory cohesion now secondary.”

You shook your head.

“Cognitive override in place. Archive protocol online.”

You screamed inside your mind. A full-body, panicked scream. You could feel yourself slipping more.

“Logan,” you barely whispered to yourself. “Please…”

But it was too late. The light began to fade. And your thoughts scattered like paper in the wind.

~~~

It had been hours or minutes or forever. Logan didn’t know anymore. The lights had dimmed to a cold him. Blood has dried where the restraints at cut into his skin. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except you. You hadn’t moved in too long. At first, you twitched. Your eyes flickers slightly. But now you were extremely still.

Logan could suddenly feel something inside of him. A void. A silence where you used to be— not physically, but in his soul. It was like someone cut the thread that always tied you to him. He lifted his head slowly, his expression turning feral.

The guards didn’t notice right away. One turned to check a monitor as another laughed under his breath. That was when Logan moved. His claws released and he yanked his arms free with all his might. He ripped the collar off with a roar. He didn’t feel the pain or register the blood. His only focus was getting to you.

Logan was on the guards before they could even draw their weapons, cutting through them easily. The wall shook as he threw one of them across the room. He turned to the last one— one in a lab coat— and grabbed him as he tried to run.

“What did you do to her?!” He yelled.

“Sh-she’s the Archive— she’s not supposed to—“

Logan couldn’t even let him finish, tearing his claws through the guy. And then the door blew open. There was smoke and shouting. Logan spun around, ready to find.

“Logan?!” Ororo shouted, rushing into the room. Jean, Scott, and Hank were on her heals.

“Where is she?!” Jean was frantic.

Logan pointed to the chair and then collapsed to one knee. “But she’s not—“ he rasped. “She’s not in there anymore.”

The team rushed past him. Jean was already pulling the cables off of you as Ororo called for back up and Scott cleared the guards. Hank checked your vitals, calling out data. Logan slowly crawled to your side. He dropped his bloodied claws and touched your cheek with trembling fingers.

“You held on this long,” he whispered. “You don’t get to quit now. Not on me.” His voice cracked. “Don’t leave me, sweetheart. Not now.”

~~~

The jet barely touched down before the team has you in the infirmary. You body was limp, eyes opened but vacant. You were breathing, but it was all wrong. So wrong. Jean shouted instruction, her voice sharp and cracking. Hank rolled your gurney through the double doors while Ororo updated Charles. Logan didn’t let go of your hand once. Not even when they tried to pull him away.

They quickly got medical monitors attached to you. Charles sat to one side while Jean was on the other. They were trying everything. Your mind used to sing with memory, books, language, and emotion. Now it was just a void.

Charles brows furrowed. “I don’t see her,” he murmured. “Its… silent.”

Jean pressed forward hard. “She’s not gone. I can still feel something. It’s faint.”

“She’s hiding.”

“Or trapped. Or… or buried too deep.”

“Then go deeper,” Logan snapped. “Both of you. Do something.”

Jean shook her head. “If we force it, we could damage what’s left.”

“She’s not a machine,” Charles said quietly. “She’s still herself. But we may need more than psychic power to bring her back.”

Logan stared at you, hollow and wrecked, as he fell to his knees beside you. “I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You hear me? You’re not alone. You never were. You come back when you’re ready. I’ll wait.”

~~~

The machines beeped steadily. The room smelt like antiseptic and fading flowers— a vase that Storm had brought in days ago, now drooped at the edges. You haven’t moved. You still breathed on your own. You still looked like you. But your mind was still absent. And Logan hadn’t left your side. Not to sleep or eat. He barely even spoke. He just watched you. One calloused hand always rested over yours.

Ororo entered quietly. “Logan. You need to rest.”

He didn’t bother to look her way. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I said I’m fine.”

She stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been sitting in that chair for six days. She would want you to take care of yourself.”

“She’s want me here.”

“She’s not gone.”

“I know she’s not.”

“Then let us hold vigil while you rest. One hour. Just one, Logan—“

“NO.” He snapped up from his chair. “If she wakes up and I”m not here, she’ll think she’s alone.”

“She won’t—“

“She will. They broke her once. I have to be here to pick up the pieces again.”

Jean appeared in the doorway. “You need sleep, Logan.”

He spun towards her. “Don’t you start.”

“You’re tearing yourself apart.”

“I can’t—“

“You don’t have to want to. You need to.”

“I don’t care! I will not leave her!”

“I’m sorry.” Her hand lifted and Logan’s body locked mid-step, frozen by her powers.

He thrashed and growled. “Jean! Don’t— don’t you dare!”

She stepped forward with watery eyes. “I know. I know. But you can’t help her if you collapse.”

She lowered him gently into the cot nearby that had been brought in for him. Logan gritted his teeth, still fighting her hold.

“You promised,” he said, voice low and broken. “You promised you’d bring her back.”

Jean knelt by the cot. “I will. We all will.”

Then finally, Jean forced him to give into his exhaustion. It’s not an easy rest. He twitched and mumbled your name. And across the room, your hand twitched under the blanket. Jean moved to sit beside you while Ororo stood by.

“I’ll be careful,” she murmured before slipping into your mind.

She gasped when she stepped into the void. Black, cold silence in every direction. There were no shelves or journals or even file cabinets.

“Hello?” She called.

Not even an echo answered. She walked forward, carefully and slow. She didn’t know how long it was until she noticed a flicker. Just the faintest one, a torn page floating through the black. Jean reached for it. One it was Logan’s name in your handwriting. Jean breathed out, steadying herself.

“You’re still in here,” she whispered.

She let go of the page to see it float into an unseen current. She followed and soon more pages appeared, then a book cover, and a spine.

“Where are you?” She asked, not expecting an answer.

But then, a whisper. So faint it barely existed. “I’m tired.”

Jean froze.

“Everything hurts. I’m so.. tired.”

She spun around, trying to figure out which direction it was coming from. “I hear you. Don’t run. Please.”

“I’m not running… I’m hiding.”

There was another flicker. A faint shape curled into the hollow of nothing. Your arms were wrapped around your knees, your body shivering. Jean moved as quickly as she could without scaring you away. You looked up at her as she knelt down. Your eyes were dull and empty.

“I don’t know how to come back,” you whispered. “They did something… I can’t explain it.”

“I can help you,” Jean replied gently.

You flinched. “They’ll just use me again.”

“No. They won’t.”

“He’s seen what they do to be. What I became.”

Jean placed a hand on your arm, trying to keep your flickering form with her. “Logan hasn’t left your side in six days. Not once. He loves you. Nothing they turned you into changes that.”

Your lip trembled. “He’s still here?”

She nodded. “He’s right beside you.”

That got you lurching forward with a sob. Jean quickly grabbed you as the whole empty minds cape seemed to shake.

“I’ve got you,” she promised. “Now come home.”

Jean jerked back to reality, breath catching in her throat. She was crying before she realized it.

Ororo hurried over. “What did you see?”

“She’s in there,” she said. “She’s hiding, but she’s still in there.” She quickly moved to Logan’s side and shook him gently. “Logan. Logan, wake up.”

His eyes snapped open, immediately alert. “What?” He was already standing before he was fully awake. “Is she—?”

“She’s there.”

Logan’s heart stopped. “She’s what?”

“She’s still in there. I found her. I spoke to her. She knew me. She cried.”

“She— she cried?”

Jean nodded. “She asked if you were still here.”

Logan rushed to your side and sunk to his knees. He took your hand and pressed his forehead to yours. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here. You come back to me, you hear?”

“She’s trying.”

~~~

The next hours, Logan doesn’t stop talking. It’s not normal to see from Logan, but he can’t stop. Not when you’re trying to return to him. He had to do what he could to pull you back. He talked about his memories— before you and with you. He read to you. He told you how the other team members were doing and the students— how everyone missed you. He talked about books that you recommended to him and he read, some without you knowing.

“I read that book you always told me about,” he whispered. The one with the poet who didn’t talk until the last page. Took me for tries to get through the first chapter. But I got there. You were right. It was worth it.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Everything’s worth it, if it’s you.”

Your fingers twitched and Logan went still. Your eyelids then fluttered.

“Hey.” He leaned closer. “You in there, sweetheart?”

Slowly, your head shifted, just a fraction towards his voice. Your lips part and in a breath, “Logan?”

He exhaled like he had been drowning and just broke the surface. “I’m here.” He took your face in his hands. “I’m right here.”

You blinked slowly. “You… stayed…”

“Of course I did, baby. You can’t get rid of me.”

Your lips quirked up, barely, but it was enough for Logan.

~~~

You started walking again, eating, and talking. Even a little reading. But there was something always hovering just behind your eyes. A distant stillness. Like a shadow waiting for its moment to wrap around your thoughts and pull. It doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes you were in mid-sentence. Sometimes you were reading. Sometimes you were holding Logan’s hand. But, suddenly, you weren’t there anymore. You go quiet and still. Your eyes go wide but unfocused— like a page someone forgot to finish writing. It terrified everyone, but no one more than Logan.

One afternoon, you were seated at the corner table in the library. A book opened on your lap. Logan was sitting nearby, pretending to skim a history manual. But he was watching you. He was always watching now, just in case. You were in mid-turn of a page when your hand stilled and you froze. Your breath caught, lips parting slightly as your eyes widened. Logan was up in an instant. He knelt beside you, gently cupping your cheek.

“Hey, hey. I got you,” he whispered.

You didn’t blink.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re here. It’s just me.”

There was silence for a moment longer then a single, shaky inhale and your gaze returned. Your focus landed on his face and tears immediately pooled in your eyes.

“I didn’t mean too—“ Your voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to go.”

He pulled you to his chest. “I know… I know…”

~~~

Later that night, you lie in Logan’s bed, curled against him. You couldn’t fall asleep easily anymore. There was now a lingering fear that if you closed your eyes, you might never come back.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” you whispered. “I want to. I just… disappear.”

