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Like A Normal Father (and His Daughter)

Title: Like A Normal Father (and His Daughter)
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: X-Men/Generation X
Character/Pairing: Wolverine, Jubilee
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: beattheblackdog 89: Mail and 1_million_words Say What Friday: "There are somethings that can't be fixed. Stupid is one of them."
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,321
Date Written: 28 November 2017
Summary:
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters within belong to Marvel Comics and Disney, not the author, and are used without permission.
Author's Note: Please excuse my being off by one day. The Internet was down for two days! :(





Logan stands, puffing on his cigar, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. Normally, he would have been long gone from this place, but there had been a single mother with two young, crying kids and a flat tire when he’d arrived. He’d taken pity on the family, especially since the father had given his life in America’s latest war, and had taken a little time for himself after fixing their tire. He could smoke just as easily on his bike, but it felt good to stretch his legs for a bit.

It also didn’t hurt that the establishment had some good, home cooking and a mostly friendly staff and he’d eaten his fill before coming back out to his bike. By that time, the family had been long gone, and he hoped they reached the woman’s mother’s in time to have a joyful holiday. They needed some joy in their lives, poor people.

He grunts at that thought. Didn’t they all need some joy in their lives? He had grown quite accustomed to being on his own a long time ago, but these days, he’s lonely, too lonely for his loner nature, which is one of the reasons why he prefers to stay on the move. He swings his leg over his bike and is just about to start her up when he hears a muffled yell.

Logan’s head jerks up. His eyes scan the parking lot. There are families and kids, couples and singles walking about but no one running or screaming except for the occasional youth with a little too much sugar in their blood. He hears another yell and, this time, pinpoints it to the back of the store.

Hopping off his bike, Logan runs to the back. There’s a burly truck driver standing outside a little, portable building behind the store, a place, he deduces quickly, where they probably kept their extra supplies. The truck driver leans against the door, a smug, satisfied look on his dark face. His boot’s right next to a stack of milk crates.

Logan growls and doesn’t waste time on claws. He leaps and lands just in front of the trucker. He grabs his neck with one hand while knocking the crates emptied crates away from the door. He slams the trucker into the wall, giving the woman inside enough room to sling the door open and run for the store.

He has to give the blonde credit. She doesn’t scream, curse, or cry. She just takes the smart, and fastest, route to safety. Logan growls at the trucker, strikes him once, and lets him go. He’s got more important things to do than to waste time on a jackass.

The trucker takes one look at Logan, his dark skin now a considerably paler shade, and runs for his rig. Logan lets him go, slams the door to the store’s storage shut, and leaves. As he cranks up, he remembers the little boy from earlier. The tyke had watched every movement Logan had made as he’d fixed the tire in what the boy considered to be record time. “Gee, mister,” he’d said, whistling between his front teeth, “you must be real good at fixing things!”

Some things, Logan reflects, whipping out of the parking lot, can’t be fixed. He grins as he remembers the trucker. Stupid is one of ‘em. He’d said those words once before, he remembers, way back when Jubilee had tried to hold a job.

It had been nothing more than serving up fries and burgers at a local fast food chain. It hadn’t been a hard job, but the customers had made it difficult. He’d managed to ignore the ones who had given her sass while giving their orders like they were Kings and Queens instead of having crap for brains like the kind he’d rake off of his boots. There had been an occasional, polite person amongst them, but most of them had been jerks, too busy being in a hurry to do whatever was on their social calendar to realize they were hurting somebody’s feelings.

But then there had been the guy who had dared to pinch Jubilee while she’d been cleaning off a table. She had gone from yelling at him to begging Logan to forgive him and let the whelp keep his pathetic life. She’d lost her job, though, and they’d been banned from the joint, but not without Logan taking a good many hairs from her boss along the way.

He smirks, but then his smirk falls. His eyes moisten for just a moment, but he blinks the tears away. Hell, he misses that kid. He roars into the mansion and stalks thorugh the school. He’s looking for Scott when Bobby shows up on one of his ice slides. “Not in the mood, Drake,” he growls, but Bobby doesn’t take the hint and instead dangles a plain, white envelope in front of his face. “Drake -- “ he warns with a deeper, more ferocious growl.

“Not even for mail, Wolveroonie?”

A claw pops out of Logan’s knuckles. Bobby grimaces and ducks but throws the envelope up at him. Logan snatches it instinctively out of his face but pauses when he sees the familiar scrawl across the front of the envelope. “Yer lucky,” he growls at Bobby. “She saved yer ass this time.”

And she’d saved his ass too many times over the years, he recalls while tearing into the envelope and walking away. He can hear the relieved whoosh of breath that leaves Bobby’s throat, but he doesn’t look back. He’s too busy reading about the latest events in Jubilee’s life, how they were all kidnapped by Emplate and she helped to keep them from being eaten alive. She goes on and on about Emplate’s snobbish sister, Monet, and Logan has to grin. The kid rambles even in her writing.

But even now, he reflects, walking alone into his bedroom, hundreds of miles apart, she has uncanny timing. She always has. She saved him from the Reavers when they first met. She’s saved him so many times since, sometimes in ways at which she can only guess. He’s been in a whole ‘nother country, thought of her, and came out of skirmisihes alive when he hadn’t wanted to because he had her waiting at home for him.

She’s no longer at home, though. She’s miles away in that stupid Massachusetts school being taught God knows what by Irish and Frost. He forces his tensing muscles to relax. He knows what she’s being taught, and she needs to learn it. She deserves as normal a life as possible, and he can’t give that to her.

But he can be waiting -- he grins widely as his eyes dart over her last paragraph -- for her to return. She’s coming home for a visit, weekend after next, if the world doesn’t end before then and the X-Men aren’t off saving it. The X-Men may be off saving the world, he thinks, but he’ll be here, waiting here waiting for her to return to them, to return to him. He’ll be right here like a normal daughter waiting for his teenaged daughter to return from some fancy, prep school somewhere. He’ll be here waiting for her when she’s done with Generation X, and then their adventures can resume.

They’re not over. They’ll never be over. Like the mother and her young children at that truck stop, others may be taken from them, but they still have each other. They’ll always have each other. He’s not going anywhere as long as he’s got the promise of her returning to him, and she will come home to him every time because everybody knows if they kill her, he’ll stop at nothing to kill them and make it slow, painful deaths. Jubilee’s coming home -- Logan grins --, and that’s all that matters really!



The End

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