It was three days an emotional roller-coaster before Mint's temperature
began to go down. The seven-year-old's meningitis had run it's course,
and
despite not yet regaining consciousness, she seemed to be breathing
easier.
Logan had still not moved, for all my coaxing. His gaze was on his
daughter's face, as though willing her to open her eyes and be well,
for
this whole thing to be a nightmare, something he could face with claws
and
combat skills.
"Mr...Logan?" A tall, well-dressed man had come in the door, expensive
eyewear perched on the bridge of his nose.
I felt a chill. It couldn't be. I knew this man - unfortunately.
Logan didn't react at all, except to lightly squeeze his daughter's
hand.
"I'm from Child Protective Services. I'm here to inform you that Mint
Forrester has been legally placed in the custody of......
glllrrrk!" Now dangling two inches from the floor, he faced not Logan,
but
Wolverine.
"Logan! Logan, no!" I was yelling, my grip all that kept Stephen Grames
(the third) from being choked to death by my brother's iron grip.
Jean arrived - she was probably in the waiting room across the hall
- and
together we managed to peel Logan's fingers off Grames, though a little
part
of me wished that I had been an instant later.
"D-dad-dy?" the voice was barely above a whisper, but Logan tossed
Grames
aside and was beside the bed before Jean and I could do more than dust
the
man off.
"I'm here."
Jean's eyes closed, tears on her lashes, and I held her while our unwanted
visitor sputtered. How could they bear to lose Mint? HIV? She's a baby!
Mint's hand wrapped around her father's clinging to him, as her emerald
green eyes tipped up to stare into his. She smiled, then said clearly,
"I
love you."
Logan wrapped his arms around her, gently lifted her to his lap.
"Love you too, moppet."
There was nearly a riot when I told the other X-Men - X-Teams? So many,
now - and even Kurt was outraged that CPS would try to take Mint away
from
Logan.
"They need each other, mien frieunds." the Catholic priest and member
of
X-Caliber said, after a brief moment of silent.
"So say we all." Jean murmured, catching my hand in hers.
The love that flowed through our bond was a pure thing, each sharing
and
growing from the strength of the other, yet I could never forget the
orphanage. Or Grames.
I was nine when I was taken in as a "foster child", and I don't think
anyone knows what that's like. Automatically, you're labeled a problem
child, violent, illiterate, and doomed to failure. People don't want
their
kids anywhere around you, and most of the time - me included - you
live in a
house with four or five other kids and two parents who could care less.
They're burnt out trying to help kids who are too burnt out themselves
trying to get a chance.
It was there I discovered there was no way to survive.
Bounced from place to place, I had to find Alex.
So I left.
A week later I was picked up and sent to Grames office, where he looked
me
up and down, then nodded. His lackey - this huge kid who was about
as bright
as a burned out candle - closed the door.
Then held me down and beat me black and blue.
Grames nodded again, smiled in a businesslike way, and sent me out
the
door.
It was then I discovered nowhere was safe in that damn place. Everything
I
did was reported, cataloged, and Grames would send his favorites to
drag me
to his office and work me over if I did anything he didn't like.
This all came to a horrible head about three months later. Grames'
favorite - I had learned his name was Vinnie - came and got me, and
when I
got to the office, I knew there was more than a mere beating waiting.
Grames - sold me that night. And every day I had to come back, smile,
act
as though everything was normal.
I was 11. Scared, helpless, and desperate. I can look back and see
myself
as I was, eyes pleading for help - eyes before I gained optic blasts
that
could punch a hole through a mountain. Eyes that still haunt me because
no
matter how I tried, I know there are still kids Grames keeps, that
eventually their eyes show the same desperate expression. Kids that
will
never, ever have a chance.
"Uncle Scott?" Mint, dressed in a hospital gown, staring up at me.
Logan
sitting in a chair, dozing - even his healing factor had limits, and
he had
been almost a week without sleep. I was back, and as always I felt
a brief
surge of relief.
"Yes, Sweetheart?" I reached down and scooped her up, holding her in
my
lap.
"Will that man take me away?" Her lips trembled and eyes filled with
tears, and suddenly I wasn't frightened or guilty. I was enraged. How
dare -
dare! - Grames come back into my life, disturb my brother, and make
my niece
miserable?
"No, Sweetie. No-one will take you away." I smoothed her hair, wrapped
her in a blanket, and gently deposited her in Logan's arms, watching
him
shift slightly to let the child snuggle down.
The truth hit me hard.
I'm not fighting for the Professor's dream. All this slaughter, this
hate, it would have killed me.
Logan let me in, and now I understood.
It was a war. I didn't have to become a monster. And more - I wanted
every child to have parents to hold them that I didn't have. I want
to know
that their tears are comforted, their every effort encouraged - isn't
that a
war worth fighting?
Yes.
God help me, Yes.
I pressed a hand against Logan's shoulder, understanding his own war,
and swearing to keep him within the family.
He is my brother.
Jean. my mental "voice" was soft, even tentative.
She came over, and we sat on either side of Logan, pressed against
his
exhausted body, supporting him - whether he liked it or not. Scott?
What....
I took a deep breath. I was ready.
I was ready to tell all, to be a brother, father, and uncle.
I need to tell you everything, my love. About my past and present.
About loneliness and lies, but more importantly about brothers, love,
and
the future.