Logan’s fingers traced slow circles against your back. “You always come back. And until you stop doing that? I’m not going anywhere.”

“And if I don’t?”

His gripped tightened on you. “Then I’ll come in after you.”

~~~

The rain tapped against the windows in Charles’ office. Charles could sense Logan before the knock.

“Come in, Logan.”

The door creaked open. Logan stood in the threshold, soaked from a solo walk through the courtyard, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of too many nights without peace. He shut the door behind him, but didn’t move to sit.

“You’ve seen her,” Logan said after a long pause. “You feel what’s happening to her.”

Charles’ gaze softened. “Yes.”

“She’s slipping further. She’s trying to stay. But whatever they did— whatever’s still inside her— keeps pulling all the damn time.”

Charles nodded.

“I’m asking you to fix it.”

Charles breathed in slowly. “And I’m telling you… we can’t.”

Logan clenched his jaw. “You’re the strongest telepath in the world.”

“And that’s exactly why I know the cost.”

“She’s in pain.”

“She’s alive.”

“That ain’t living! She’s terrified on her own head. Every time she closes her eyes I wonder if she’ll wake up as herself. I sit there holding her hand, hoping she doesn’t vanish while I blink.”

“I know.”

“No,” Logan stepped forward. “You don’t. You weren’t there when she forgot what a window was. You didn’t watch her look at me like she was trying to remember why I mattered. She’s not just some telepathic misfire. She’s not a project. She’s— she’s mine.”

“I’ve gone into her mind gently, as has Jean. And what we founds delicate and fractured. It’s like a library gutted by fire— what’s left is precious, and what’s lost can’t be rebuilt the same way.”

Logan’s shoulders sagged. “So what? We just…wait?”

“We anchor her with love and patience and consistency. With you. That’s what kept her fighting in the first place.”

Logan shook his head with a scoff. “That ain’t enough.”

“It has to be. Because if we every to do more— if we dig too deep, push too hard— we risk losing everything that’s still hers.”

Logan finally sat, slowly, hands curling into fists on his knees. “She deserves better than this.”

“Then do your best to give her that with what she has.”

~~~

You haven’t slipped in a few days. But there’s still an ache inside of you. You’ve seen the way Logan watches you lately. Every time you flinched or hesitated or your eyes glazed for a beat too long. He was aching too. He was trying so hard to hold you together when you feel like you’re falling apart. So you decided to give him something to hold onto. And to give you something to anchor yourself more.

You kissed him first, soft and careful. Then again, deeper and needier. Logan responded like he was afraid to push— like even now, with your body in his hands, you might vanish if he breathed wrong. But you pressed closer, guiding him gently onto the bed. You wanted this. You needed this. The heat, the closeness, the weight of him above you.

“I’m still me,” you whispered.

His hand trembled as it cupped your cheek. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

But you didn’t stop. And slowly, he let go. He kissed you like you’re his entire world. He touched you with reverence and restraint— until you’re both wrapped in sweat and skin and the kind of closeness that feels like it could anchor you.

But then, right in the middle of it, your hands slid from his neck. Your eyes went wide and unfocused. Your body stopped responding.

“Darlin’?” Logan called.

But you were gone.

“Hey, hey. Come back.”

You stared back him, lips parted. Logan stilled inside you like someone caught in a nightmare.

“No— no, no, no, come on, baby, not now.”

He pulled back instantly and gently. He wrapped you in the blanket and cradled your face with shaking hands. You blinked once and then again, confused and scared.

“Did I… what just…” you breathed out.

Logan held you like you were made of porcelain. “You were gone,” he sounded so broken. “In the middle of— you disappeared.”

Your breath shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t.” He kissed your head. “It’s not your fault… it’s not your fault.”

~~~

The classroom was warm and lively. It was his first day back. He refused to teach until it had been a month without you slipping, even then it came with strict promises that you would be watched over every moment. Currently, his class was working on essays about a historical topic of their choice. And, of course, he ended up having to teach a mini English lesson.

“Prepositions ain’t that hard,” he muttered. “They’re just words that tell you where a thing’s at or when it happened.”

A few of the students laughed. He gestured to the sentence he had written on the board.

The claws came from the gloves.

He read the sentence then, “See? Clean. No teeth involved.”

There was more laugher now. A rhythm was returning, shaky but familiar. And behind it all, Logan couldn’t help but think how proud you’d been for him trying. But then the door burst open. A student— wide-eyed and panting— rushed in.

“It happened again!”

Logan froze. “What?”

“In the library. Miss Y/N was helping us. Then she just stopped. We tried, but— Mr. Logan, she’s not moving.”

The board marker dropped from his hand and he was running.

~~~

You were sitting at the large table where students usually worked for group work. Completely gone. Logan crashed through the doors, boots thudding hard enough to shake the shelves. He dropped to his knees.

“Sweetheart,” he called as he cupped your face. “Baby, come back to me.”

Your eyes flickered, faint— barely a tremor.

Jean rushed in. “She’s caught in a loop.”

“What kind of loop?” Logan asked.

“Memory. Something she touched must’ve triggered it.” Jean looked down to see a book open under your hand about government experimentation on mutants. “No.”

Logan looked down. “Shit.” Then he focused back on you. “Come on, darlin’. Don’t let them win.”

You twitched and your breath hitched.

“That’s it,” Jean encouraged. “Keep going.”

Finally, you exhaled. “Logan?”

“I’m here, sweetheart. I got you.”

You burst into tears. “I was doing so good.”

Logan pulled you into his lap. “I know, darlin’, I know.”

Jean herded the students out, casting one long look back before closing the doors.

~~~
You sat on the exam table, swinging your legs slightly, watching Hank type up data on the mentor as he ran another neural scan. You were calmer today. Tired, but lucid. Logan was waiting down the hall— you asked him for ten minutes alone so you wouldn’t feel hovered over. This was your fourth scan this week. You knew the drill. But this time, Hank went still. His fingers stopped moving. His eyes flicked over the reading again, slower and narrowed.

“Strange,” he muttered.

You straightened up. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. He reached over and gently unclipped the monitoring leads from your temples. “That’s all for now. You’re good.”

You furrowed your brow. “Hank—“

“I just want to compare something to last week’s data. You did great.”

You nodded, even though your stomach was in knots. Then you left. The moment the door closed behind you, Hank moved. He brought the scan back up, overlaying it with previous ones. The differences were subtle, but unmistakable. A pattern was forming deep in the neural pathways that wasn’t there before. It was organize, but unnatural. Like something was left behind.

Hank didn’t waste anytime and called Charles, Jean, and Logan into the exam room. Once they were all gathered ten minutes later, Logan spoke up first.

“What is it?” He asked.

Hank exhaled. “There’s a neurological imprint forming. Deep-seating and subtle. It mimics natural pathways at first, but it’s not you. It’s not her.”

Jean leaned in. “Can I see?”

Hank highlights the section on a screen that everyone could see.

“That wasn’t in her brain two weeks ago,” Jean noted instantly.

“It’s a failsafe,” Charles’ voice was quiet.

Logan’s fists clenched. “What kind of failsafe?”

“She was embedded with a psychic trigger at one point during her captivity,” Hank explained. “A command structure. They masked it under trauma respond. But it’s designed to reactivate if certain emotional or environmental factors occur.”

Logan’s eyes went wide. “You’re tellin’ me they could still turn her into something to be controlled?”

Hank hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

Jean ran a shaky hand through her hair. “The slipping. We thought was lingering PTSD. And some of it is. But this— this could be why she keeps disappearing.”

“It’s like someone keeps knocking on the back door of her mind,” Charles murmured. “And if they knock the right way…”

“They could take her again,” Hank finished.

Silence fell.

Then Logan spoke up, low and lethal, “Does she know?”

“No,” Hank answered. “Not yet. I didn’t want to scare her without context. Especially if we don’t know what triggers it.”

“She’s gonna find out. She ain’t stupid.”

“And if she found out too fast?” Jean questioned. “It could activate the failsafe. You know how delicate her mental state it.”

Logan turned and moved for the door. “I’m not lying to her.”

“Logan,” Charles called. Logan paused. “I understand your loyalty. But if you love her— truly— you will give us time. Let us analyze it. Let us figure out how to disarm it without setting it off.”

Logan looked like a man being asked to cut out his own heart. “One day. That’s all I’m givin’ you. One. If anything happens to her because we waited… it’s on you.”

~~~

The mansion was too quiet. Everyone was being kind to you, almost too kind, and suspicious. Jean stopped mid-conversation whenever you entered a room. Hank wouldn’t meet your eyes when you check in for your scan. And Logan had barely touched you since yesterday.

You asked him, once, in the library, “are you okay?”

He said, “I’m fine.”

But his thumb didn’t brush your hand like it used to. And you felt the lie sit between you like a living thing. You knew you were being projected from something.

Later, you were walking down the hallway. Slowly, weighing everything you’d noticed. As you turned the corner, you heard Jean’s voice through the cracked door of the room ahead.

“We can’t tell her,” she said firmly. “Not yet. We can’t afford to trigger it.”

You froze. It took you a moment to gather yourself and step away, quietly. You headed back to Logan’s room and grabbed the file Logan thought he had so sneakily hidden from you. But you could sense it. It was a file about you since you returned, pages added to it with each scan. You sat on the floor and placed the file in front of you. Slowly, you opened it and placed your hand on the first page.

Your chest tightened and something in your brain clicked. Your body suddenly didn’t feel like it was yours anymore. The room around you felt further away and in the mirror across the room, you couldn’t recognize your own eyes.

