Seeing as this is the first one, I want to welcome you all into this little series of mine in which I will be posting various one shots involving Logan and Laura and their lives together as father and daughter. Think of it as a happier ending to the movie and what would follow suit! Anyway, hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave any prompt requests and what not! -Jen
Sometimes he thinks it's all just a dream. That perhaps he passed out at the local bar after having one too many pints of beer. Memories of those he has lost. The often none too forgiving migraines brought on by years of both mental and physical abuse-Charles's seizure episodes adding onto the stress.
Storm, Scott, Kurt, Hank, Jean, and now Charles. All gone. And in this haze, he cannot help but wonder if he is too. That maybe he's trapped in some weird circle of Hell or Purgatory. That none of this is real. A joke. A cruel one at that.
It's only when the small frame shifts beside him from where she lies curled on the couch. Her body pressed against his, locks of dark brown hair shadowing over her face. He can feel her breathing at his side, the softest of snores escaping from her mouth. From how she's situated, he can't see how she could possibly be comfortable. But she must be. Lost to the world. At peace.
His eyes flicker to the television, the Disney movie she made them rewatch for a third time that night heading into the credits. It was a school holiday tomorrow, that was the only reason she'd been allowed to stay up late. And quite frankly, he felt he deserved the "Father of the Year" award for not losing his mind over the damn cartoons and children shows she loved so dearly. With, of course, the occasional western flick he'd agree to.
He exhales, inhaling deeply. He coughs, but it isn't rough and as painful as it used to be. He receives medical help now. Once a week at the local clinic, hopefully with visits needed less as time goes on. For her, that's why he does it. This desire to die. To end it all. Now, it lingers in his mind no more. He has to be there. For her. As she does for him.
Careful not to jostle her, he brushes her hair from her face and manages to somehow stand up with her in his arms. She stirs and he pauses, but she doesn't wake up. Quietly, he walks down the hallway, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Thankfully, her room isn't far and he succeeds with getting her inside without the sounds of the house rousing her.
Slowly, he sets her down, pulling the covers over her frame as she unconsciously shifts on her bed. Her face is calm, features relaxed. No nightmares. No fears. Perhaps tonight would be a good night for her. Maybe he could finally have a night without having to share his bed with her. Not that he minded that much. He had bad dreams too. And if he could, he'd gladly take all of hers onto him without a second's thought.
He watches her for a moment, looking for any signs of distress. There are none. So he inhales, bending over once more to make the final adjustments to her cot. Blankets pulled up. Hair out of her face. Minion nightlight plugged into the wall-fuck those yellow cartoon things-before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Sleep tight, kid," he mutters, giving her one final glance before heading out of her room. "See you in the morning."