Two Sides Of The Same Coin Epilogue: Don’t Call Me Daughter “Come on baby; guess you wanna touch me now You wanna put your hands on my face Tell me you love me; tell me you need me…” – Counting Crows Five years after the wedding in Montego Bay, Logan sat at a table staring at the object of his desire. She was staring into space, one hand on her gigantic belly and the other massaging her right shoulder. A light sheen of perspiration lined her forehead and upper arms – in her third trimester of pregnancy, her hormones no longer allowed her to control her body temperature. It made no difference with the last child, who was indeed born in January, but this was August, and carrying the extra weight made Ororo miserable. She was, however, still the most beautiful woman alive, scowl and all. When Ororo had come back to the sanctuary, her blue eyes shining with eternal life for the man she loved, Logan felt both overjoyed and relieved. This was his soul mate – the woman who could read behind his harsh words and clumsy, heavy-handed displays of affection. She saw what was in his heart, thank God, beyond he was unable to tell her, beyond his lashing out to attempt to wound her as she wounded him nearly every day. Ororo half-walked, half-ran to him, and Logan outstretched his arms for her to keep her from falling. He vague heard Victor moan, “God, Ororo, no…” and he could even smell Victor’s anguish and pain, but he didn’t care. Why should he? This woman was carrying his baby, for crissakes – his first fucking born. All was fair in love and war, and it was as simple as that. Logan had taken a risk, and he won. Now Ororo was coming down the aisle for him, to be with him forever. Whatever the fuck Creed had done before Ororo – killing and maiming and being an overall pain in the ass – he could just go back to doing. Without Ororo. Within moments, Logan and Ororo’s eyes locked and Logan was drowning in his love’s smile. Ororo’s silky soft hands framed his unshaven face. Logan inhaled sandalwood, and Ororo quietly told Logan to go to hell. * Approximately three hundred yards now separated Logan from his heart, in a shopping mall in Washington, D.C. Logan found himself drinking in the details of Ororo’s body, a figure he hadn’t seen in way too long. Glowing cinnamon colored skin that looked alive. Thick, snow-white hair shining in the sunlight, braided into one long braid hanging down her back and revealing a long, graceful neck. Bright blue eyes that scanned the shopping area, looking slightly bored. High, full breasts just begging to be sucked. And all property of Mr. Victor Creed. Damn. This was what he had dreamed of, ever since the security guards dragged Logan from the church that day she became Mrs. Victor Creed. Logan dreamed of the day when he’d find her again, and sit her down and tell her everything – that he never, ever meant to hurt her, that he was horrible with words and that he had been wrong – about Jean, about the baby, about the way he had treated her, everything. That if she ever gave him one more chance, he would love her the way she should be loved –with passion and desire. Give him a chance, and he would put Ororo Munroe on a pedastal and worship her accordingly. Logan was a man - Creed was an animal, and loved Ororo as such. His mind was simplistic: protect and own. Take care of his property. Ororo deserved much more than that, and Logan stood up then, determined to tell her. Logan got up and walked straight past her table to the men’s restroom. She didn’t even notice. Wrapped up in her own thoughts as a wife and mother, Logan supposed. His thoughts, his nerve, his emotions all down the drain, along with his urine. How many times had Logan imagined this scene in his mind – walk right up to Ororo rightfully reclaim what was his? His woman, his daughter, his sanity back, but that wasn’t meant to be. Even from three hundred yards out, Logan could smell Creed all over Ororo, and her scent was just as strong. It was as if they had been fucking in the parking lot – lust rolled off the woman like she was a bitch in heat. “Shit! Fuckin’ shake all over my fuckin’ boots…” Logan smelled Victor before he saw him – actually, he smelled Victor along with Ororo’s scent before he came crashing into the door like a bull in a china shop. Logan couldn’t believe this was the almighty Victor Creed, killer extraordinare, stumbling to the men’s room with strawberry shake dripping down his shirt. “Fuckin’ shit…won’t get this shit off my fuckin’ shirt…damn it-” “Creed,” Logan called, fighting off a feral smile. Victor glanced up, sniffed, and growled. “Logan,” he replied flatly, not even moving from the sink. Well, hell. Either Ororo had gotten Victor henpecked in the past few years, or the man had become a complete pussy. “How’s your wife?” Logan half-taunted. For some reason, he