“Initiation acknowledged,” the mechanical version of you stated in your mind.

~~~

Jean jolted upright in her chair where she was working with Charles.

“Something’s triggered,” Jean said, already moving. “I don’t know how—“

“Where is she?” Charles asked.

Jean’s mind reached out, but hit a wall of static. “She’s suppressing her own signal. Or something else is. Get Logan. Now.”

~~~

Logan was halfway down the hall before Charles fully reached out to him. His focus on one thing. You. He slammed through his bedroom door to see you staring blankly ahead from where you were sitting on the floor, hand pressed to the file.

“Sweetheart?” He breathed, stepping forward.

You didn’t blink, but your head turned to face him. Your eyes were cold, empty.

Logan crossed the room and tore the file out from under you. “Stop. Look at me.”

“I am the Archive.” Your voice was flat.

Logan cupped your face, whole body shaking. “Baby, listen to me. You are not the Archive. You are Y/N. My Y/N.”

You didn’t respond.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

Then it clicked. You could only answer questions. That it how they programed you.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he continued. “Do you remember who I am?”

“You are James Logan Howlett— Project X. The Wolverine. You were born—“

“Okay, okay. But do you know who I am to you?”

You paused, like a computer processing. “That data is not accessible.”

“Yes, it is. Push harder.”

Jean slid into the room. “Logan—“

“Not now! Sweetheart, I need you to push into that data, okay? Can you do what is needed to access the data?”

The file cabinets in the vault of your mind trembled as one of the cabinets fought to stay closed.

“Remember me. I need you to come back. Come back to me.”

You blinked.

“That’s it. Just a little more.”

Your lips parted and eyes softened. “Logan?”

“There she is.”

You choked on the air as you sobbed. You fell forward into Logan, who wasted no time in pulling you into him.

“You’re here. You’re here.”

“I wanted to know what they did,” you sobbed. “And I walked right into it.”

“You came back. You fought. That’s all that matters.”

~~~

It was late evening by the time you were steady enough to sit on the couch in Charles’ office. Logan hadn’t let go of you once. Jean sat on your other side while Hank stood nearby with his arms crossed tightly.

“We should have told you,” Charles stated.

You nodded slowly. “I triggered it myself.”

“That was our mistake.”

Hank cleared his throat. “They implanted something psychic in nature. It’s subtle and invasive. It didn’t just hijack your mind— it convinced you it had always been there.”

You shivered and Logan’s hand tightened around yours. “How close did I get?”

“Too close,” Charles stated. “Thankfully, Logan found a way to reach you.”

“If he hadn’t?”

“We would’ve tried,” Jean stated. “We would’ve fought. Every second of every day.”

But Charles told you the truth. “You wouldn’t have been there to save anymore.”

“Will I keep slipping?”

“Possibly. The damage is… dep. But we’ll continue to fight it— with you.”

You nodded.

“There’s one another thing. We believe that books— paper with information on it— can trigger you. I believe you should be careful around things like that.”

“Are you sayin’ she can’t go into the library?” Logan asked.

“I’m saying that she should be careful about the information she absorbs. Maybe take a break from it.”

“That’s—“

“Logan,” your calm voice cut him off. “It’s okay. I can do something else for a few weeks.”

“Yes,” Jean agreed. “We watch for slips. If you go a good amount of time without any, we can reintroduce the library to you.”

“But—“ Logan tried to argue again.

“Logan,” you interrupted. “I’ll be fine… you’ll be there to distract me, right?”

He sighed, hating the idea of taking your safe place away from you. “Of course, sweetheart.” He pulled you closer and kissed your head. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Chapter Text

Logan worked hard to make sure you were comfortable while you were taking a break from the library. And it wasn’t easy by any means. At first, it was hard to get you out of the routine of going to the library after meals and in the morning and to close it up at night. Logan made sure he always had his hand in yours when you walked the halls. When you turned or paused near the library, he would either gently guide you in the other direction or held your hand a little tighter. He hated since the light dim from your eyes in this way, different from when you slipped.

One afternoon, he found you sitting beside his window. You were curled up in a blanket, watching the light rain hit the window. There was an untouched book sitting in front of you. He pause dint he doorway, watching you. You weren’t slipping— he knew the signs too well by now— but there were something just as heavy in the slump of your shoulders and the hollow way you stared past the glass. Logan stepped in slowly, careful not to startle you.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than the rain.

You blinked, his voice pulling you present. Your gaze dropped to the book in front of you. “I picked it up,” you murmured. “But I couldn’t open it.”

He nodded, crouching in front of you. “That’s okay.”

“I want to. More than anything.”

“I know.” He reached up and tucked the blanket around your legs more. “But you don’t have to push it. Not today.”

“But what if I never get to again? What if this is it, Logan? What if I never get to love books again without being afraid of losing myself?”

He reached for the book, picking it up carefully. “I’ll read to you. Come here.”

Logan wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his lap. He opened the book and held it with one hand then began reading. His voice wasn’t polished or theatrical. It was gravelly, halting at times— but steady, warm, and safe. You curled tighter into him and the blanket. Logan could feel you begin to relax as he read. He finished the page and looked down to check on you. Your eyes were closed.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and whispered “one page at a time, sweetheart. We’ll get there.”

And then he kept reading. So that your heart could hold the words your mind wasn’t ready to hold yet.

~~~

Weeks go past, you still had moments were you slipped but they were getting less and less frequent. It had almost been two months since you had been in the library. You had talked to Charles before you brought it up to Logan, but you wanted to try to spend small amounts of time in the library. Charles agreed, though Logan took a little bit more persuasion. Eventually he agreed, though you had to promise that he’d be with you most of the time.

Now, you were paused inside the library doorway. The familiar scent of old paper and warm wood hit you like a memory too sharp at the edges. The golden light filtering through the tall windows dances across the spines you once knew by heart. Your fingertips twitched at your sides. Logan stood behind you— close, but not crowding, with one hand gently brushing against yours.

“You don’t have to go in,” he said softly. “Not today.”

You took in another deep breath. “I want to.”

He nodded once, eyes scanning the shelves before they shifted back to you. “Okay. We go in together.”

The floor creaked beneath your boots as you stepped in, with Logan right behind you. You trailed your fingers along the edge of a table. You end up walking back to the corner table you kept clear for Logan. It was still clear. You sat down slowly and for a moment everything felt right.

Then, a flicker. Your eyes locked on a stack of returned books near your front desk and a familiar static crawled into your mind. Your fingers curled against the table as your breathing stalled.

“Don’t,” you whispered to yourself. “Don’t come back.”

It pushed harder. Your vision blurred for a second. The warmth in the room dimmed. You weren’t gone yet, but you were close.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice cut through the fog. You didn’t register him kneeling in front of you, both hands cupping your face. “Look at me. Look at me, sweetheart. Breathe.”

You were trembling, but you took a breath. Then another. And just like that, the presence faded. You sagged forward into his chest.

“You came back,” he said softly, a hint of pride in his voice. “On your own.”

You nodded weakly. “Almost didn’t.”

“But you did.” He leaned back just enough to meet your eyes. “Faster than ever before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You fought it. You won.” He tugged you closer, pressing his forehead gently to yours. “You don’t have to conquer this place all at once. You just have to keep comin’ back to me.”

~~~

Week One of Testing Out the Library

You stepped into the library for ten minutes. Logan waited at the door, leaning against the frame, eyes on you the entire time. You sat at your old desk, focusing on your breathing and counting books. The air still felt tight, but it didn’t choke.

When you glanced at Logan and whispered, “okay, that’s enough,” he was already moved. He offered you his hand and led you out like the two of you were just taking a walk.

Week Two

You stayed for twenty minutes. You resolved three books. One of them was in a language you didn’t recognize and for a second, the letters blurred.

Logan’s hands landed gently on your shoulders. “That’s enough, sweetheart.”

You nodded. He steered you to the greenhouse. You sat among the plants with him until the buzzing in your head faded.

Week Three

You didn’t need Logan to speak up. He saw your jaw clench and your fingers twitch. Quietly, he closed the book you wrestled organizing, set it on a shelf, and said, “Let’s walk.” You took his hand without question.

Month Two

You managed half a day. Jean stopped by, and for a moment, the soft psychic hum in the room made your spine go rigid— but Logan was there. His thumb brushed your hand once and you breathed again.

You were shelving and cataloging. You laughed at something ridiculous Logan said about how the Dewey Decimal System was obviously a conspiracy. He brought you lunch in a paper bag. You sat on the floor between two shelves and ate together, legs touching, his arm draped behind you.

Month Three

You were now in the library from morning to late afternoon. Logan dropped by often, but didn’t hover as much anymore. Sometimes he sat down and read or graded papers. Sometimes he just watched from the corner, just in case you needed him.

You handled student questions. Helped with research projects. You even laughed with Ororo about an old book that was left in the kitchen.

The First Full Day

You realized it after the fact. You had been in the library since breakfast. No panic or fog or slipping. Just you. You leaned back in your chair, fingers gently brushing the old wood of your desk. Logan stepped into the doorway, expecting to guide you out. But when he saw you there— calm, whole, and glowing— he stopped. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

You looked at him, almost dazed. “I didn’t slip.”

“I know.”

“I was in here all day.”

He stepped closer, crouched beside you, and rested an arm across your knees. “You made it, darlin’.” He gave you a kiss on the lips. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

“So am I.”

~~~

Even as you began extending your time in the library, you always had adult help in there with students, just in case. Until today.

Logan just returned to his room from a Danger Room session. His hoodie was sweat-damp. He shrugged out of it and was heading towards the shower— until he heard your footsteps. Light and fast.

You burst through his door, eyes shining. “Logan!”

He turned, surprised. “Hey, what’s—“

“I did it!” You were practically bouncing as you kicked the door shut behind you. “I helped students all day— all day, Logan! By myself!” You laughed. “Ororo didn’t have to step in once. I helped Jamie cite his mutant rights essay, walked Kitty through three chapters of Frankenstein, and even sleeved the upper stacks without panicking.”

Logan’s mouth quirked into a slow, crooked smile. He leaned against the dresser, watching you like you had just risen from the dead. “You sound like you swallowed the sun.”

“I feel like it! I didn’t slip. Not even when one of the newer kids asked about the experiments.”

At that, his expression sobered. “You okay?”

Your smile softened. “Yeah. I talked to him. Just like I used to.”

He pushed off the dresser and walked over, his hands found your waist as if on instinct. “Hell of a day.”

You nodded, eyes glassy with proud tears. “I feel like me again.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “You never stopped bein’ you. You just forgot for a while.”

“Thank you. For staying. For being my anchor.”

“Always.”

You smiled and then kissed him— full of joy, strength, and everything that had come back to you.

He grinned when you pulled back. “So what now, bookworm?”

“Now? We celebrate.”

“Dinner?”

“Pizza. In bed. I’m exhausted.”

He laughed and pulled you in tighter. “Best damn plan I’ve heard all week.”

~~~

It started like any other day, besides the fact that Logan was away on a mission. The library hummed with it’s usual rhythm. Everything was steady. Until it wasn’t.

You were helping a group of students with a historical ethics project. Jamie sat near the end of the table, half-buried in notes, pencil tapping nervously as he listened to you explain how information had been suppressed during mutant registration acts.

One of the newer students, older and arrogant, leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “Guess that’s why they tried to keep her locked up like a weapon,” he commented. “Can’t blame them, really. She’s got more in her head than the rest of us combined.”

The words hung in the air like a live wire. You couldn’t even stop it from coming. You froze. Your eyes glazed.

Jamie looked up just in time to see the color drain from your face. “Hey… Hey, wait—“

But it was too late. You were gone. Your breathing slowed. Your eyes went unfocused and your shoulders slacked. The pencil in your hand dropped to the floor and rolled beneath the desk. The entire room stilled.

Jamie shot to his feet. “What did you do?”

The newer student scoffed. “What? It was just a joke. I didn’t mean—“

“You don’t joke about that!” Jamie rushed around and grabbed your arm, trying to anchor you back. “She’s been fine for months! You had to open your mouth—“

“I didn’t know—“

“Yeah, well now you do!” Jamie was nearly shaking as he crouched in front of you. “Miss Y/N? Please, come on. It’s Jamie. You remember me, right?”

You blinked, barely.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting for help. But no one moved fast enough. So he just kept talking. “Remember when you taught me how to breathe through a panic? You did that. You’re not some weapon— you’re you. You’re our librarian. You don’t have to go back to that place. Please. Come back.”

A breath, then another blink, and then your shoulders shook. You gasped, clutching at your chest, eyes wide with panic. “I— I—“

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You looked around, trying to search for Logan. “Where’s—“

“Logan’s out on a mission, remember? But I’ve got you.”

You slid off your chair and cried. Jamie didn’t leave your side until the adults came.

~~~

The jet’s ramp lowered with a hiss. Logan stepped down, jaw tight, movements stiff from a tiring mission. He knew something was wrong the moment he saw Charles waiting for him.

“What is it?” Logan asked.

Charles didn’t answer right away, never a good sign.

“Spit it out, Chuck.”

“It’s Y/N.”

“What happened?”

“She had an episode. A student said something deeply thoughtless. It triggered a slip.”

Logan’s fists curled at his sides. “How bad?”

“She was unresponsive for several minutes. Jamie wasn’t the one who brought her back. She’s shaken and exhausted now. It came out of nowhere, Logan. After all this time… You should know— she asked for you the moment she came back.”

“Where is she?”

“Back in your room. Jamie stayed with her until Ororo arrived. She hasn’t left the bed.”

Logan didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked.

~~~

The light from the hallway slanted across the floor as the door creaked open. You didn’t move. You had been curled in Logan’s bed for hours now, eyes red from crying and throat raw. Your body hadn’t quite stopped shaking.

Ororo sat in the chair beside the bed. She hadn’t said much, just stayed. Her steady presence kept you from slipping again. Her voice a quiet, grounding force every time your fingers twitched towards panic.

Logan stepped through the doorway, still wearing his mission gear. He looks like he was ready to tear the world apart. But the second he saw you, he went still. You looked up, meeting his eyes. Ororo rose quietly. Her hand brushed your arm once, a silent reassurance, and then she stepped past Logan without a word. He barely noticed because all he cane see is you, curling in his bed. Shaking. He took a slow step forward until he was kneeling beside the bed.

“Darlin’…” he voice was barely more than a whisper. “What happened?”

Your bottom lip trembled. You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your hand reached out from beneath the blanket. Logan took it without hesitation.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I didn’t even feel it coming.”

“I know,” he rasped. “I know, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, tears spilling again. “I was doing so good.”

“You still are.” He moved closer. “You had a bad day— a bad moment. That doesn’t undo all the good ones.”

“I asked for you.”

“I came. Soon as I heard.”

“Will you stay?”

He didn’t answer. He just climbed onto the bed beside you, tucking himself close as he wrapped you up. He pressed his lips to your temple, your cheek, then to your shoulder. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to feel safe in his arms.

~~~

The word spread fast. Students whispered in the hallways. They had thought your episodes were behind you. That you were untouchable again, steady and strong. But yesterday proved otherwise.

Logan was a storm barely held back. He found the student near the courtyard— the one who had been too reckless. Logan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. Just his presence was enough to make the boy straighten up like a rabbit sensing a wolf.

Logan stalked up to him, eyes sharp, voice low. “You think you’re clever?” He growled.

The student swallowed. “I didn’t mean anything by it—“

“You said she was a weapon.” Logan stepped closer. “You joked about what nearly broke her. And that slip? That was on you.”

The kid opened his mouth.

“Don’t. You don’t get to explain. You get to learn. And if you ever— ever— speak about her like that again, you’ll wish it was just me in your face.”

The student stumbled back with a mumbled apology and hurried off, face pal. Logan didn’t watch him go. Instead, he turned and spotted Jamie standing nearby. Jamie, who was still clearly rattled from yesterday but trying to act like he wasn’t. Logan walked up to him. Jamie squared his shoulders like be was bracing for a lecture. Instead, Logan clapped a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly.

Jamie blinked. “What?”

“You were there when I couldn’t be. You got her back.”

Jamie shrugged a little. “She’s always been there for me.”

Logan nodded once. “You did good, kid.”

Jamie glanced away, slightly overwhelmed. “Is she okay now?”

“She will be. Because of you.”

“Is… Is it always going to be like this? One moment she’s there and the next she’s just… gone?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “Maybe not always. But we’re not gonna let her fall. Not alone.”

Jamie nodded. Logan gave his shoulder a light squeeze before walking off.

~~~

Ororo was working in the greenhouse weeks later. She heard him before she saw him. The door creaked open and boots paused at the threshold.

“You can come in, Logan,” she called without looking up from the plants she was tending to.

He grunted and stepped inside.

She glanced up. “You’re tracking mud.”

He wiped his boots on the mat without protest. Then came further in with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

Ororo tilted her head. “You’re brooding. That’s not new. But this feels… different.”

He shifted, cleared his throat, then grumbled, “I need your opinion. Yours and Jean’s.”

That got her attention. “You rarely ask for our opinion on anything. Should I be worried?”

“Probably.”

Ororo set down her tools and gave him her full attention. “What is it?”

Logan exhaled like it pained him. “I want to ask Y/N… I want to ask her to move in with me.”

Oror’s brow lifted. “She basically already does. I don’t—“

“No, in an apartment. In town. Just us. No mission alarms. No infirmary. Just… a place. Ours.”

She started for a moment and then smiled. “I think that’s beautiful, Logan.”

“I think it’s terrifying.”

Jean stepped in from the outer garden just then, catching the tail end of it. “What’s terrifying?”

Ororo gestured toward Logan. “He wants to ask her to move in with him. Like, in an apartment.”

Jean’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Logan shot them both a look. “Don’t make it a whole thing.”

Jean grinned. “It is a whole thing, Logan.”

“She’s been through enough. I don’t wanna push. Or trap her. Or make her feel like she owes me anything.”

“She doesn’t,” Ororo agreed. “But that’s not what this is. You’re not asking her to owe you. You’re asking her to choose you.”

“And I think she will,” Jean added. “Not out of guilt or trauma. But out of love.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said quietly, “I don’t want her to feel like she has to be ready for everything all at once.”

“Then tell her exactly that,” Ororo said. “Give her a door. And let her walk through it when she’s ready.”

Logan nodded slowly, taking it in.

Jean gave him a soft smile. “We’ll help you find the place, if you want.”

“Yeah… yeah. Okay.”

~~~

You’d been in the car for fifteen minutes and Logan still hadn’t told you where you were going.

You glanced over at him. “You’re suspiciously quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“You’re quiet with a purpose.”

He just let out a grunt— but there was something in the way his jaw was set, his grip on the wheel, and the way his knee bounced faintly.

You arched an eyebrow. “You’re not taking me to a surprise training session, right?”

“Hell no. I like you too much for that.”

You smiled, but before you could tease him more, he pulled off the main road into a quiet neighborhood just a few blocks from the bookstore you loved. It was residential, quiet, and cosy. He parked beside a modest, two-story apartment complex, and cut the engine. You looked at him, confused. But he didn’t say anything. He just got out of the car, jogged around your side to open the door for you.

“Logan…”

“Come on.”

He took your hand. You followed him up the short flight of stairs to the second floor. He unlocked a door with a key you didn’t know he had and pushed it open. You stepped inside, and froze. It was an empty apartment. The hardwood floors creaked gently beneath your feet. It was three bedrooms, two bathrooms. It had high ceilings, clean walls, a small fireplace, and a little balcony facing the trees.

You turned in a slow circle, stunned. “What is this?”

Logan stood just inside the doorway, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, watching you.

You blinked at him. “Logan?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s ours.”

Your heart stuttered. “…ours?”

“I mean— it could be.” He took a small step forward. “If you want.”

You just stared.

“I figured… you’d want your own room to turn into a library.” He gestured loosely down the hall. “Or an office or whatever. You can have all three bedrooms if you want. I don’t care. I just— I want a place that’s not the mansion. Not the ghosts. Just… us. I don’t care if we move in tomorrow or six months from now. But I wanted you to see it. To know I’m serious. About you. About this. About having something that’s ours.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

Logan stepped a little closer. “It’s quiet here. Close to the school. And I already drew up some plans for bookshelves.”

You laughed softly through the tears. Then launched yourself into his arms. He caught you instantly, holding you tight against his chest.

You whispered against his shoulder, “you want a home with me.”

“I need a home with you,” he murmured back, voice rough. You pulled back just enough for a searing kiss. “So… what do you think?”

“I think I want the room with the biggest window for the library.”

He grinned. “You got it, darlin’.”

~~~

Sunlight spilled through the windows of your new home, bright and golden and safe. The front door was propped open with a box, the living room was full of more of them and new furniture. Logan and Hank were down the hall, covered in sawdust and arguing about bracket angles.

“You’re not evening reading the specs, Logan—“

“I don’t need specs, I got instincts—“

“Instincts got me a crooked shelf in my office!”

You could hear them from the kitchen, and it made you laugh. You and Ororo were elbow-deep in bubble wrap and mugs, the sound of ceramic clinking as you excitedly unpacked your collection. The cabinets were open, mugs already littered the counter, waiting for their proper place.

“Oh! This one—“ you held up a sun-yellow mug with a tiny fox painted on the side. “Logan tried to pretend he didn’t like it, but he used it every single morning for three months. It’s going front and center.”

Ororo chuckled. “He’s subtle like a brick wall.”

You giggled. “He also thinks he’s sneaky. Like when he “accidentally” left an entire bag of coffee with my name written on it in sharpie and it just “appeared” in the pantry.”

“Subtle.”

You were glowing, breathless with joy as you moved from one cabinet to the next. “This is the happiest I’ve been in— I don’t know, forever? It’s ours, ‘Ro. A home. I can breathe again and there’s room for books and plants and space for—“

Then it hit. Your froze mid-sentence. Your hand dropped the mug. It didn’t shatter, but something inside you did. Ororo turned immediately.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no—“

From the hall, Logan heard the crash of ceramic and the Ororo’s urgent voice, “Logan!”

“Move!” He told Hank, pushing past him with claws instinctively half0out.

He entered the kitchen to find you standing in the center, staring at nothing, lips parted like you were about to say something but forgot how. Ororo already had yours hands, trying to ground you. Logan stepped in front of you.

“Sweetheart,” he voice lowered like he was speaking to something fragile inside a glass shell. “It’s me. I’m here.” He took your hands from Ororo and pressed them to his chest. “Feel that? You’re not alone. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Your lip trembled and then you blinked. Your knees gave out. Logan caught you instantly, arms wrapping around you, lowering you to the floor gently. You clutched at him, breathing hard, disoriented, and aching.

“I— I was happy,” you rasped, voice shaky. “I was so happy. What did it happen when I was happy?”

Ororo knelt beside you, hand on your back. “Because healing does’t care about timing. And neither does trauma.”

Logan cupped your face, brow knit tight with love and fear. “This doesn’t erase any of the good,” he murmured. “We’re still here. You’re still home.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” He kissed your forehead. “But you’re not broken. You’re healing. And I’m not going anywhere.”

~~~

After the slip in the kitchen, you had a few more slips over the next few weeks. Hank decided it was time to run some scans again. He was quiet as he looked at your brain scans. Too quiet. You sat on the edge of the exam table, heart already thudding dully in your chest, hands folded in your lap. You’d been through this before. Routine checks and monitoring. But this silence was something different.

“Hank?” You finally whispered.

He turned slowly, adjusting his glasses. There was kindness in his eyes, no comfort. “Your scans are changing,” he said softly. “There’s… a pattern I hadn’t caught before. Each time you slip, it’s not just neurological disruption. It’s damage.”

Your breath caught. “Damage?’

He nodded once. “Small, but cumulative. Micro-degradation in multiple neural pathways. Left unchecked, we’re not just talking about dissociation or loss of control anymore. We’re talking about… losing you.”

“I— I thought I was getting better.”

“You are. Emotionally. Psychologically. You’re stronger. But whatever they injected you with left scars we didn’t fully understand.” He reached out and placed a hand on your knee. “You need to understand, it’s important you you make the most of every clear day. Every clear moment.”

“So… I’m… dying?”

Hank sighed. “With each slip… I’m afraid so.”

~~~

The apartment smelt like sawdust and something warm in the oven. You stepped inside, slow and quiet. Logan was standing in the doorway to what would be your library. Covered ins sawdust, shirt stained, and a crooked grin. Behind him, finished floor to ceiling bookshelves. Perfectly crafted, sturdy, and hand-carved. He lit up with he saw you.

“Hey, baby. Surprise. “He stepped back so you could see the full room .”Finished it. Took Hank’s advice on the anchor supports. Damn near killed me to admit he was right.”

You started at the shelves, not speaking. You hated that you were going to ruin this moment. Then you looked at him.

He noticed the look on your face almost instantly. “Hey… what is it?”

“Hank ran another scan.”

Logan’s smile faltered.

“Every time I slip… it’s not just mind getting pulled under. It’s killing me. Little by little.”

Logan didn’t move for a long moment. Then he stepped forward and took your hands in his, gentle but firm. “How long?”

“He didn’t say. Could be years or months or… sooner. If I slip too deep.”

He looked away for a second, jaw tight. When he looked back, his eyes were glassy. “You didn’t want to tell me…”

“I didn’t want to ruin this moment.”

“You didn’t.” He stepped closer, bringing your hands to his chest. “You couldn’t.”

“Are you scared?”

“Terrified.”

“Are you mad?”

“No. I’m just thinkin’ about how many damn books we’re gonna need to fill these shelves.”

You laughed— short and teary.

“Whatever time we got, I want all of it with you. Every second. Every breath. Every chapter and fight and kiss. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not unless you do. And even then, I’ll follow.”

~~~

The door slammed harder than necessary. Logan stormed into the War Room, eyes hard. He was still in his teaching clothes— flannel rolled to his elbows. Charles was already at the head of the table. Jean and Hank exchanged a glance at they sat. Ororo and Scott entered a moment later.

“What happened?” Scott asked.

Logan stood in front of them. “She told me last night,” he voice was gruff and uneven. “About what Hank found.”

Hank looked down.

Ororo’s breath hitched. “Oh, no…”

“She’s saying,” Logan said flatly. “Every time she slips, it eats away at her. Her mind. Her soul.”

“Logan, we know,” Jean stated. “Hank told us this morning. We were going to—“

“No.” He slammed his hands not he table. “You’re going to fix this.” He stared at them, barely containing the grief behind the rage. “I’m not asking for a miracle. I’m telling you— find a way. I don’t care what it takes. You dig into Cerebro. You tear open whatever files you have to. Go back into her mind, scan every trace of what they did to her. I want something. A thread. A path. A fucking hail Mary.”

Charles closed his eyes, pained.

Logan’s voice dropped. “Don’t make me watch her fade. Don’t make me hold her while she disappears into herself and pretend like I’m not already grieving someone who’s still breathing.”

“Logan…” Charles’ voice was gentle as he opened his eyes. “We’ll try. All of us. But I won’t lie to you. The damage done to her wasn’t just psychic or chemical. It was invasive, foundational. Healing this… we may bot be able to.”

Logan simply stared at him.

“So while we work— while we search— you must not waste a single day.”

Logan looked down. His knuckles were white as he pressed them against the table. “I’m not. I’m holding on to every damn one.” He stepped back from the table. “Just make sure there’s still more ahead of us.”

~~~

Logan found you curled in your favorite corner of the school’s library— a worn book lying open in your lap, untouched for who knew how long. The moment he saw you, his chest tightened. You were still, too still. Your eyes were wide and fixed on nothing.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, moving slowly, carefully.

You didn’t heart him or see him. He knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. They were cold. He pressed his forehead to your knuckles.

“Come back to me,” he voice was barely more than a whisper, but rough with emotion. “C’mon, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

No response.

He shifted, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re not there. You’re here. With me. You’re in the library. It’s late. And I know you don’t wanna miss our morning walk.”

Your eyes fluttered slightly.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. You’re not lost. You’re not gone. I got you.”

You blinked one. And then again. Then you crumpled. He caught you before you fell. A sob cracked from your chest, your hands clutched his shirt like you were afraid the world would cave in.

“I didn’t even feel it,” you sobbed. “It just… happened.”

“I know,” his voice broke as he pulled you onto his lap. “You’re okay now. You came back. That’s what matters.”

You were silent for a long moment, then, “Logan?”

He hummed softly, rocking you in his arms.

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He stiffened then pulled back to meet your eyes.

“I want to see the world. With you. All of it. Not just from the library and the words on the pages. I want to sunrises in Greece. Coffee in Paris. Books on a beach. I want to live before there’s nothing left of me to live.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Say yes… please.”

Logan stared at you for a beat. Then he cupped your face and kissed you— not rushed or desperate, just full of love. “I’ll show you everything.”

“I want it all.”

He kissed your forehead. “Then it’s yours.”

Chapter Text

Logan went to Charles the next morning about your request. Charles immediately gave Logan access to whatever he needed to make it happen.

~~~

PERU - MACHU PICCHU

The climb through the terraces of Machu Picchu had started with excitement buzzing through your limbs— your hands brushing the stone, your voice bright with facts and wonder as you pointed out Incan architecture, water channels, and other things you found noteworthy.

But the altitude was cruel, the sun unrelenting, and somewhere along the winding stone stairs beneath the Temple of the Sun, your stepped started to slow. Logan noticed before you did. You tried to keep talking, to keep smiling, but your words shortened, and your weight leaned slightly towards him with every step. The sparkle in your eyes hadn’t gone out, but it flickered now.

“Hey,” he said quietly, catching your elbow. “When’s the last time you sat down?”

You tried to wave him off. “I’m okay. Just—“

He arched a brow. “Sweetheart.”

The word alone stopped you. You looked at him— breath shallow, vision swimming just a little. Still, you offered a stubborn smile. “I don’t want to stop yet.”

Logan didn’t argue. He just courted down, back turned towards you.

“What…?”

“Get on.”

“Logan—“

“Don’t argue with me.” He glanced over his shoulder with that dry smirk. “Or I’ll toss you over my shoulder like a sack of books.”

You laughed, weak but genuine, and gingerly climbed onto his back. His arms curled under your thighs with surprising ease. He rose, solid and warm, and you buried your face against the back of his neck, breathing in the scent of him.

The moment you relaxed against him, he spoke again— softer this time. “You don’t gotta prove anything to me. You already did the hard part.”

“What part’s that?” You mumbled.

“Decidin’ to keep goin’.”

You stayed like that for the rest of the walk, high above the ruins. Every so often, Logan would comment on the view— not to fill the silence, but to remind you he was still there, carrying you without complaint, with complete love in every step.

~~~

LONDON - THE NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM

The museum buzzed with life. Children darted between exhibits. The domed ceiling echoes with excited chatter and the hum of tour guides. You stood at the base of a towering fossil, face lit by awe. Logan’s hand was in yours, a map tucked under your arm, and your eyes were alight with wonder.

“This,” you pointed up, “is diplodocus carnegii. The skeleton’s over a hundred years old. The actual bones were mostly replaced with plaster.”

Logan listened, patient and smiling, as you continued. You were halfway through an explanation about sauropod migration patterns when something flickered behind your eyes. He felt your grip loosen.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

You blinked rapidly. “I—“

Then it hit hard. Your hand fell from his and your eyes glazed over. In the middle of the bustling museum, you simply stopped moving.

“No, no, no—“ He caught you before you fell. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradled the back of your head. He tucked you against his chest. “I’ve got you, baby.”

A few tourists glanced over, confused.

“Just a medical thing,” Logan said. “We’re fine.”

He moved you into a quieter hallway, shielding you from the crowd.

“Wherever you went, baby, I need you to come back,” he begged quietly.

Long seconds later, you blinked and your eyes filled with tears. “Logan?” You whispered, terrified.

“I’m here. I got ya.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know.”

“I— I— I think I pressed to hard for information.”

“Do you want to go?”

You shook your head. “Please.”

“Okay, okay. But… no more facts, okay? Or maybe just one per room.”

“Okay… keep me close?”

“Always.”

~~~

PARIS - THE RIVER SEINE

The boat was small but elegant— just the two of you, a candlelit table set in the center of the polished deck, the soft current of the Seine lapping gently at the hull. Warm lights shimmered off the water like scattered diamonds, and in the distance, the Eiffel Tower glowed with golden grandeur.

Logan looked impossibly handsome in the dark. A charcoal suit jacket over his black button-down— sleeves rolled up just the way you liked them. He didn’t dress up often, but when he did, it knocked the breath from your lungs. Not that you were any less stunning in the dress you were wearing.

As the tower began to sparkle, its light catching in your wine glass, you turned to him with that mischievous glint he knew all too well.

“I have an idea,” you said, leaning forward.

Logan narrowed his eyes, setting down his glass. “Uh huh.”

You tilted your head innocently. “Let’s go to Disneyland Paris tomorrow.”

“…what?”

“Come on.” You grinned. “It’s close. We’re here. You’ve already given me the most romantic night of my life, so now I want something chaotic. Ridiculous. Mouse ears and spinning teacups and candy that’ll make us both sick.”

“I don’t know if that’s really my—“

“Please? We can eat all the snacks and mock the mascots together. You don’t even have to ride anything. I’ll do all the screaming.”

He sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders— but the truth was, he’d do anything to keep that spark in your eyes.

You smirked. “You’re already caving.”

“Damn right I am.”

You let out a soft cheer and reached across the table to grab his hand. “And you’re wearing the ears.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You are.”

He gave you the look— the one that said he was too old, too tired, too him for something like this. But under that look, he was smiling.

~~~

DISNEYLAND PARIS

You were laughing. Really laughing— that rare, full-body kind of laugh that Logan always tried to steal from you. He was sitting beside you in the rollercoaster car, arms crossed tight over the safety bar, trying (and failing) not to smirk as the ride clicked higher.

“I still think we’re too old for this,” he muttered.

“You mean you’re too old for this,” you grinned, nudging his shoulder. “Old man.”

The ride jerked and then launched forward with a burst of speed. Wind tears past your face. Logan cursed. You screamed, not in fear but exhilaration, and clutched his hand tightly where it rested on the bar. The world blurred— fast, fun, and free.

It happened in an instant. Sound distorted and your mind warped. Your face fell and the laughter and screams stopped. Logan looked over and saw your expression.

“Hey— hey! Look at me!” He encouraged, reaching over to you and sliding you to his side. “STOP THE DAMN RIDE!”

The train rattled to a halt in the station minutes later and cast members stepped forward. Logan didn’t wait. He unlatched the bar and pulled you into his arms better.

“Sir?” A cast member approached.

“I need space,” he snapped. “She’s sick.”

The cast members backed off quickly. Logan carried you over to a nearby bench. His forehead fell against yours as he rocked you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he mumbled. “Not now.” You hadn’t slipped since the museum weeks ago. “Come back.”

He waited and waited until, finally, after ten long minutes, your fingers twitched, your eyes fluttered, and you focused.

“Logan?” You rasped.

“There you are, baby,” he whispered.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be.”

“I was having fun…”

“I know.”

After a few minutes, you wanted to get up. Logan walked slowly through the quieter part of the park, you wrapped tightly in his arms, your head resting against his chest. You were walking, but only just— your legs were shaky, your grip light around his middle.

“You should rest,” he commented. “Hotel’s five minutes away. I’ll carry you the whole damn way if needed.”

“I don’t want to you,” you say, voice hoarse but firm.

Logan stopped and looked at you. “You just slipped, darlin’. Bad.”

“I know.”

“I ment it— you checked out. That look in your eyes—“ He swallowed the words down, jaw tight. “Scared the hell outta me.”

You lifted you head just enough to look at the castle in the distance, lights starting to glow as dusk deepened. “They do fireworks soon.”

“You can watch ‘em from the hotel window.”

“I want to watch them from here. With you. Where I can feel it.” You pressed your palm over his heart. “Please.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment. His instinct says to turn around. But then he saw it— the way your lip trembled slightly, how your eyes were still glassy, how hard you were trying to hold on. He exhaled slowly and nodded.

“Alright,” he mumbled. “But you’re not movin’ an inch.”

He found a spot close to the castle that wasn’t too crowded. He shrugged off his flannel and laid it down like a blanket. He then sat with you between his legs, your back against his chest, and his arms around your waist.

“You alright?” He asked quietly.

You nodded, leaning into him. “Better now.”

Minutes pass and then, boom. The first firework erupted in the sky. You flinched, barely. Logan’s arms tightened around you. Then the second burst of color exploded overhead. You smiled. It was soft and tired, but real.

Logan pressed a kiss to your temple. “There’s my girl.”

For twenty minutes, you both sat there— wrapped together, looking up— letting the sky burn with color.

“Thanks for not making me go,” you whispered as the last firework faded.

Logan held you tighter. “You’re worth stayin’ for.”

~~~

HOTEL NEAR DISNEYLAND PARIS

The door closed behind you with a soft click. You were swaying slightly on your feet, exhaustion clinging to you like fog. Logan had an arm around you, keeping you steady.

“Alright,” he whispered. “You’re done for the night.”

You didn’t argue, just let him help. He moved with the kind of tenderness that surprised even himself sometimes. He started with your shoes, kneeling down in front of you to untie them, hands steady and patient.

“Sit,” he murmured, guiding you to the edge of the bed.

You do. He wet a cloth with warm water from the bathroom and returned, crouching again in front of you. He knew that you were too tired to fully wash up tonight and you still had bits of the park on your skin— sweat, a smear of something sweet. He wiped it all gently awake. Your eyes drifted shut under his touch.

“You did good today,” he said softly. “Even after… y’know.”

You nodded faintly. “Still wanted to see the sky.”

“You always do.”

Logan brushed his thumb down your cheek. You leaned into it. Then he helped you change. You lifted your arms for him. You let him tug your day away piece by piece until you were in something soft and safe. He then pulled back the covers and tucked you in. He settled on the edge beside you.

Your eyes cracked open, barely. “You coming to bed?”

“In a minute,” he murmured. “Just watchin’ you breathe.”

A soft smile touched your lips, and your hand reached out blindly. He took it, interlacing your fingers.

“I love you,” you whispered, voice thick with sleep.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek. “I love you too.”

You were asleep before he sat back up.

~~~

THE VATICAN CITY

The morning sun glowed warm on the ancient stone. You walked beside Logan through Vatican City, your hand tucked into his and your steps light with curiosity. You were dressed simple, yet professional— a look of reverence for where you were going, though you don’t yet know where.

Logan’s thumb brushed along the side of your hand. “You sure you’re up for a long day?”

You gave him a look— playful, but serious underneath. “When am I not?”

He chuckled and then gently tugged you through a small, heavily guarded side entrance. You blinked at the change in pace— security, murmured Latin, golden ceilings.

You glanced at him, puzzled. “What is this?”

He stopped you in front of a large wooden door. He lifted a hand and nodded towards it.

Vatican Apostolic Library

Your breath caught. “I—“ You took a step back, almost stumbling. “You’re kidding. This is— This is restricted. This is like… you need clearance from a pope to get in here.”

Logan shrugged, trying to look causal. “Charles knew a guy.”

Your hands flew to your mouth. “Oh my God.”

Logan watched you vibrate with joy, a smile tugging at his lips. But there’s a flicker of worry in his eyes, just beneath the surface. This whole place could trigger you in a way he’s never seen.

But then you burst forward and started rattling off facts, “Founded in the 15th century. Over 80,000 manuscripts. The Codex Vatican’s, original Virgil— Logan, the original Virgil— oh my—“

You were practically glowing as you continued. And Logan’s worry disappeared. He just watched you. Alive, brilliant, and lit from the inside out.

~~~

You didn’t slip. Not once the entire day. You poured over texts in Latin and Greek with bright eyes and reverent hands. You taught Logan things he didn’t know— about philosophy, about preserved medieval science, about banned books hidden in holy halls. You spoke faster than you had in weeks— months even. You laughed, loudly.

You leaned over one parchment, tracing the ink with your fingertip, and whispered to Logan like it was a secret, “I think Ive never been happier than right now.”

And he swore to himself, right there, that he would chase that look on your face to the ends of the earth.

~~~

The sunset being the Roman skyline. You were curled beside Logan on the balcony, your head on his shoulder, a rare ancient book replica in your lap— a gift from the librarian.

“You didn’t slip today,” Logan muttered, almost in awe.

“I know,” replied.

“You didn’t even come close.”

You nodded. “I felt… anchored.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Maybe this is the trick. You don’t need distance. You just need something worth holdin’ onto.”

You glanced up at him. “I have something worth holding onto.”

He smiled, capturing your lips in a kiss. “So do I.”

~~~

AMALFI COAST

The sun kissed the surface of the sea, turning it sapphire. You were already waist-deep in the water, laughing, arms spread wide as you leaned back into the gentle pull of the Mediterranean. The breeze was warm, the sky cloudless. The kind of day you would remember forever— should remember forever. Logan, meanwhile, sat on a sun-bleached rock along the shore, arms crossed with sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“I’m not gettin’ in,” he grumbled twenty minutes ago when you tried to drag him in. “You got enough energy for both of us.”

You had only splashed water at him in reply. Now, he watched you swim. He watched the calm and peace wash over you. You looked happy. Which is why the shift happened too fast. You were out just far enough— not too deep, but not easily within reach. Logan saw it first in your shoulders. The tension, a stiffening. You stopped kicking. Stopped smiling. You began to drift.

“Sweetheart!” He stood, suddenly alert. “You good?”

You didn’t answer. Your arms were no longer moving. The sea rocked you gently.

“Y/N! Baby!”

Logan’s boots hit the sand hard. He tore his shirt over his head mid-run and ran into the water without a second thought. Cold water clawed at his skin as he rushed to you. When he reached you, your eyes were wide and unfocused. Your lips were just above water.

“No, no, no!” He wrapped an arm around your waist. “Don’t you dare disappear on me out here.”

He dragged you to shore. When he finally laid you back on the sand, he hovered above you, soaked and shaking.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Come back to me.”

No response.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re with me. I’m here.”

Slowly, your fingers twitched against the sand. Your eyes fluttered. “Logan?”

Relief hit him like a wave. He didn’t speak. He just crushed you to his chest, still soaked and breathing too hard.

“Sorry,” you whispered after a moment.

His voice was rough. “Don’t be sorry. You just… you can’t scare me like that.”

“I didn’t know was coming.”

“I know.”

“I could have been too far out. I—“

“I will always get to you. Always.”

~~~

CLIFFSIDE RESTAURANT ON THE AMALFI COAST

The sea glowed silver beneath the moonlight. From the terrace of the cliffside restaurant, you could see the lights of the coastal town winding down for the night. You sat across from Logan at a white-linen table, the remains of a decadent dinner between you. You were in a dress while Logan was wearing a clean button-up.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Logan raise a brow. “For what?”

“For this,” you gestured to your surroundings. “For all of it. For being here. For doing this with me.”

His eyes softened. “You don’t need to thank me for stayin’.”

“I do. Because you didn’t have to. I know I haven’t been easy to… to love. Especially since… well, all of it.”

Logan leaned forward slightly, arms braced on the table. “Darlin’, don’t—“

“I need to say this… please.”

He gave you a small nod.

“You give up so much. You watch over me like I’m about to vanish. You never complain, but I see it. I see you, Logan. And I just… I understand if this is too much.” You looked down at your hands in your lap.

Logan was quiet for a long beat. Then he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head, almost like he was disappointed— not in you, but the fact that you could even think that.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You listened.

“I have lived through wars. Through loss and lifetimes of pain. I have carried more than any man should. That— That all was too much to bear. But you?” He reached over and took one of your hands. “You’re not too much. You’re the reason I’m still here. You’re the first thing that’s felt worth fighting for in a long damn time.”

“But when I slip—“

“I pull you back, every time. And I’ll keep doin’ it. Because you’re not a burden. You’re my girl.”

You stood, stepping around the table. He rose to meet you. His arms wrapped around your waist while yours looped around his shoulders.

“You know I love you, right?” You whispered agains this neck.

He pulled you closer. “Yeah… but say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Good. Because I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

~~~

ABBEY LIBRARY OF SAINT GALL - SWITZERLAND

Sunlight filtered through tall arched windows. The Abbey Library was still, serene. You stepped slowly over the creaking floor, your hand in Logan’s, your breathing catching in your throat as you looked around.

“It’s one of the oldest libraries in the world,” you whispered. “Since the 8th century. Over a thousand years of knowledge. Monastic scripts, illuminated manuscripts, ancient Greek commentaries— Logan, this place is a miracle.”

You were glowing with excitement, practically vibrating beside him.

He chuckled, low and fond. “Don’t need to sell me on it, darlin’. I already got you in.”

“I just—“ You exhaled, awestruck. “I could live in here.”

Logan watched you carefully. He loved this part of you— the fire, the passion, the hunger for stories. But he stayed close, always close.

“Just go slow,” he said gently. “Okay?”

You nodded eagerly. “Promise.”

You stepped away from him, just a few paces, drawn towards a high shelf lined with worn leather-bound tomes. You lifted a hand towards one— a 12th century theological codex— fingers delicate, careful. You touched the spine, a whisper of contact. And then you were gone. Across the room, Logan noticed instantly. He reached you in three long strides. He gently peels your hand away from the book and caught you as your knees gave out.

“Shit, shit— come on, baby,” he whispered. “Not here. Not when you were just so happy.”

A librarian stepped forward in alarm, but Logan waved them off with a glare. He pulled you closer.

“Just listen to my voice, sweetheart. And come back.”

Finally, “Logan…”

“There she is.”

“I didn’t mean to—“

“I know. It’s okay. You’re alright.”

“I ruined it.”

“No. No, you didn’t. We take it slow. That’s the deal.”

You nodded, but your eyes were watery.

“We’re gonna sit down. You’re gonna drink some water. Then we decide if we stay or go. But you decide.”

~~~

You sat curled in a window alcove now. You have a facsimile manuscript open in front of you. Your eyes skimmed the page, but you weren’t lost in it. From across the room, Logan watched you with quiet intensity. He hadn’t moved far, never out of reach. He leaned against on of the carved wooden columns, arms folded. You smiled occasionally, but it’s not the same. There was a tension in your shoulders now, in your fingers as they hover over the page. You weren’t absorbing, you were tiptoeing. Like your mind had become a minefield. You shifted slightly, trying to focus again and then paused. Logan was at your side in an instant.

You glanced up and gave him a small smile, apologetic. “I’m okay. Really.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, but there’s a flicker of something in your eyes— fear. That what hit him hardest. Your joy was now tangled with caution. Your wonder dimmed by wariness.

He knelt beside you, one hand resting gently on your knee. “We can go, sweetheart. You say the word.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to run every time I fall.”

His heart ached with how brave you were still trying to be.

“I just hate that it’s different now. That I’m different in here.”

“You’re still you. Still the same woman who lit up like a damn sunrise talkin’ about Virgil and illuminated manuscripts and ink formulas from the Middle Ages.”

You huffed a laugh, small but genuine.

“Don’t let this take that from you. Don’t let it rewrite the story.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m trying.”

“I know.”

~~~

HIROSHIMA PEACE MEMORIAL PARK - JAPAN

The wind was soft as it drifted through the trees. You walked slowly, hand in hand with Logan, beneath the canopy of green lining the Peace Memorial Park. There was a hush here, more than silence— like the earth itself was still mourning.

Your footsteps were light. You didn’t speak much, just take in the space. Logan’s grip on your hand tightened the deeper in you went. You glanced at him, his jaw was clenched. Not in anger, but in grief.

“Logan?” You whispered.

“I was here,” he said, voice low. “Not right here, but close. A prisoner underground.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I saved someone— one of my captors… The explosion shook the earth… I didn’t die. But I felt like I should have. I pulled me and the man out of the hole hours later. The whole place was ashes… And they were gone. Everyone.”

You let your fingers slip from his hand and laced your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. He folded into you like he had been needing it all day.

“I’ve seen a lot of death,” he murmured. “Most, I don’t remember. But that one… it never leaves.”

You nodded against him.

“Thank you for comin’ here with me.”

“Thank you for letting me.”

~~~

PRIVATE VILLA IN FIJI

The scent of the ocean salt and tropical flowers drifted in through the open walls of the villa. The waves were gentle outside— a rhythm that soothed the bones. Logan moved through he space barefoot, shirtless, and in a crazily bright colored pair of swim shorts that you bought for him. He checked everything like a man used to control— the temperature of the plunge pool, the privacy of the garden hedging, whether the fridge was stocked with your favorite things. Logan heard the bathroom door open behind him, but didn’t turn right away.

He was halfway through muttering something to himself, “Hope the bed’s the way you like it, and there’s that blackout curtain for when—“

Then he heard your voice, “well? What do you think?”

Logan turned and stopped. You were standing there in a new bikini— soft colors, tasteful but undeniably breathtaking— and the sheer wrap tied at your hips didn’t do much. You smiled like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

Logan’s mouth parted, closed, and parted again. Then he muttered, low and reverent, “holy shit.”

You tilted your head, suppressing a grin. “That bad, huh?”

He finally moved— crossing the room slowly, like if he wasn’t careful you might disappear into the sea air. “You…” he stopped in front of you, hands ghosting over your waist. “You look like the goddamn gun itself decided to become a person.”

You laughed. “You’re just saying that…”

“I’m sayin’ that because I’m lookin’ at you, baby. Ain’t nothin’ else in the world I could compare it to.” He let his hands settle gently at your hips, tugging you just slightly closer. “You doin’ this on purpose? Tryin’ to kill me?”

“Maybe just keeping you on your toes.”

He leaned in, nose brushing your cheek, lips a whisper away from you. “You don’t gotta do a damn thing to have me fall apart. But keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll forget we’re supposed to leave the villa today.”

You smiled against his mouth. “Maybe we don’t.”

Then he kissed you— slow, reverent, starved— the sound of the ocean outside fading to a memory. It was just you and him, in paradise.

~~~

The sun hung low and lazy over the horizon. The water was warm and still, the kind of perfect that almost felt fake. You were already ankle-deep. The sheer wrap was gone now, tossed over a chair, and your smile was bright with mischief.

“Come in,” you called over your shoulder.

Behind you, Logan stood on the sand like it was the edge of a cliff. He was shirtless, yes. Barefoot, yes. But he hadn’t moved. His arms were crossed and jaw set.

“I don’t swim,” he stated flatly.

“I’m not asking you to do laps,” you replied with a laugh. “Just come in. Stand waist-deep and look at the stars with me.”

“I sink, darlin’.”

“You said you’ll do anything for me, but water is your line in the sand?”

Logan looked at you, looked at the water, then looked at the way your body glowed in the fading light. He huffed through his nose.

“You’re lookin’ at me like that,” he grumbled.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know I’m gonna give in.”

You grinned. “Am I wrong?”

He exhaled, muttering a string of curses as he began walking towards you. Slowly and painfully like he was walking into a trap. When he stepped into the surf beside you, you reached for his hand immediately, threading your fingers through his. HIs other hand hovered near your waist, protective, always.

“Just this deep,” he said. “No games.”

“No games,” you promised, stepping closer. The water lapped gently against both of you as the stars began to spark in the sky above. “You hate this, huh?”

“Not this.”

You looked at him.

“I hate the idea of you slippin’ in the water where I can’t reach you fast enough. Hate the idea of you… vanishing where I can’t pull you back.”

The tenderness in his voice nearly undid you. “I’m right here, Logan.”

“I know. Just… lemme hold you anyway.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands settled against your lower back beneath the water. You rested your forehead against his and swayed. Yes, Logan hated water, but he loved you more.

~~~

You were breathless as Logan carried you inside— arms beneath your thighs, lips on your neck. He laid you down gently not he bed, mouth trailing slow, reverent kisses along your collarbone.

“You sure?” He murmured, voice low and gravelly.

You cupped his face. “Always.”

Logan hands were careful but hungry. They were reverent like you were something ancient and divine— and maybe you were. He kissed you like a man who starved for something holy, and you gave it freely, finally letting yourself sink into the heat and weight and life of it.

Until everything flickered. Your back arched not in pleasure, but in panic. Your breath halted and your eyes went wide. And Logan knew before you were even gone.

“No,” he whispered, panicking. “No, no, no— stay with me.”

But you were slipping too fast. He caught you as you fell limp against the sheets. He cradled you, pressing his forehead to yours, rocking, murmuring.

“C’mon, baby. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Minutes passed and you come to with a scream. You sat up, sobbing, breath ragged, voice cracking as the world caught up to you.

“No— No, no, I had it— I was with you— Logan, what can’t I just have this?! Why can’t we just— why can’t I stay?”

“Sweetheart, shh, it’s alright, you’re back—“

“No, it’s not!” You cried, shoving away from him. “It’s never alright! I just wanted one night— just one moment where I wasn’t broken, where we could just be!”

“Hey— hey, it’s okay, I’ve got you—“

You stumbled off the bed, shaking. You grabbed the robe off the door and clutched it around yourself. “Don’t— don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what? Like I love you?”

You sobbed harder, backpedaling. “I can’t— I can’t do this right now.”

You rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind you, locking it before he could follow. Logan moved to it, resting his forehead against the wood, fists clenched at his sides.

“Let me in,” he pled softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

You were crying hard on the other side, trying to muffle it, but he heard it all.

“Sweetheart, I know it hurts. I know this ain’t fair. But don’t shut me out. Not tonight.”

“I can’t keep hurting you like this,” your voice was muffled and raw.

“You’re not. You’re not hurting me. Not the way you think. The only thing that hurts is seeing’ you think you’re a burden when you’re the only thing in this world that keeps me here.”

You didn’t respond. Eventually, when your sobs quieted down, he sat against the door. Just so you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

~~~

Logan hadn’t slept. Not a second. He sat outside the bathroom door all night, back pressed to the cool wood, eyes wide opened. Listening. Every so often, the sound of your breathing hitched. He didn’t call out or knock again. He just stayed.

By morning, he had moved to the kitchen. He made coffee, tea, and put together a tray with fruit and toast that you probably wouldn’t touch. But he was trying. It was almost noon when the bathroom door finally creaked open. He looked up from the table, exhaustion carved deep into his face. He froze when he saw you dressed and packed.

“You’re leavin’?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You didn’t meet his eyes. “Logan…”

“No.” He was already moving towards you.

“I can’t—“

“No.”

“I can’t do this to you anymore. Last night— I ruined it. I ruin everything. Every time we’re okay, I fall apart again. Every time you start to smile, I drag you down. You’re not living, Logan. You’re waiting. For the next time I break.”

He shook his head. “You think this is you breaking me? You think I’m still here ‘cause I’m too stubborn to let go?”

“I think you’re here because you love me—“

“Damn right I do! And you think walkin’ away is gonna make that stop?”

You looked away, jaw trembling. “You deserve peace.”

“I had peace.” He stepped closer. “It was holdin’ you in the water. It was watchin’ you light up at the Vatican. It is every time you say my name and mean it.”

“Logan…”

He reached out and took your shaking hands in his. “You wanna leave because you think it’ll protect me. But baby, that ain’t protection. That’s punishment— for both of us.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “If you walk out that door, I’ll still find you. Not to drag you back— but because wherever you are, I’ll be close. I have to be.”

“You deserve better than this.”

“I don’t want better. I want you. All of you. Even the broken pieces. Especially those.”

You dropped the bag and collapsed into his chest. He caught you— arms wrapping around you like he’d never let go again. You sobbed into his shirt, and he just held you.

“You’r not too much,” he whispered like a vow. “You’re not too broken. You’re mine. Always.”

~~~

The rain had started falling softly— a warm, steady patter. You were curled against Logan on the bed, one leg tangled with his, face tucked against his chest. He arms hadn’t moved since he had to close up the open walls. He hadn’t said much since you dropped the bag. You were asleep now, finally, your breath soft and even.

Logan didn’t dare move— until his phone buzzed quietly on the nightstand. He turned his head, teeth clenching. It was Charles. Carefully, he shifted you— laying you gently onto the pillow. You stirred, murmured something incoherent, and instinctively reached for him.

“I’m right here,” he whispered, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Just a second.”

You didn’t wake. Logan stood and stepped into the kitchen.

“Yeah?” He answered.

Charles’ voice was low and gentle. “How is she?”

Logan exhaled. “Sleeping.”

“That’s something.”

“She tired to leave today. Said she was ruining my life.”

“And what did you say?”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Told her she is my life.”

Charles sighed quietly. “She’s holding more guilt than any one person should ever carry.”

“I know.” Logan leaned against the wall, looking out over the rain-slicked terrace. “But I don’t know how to take it from her.”

“You don’t. You show her— over and over again— that you’re still there. That there’s something solid to return to. And you’re doing that, Logan.”

There was silence for a moment the, “how many more times can she come back before she can’t?”

“I don’t know. But she’s still coming back. So we keep giving her reasons to.”

Logan nodded slowly. “Thanks for checkin’ in.”

“Of course. And Logan… rest. Even if it’s only for a few hours. You’ll need it.”

Logan ended the call without a word. He stood in the rain-washed quiet for another minute, letting the words sink in. Then he went back to the bedroom. You were still asleep— but your hand had reached for the place where he had been. He slid in beside you again, carefully pulling you close. You sighed against him in your sleep, tension easing just slightly.