just wanted to fuck with Victor. Hey, Logan had fucked the mans’ wife “Pregnant.” Logan chuckled. “Is it yours?” Bingo. The look in Victor’s eyes grew dark, and Logan decided to bait him. “I mean, we both know what happened the last time ‘Ro got pregnant.” Victor shut off the sink and walked to Logan. “Look here, Lil Dick,” he said in a voice that was too soft to be anything but deadly. “Whatever went on between you and ‘Ro is over now. It’s been over for five years. You would think your pussywhipped ass would get a clue, but no. Here’s a clue. See this?” he added, flexing his fingers to reveal a gold band. “This makes her mine. My wife. You know what that makes you? Her past.” Words said to sting, and Victor knew it. Logan was growling and didn’t even realize it until Victor called him a punk and went back to remedying his shirt. Since when did Victor Creed go around wearing expensive shirt and Tommy Hilfiger boots? “Hey Creed?” Logan asked, suddenly having a thought. “What, damn it?” “I was just wonderin’. Does ‘Ro still do that cute little thing with her bottom lip when she cu-” A fierce backhand was Logan’s answer. Logan jumped up, claws extended, his heart racing. If he couldn’t have Ororo, he could at least have Victor’s head on a platter. He lunged for Victor, and Victor jerked to the side, narrowly escaping Logan’s attack. “You don’t love her, “Logan rasped, lunging for Sabretooth’s throat and knocking him to the ground. “You don’t love her…you don’t deserve her an’ you never will, Creed-” Victor landed a punch to Logan’s gut, jerking the smaller man off his throat. “Deserve her or not,” he gasped for air, “she’s my wife. An’ if you ever come near her, I swear ta God your body will be scattered all throughout Canada-” “Like those men you killed?” Logna jumped up. “Think Storm would love ya if she knew you murdered the men who raped her? Storm ain’t like you, Creed. She ain’t a monster. She’d leave you if she knew.” “You little piece of shit, I was protecting my girlfriend. Something you wouldn’t know a fucking thing about – thinkin’ about someone other than yourself!” “What the fuck-” “Da-ee?” Victor stopped and turned around, leaving him wide open. Damn, this dude was slipping. Logan had a prime chance to stick him in the chest and end this fight. But he couldn’t move. He was looking over Creed’s shoulder. Oh God, oh God, oh God! A little girl, about four, or five was standing in the doorway of the men’s room, Her dark gray eyes wide with curiosity at the feral men in the middle of a brawl. Blood was on the walls, the sink, the floor. “Daa-ee?” she said again, her voice slightly fearful. Her voice was slow to Logan’s ears, a little too loud, her words over-exaggerated. Strange. Was the girl retarded? “Punkin, what are ya doin’ in here?” Creed wiped his nose quickly, dropped to his knees and made a dozen swift gestures with his hands. The girl was deaf. “Saaaw-rie, Daa-ee,” the dark-haired angel said. “Saaaw-rie ‘bout…yo’ boots.” Victor sighed. “It’s okay, punkin,” he said and signed. The girl laughed, a sound that was a cross between a dying goose and a sodomized mule, and she threw her arms around Victor’s neck. “Luuuu-you, Daa-ee.” She planted a dozen sticky kisses on Victor’s neck. Kisses that belonged to Logan. His mind swirled. “Victor!” A panicked voice. Ororo’s. He could smell her anguish. He could also smell strawberries and Play-Doh and scented soap and baby powder. “We’re in here, Ro. Wait a sec – ain’t nothin’ for you t’see here.” Victor turned to his daughter – Logan’s daughter – and made more gestures, then turned her around by her shoulders and swatted her bottom gently. The girl left, laughing and babbling to herself. “Maaah-meeeee!” she called, and Logan heard her laughter again. It ripped at Logan’s heart. Up until now, his daughter had just been a figure. Now she had a face, and a missing tooth smile, and Logan’s dark hair and eyes. No sooner had she disappeared than Logan had Creed pinned to a wall, his fist to Creed’s head. Logan’s hands itched to release their claws, but he knew now wasn’t the right time. “If you ever hurt her…” he threatened. “It’ll still be more than what you’ve ever done for her,” Victor sneered back. “You just better remember that’s MY daughter, bub.” Victor laughed outright. “Oh, really? Your daughter?” “That’s right.” Victor lifted his chin in a superior smirk. “Then what’s her name?” Logan froze. His mind reeled. Ororo had never discussed a name with him. He had no idea what her name was. Not a fucking clue, and this was supposed to be his flesh and blood. Yet until now, Logan wouldn’t have known his child if she walked up to him and stole his wallet. “That’s what I thought,” Victor taunted after a minute. “Douche Bag, don’t you ever confuse any snot-nosed bastard children you may have in the future with my little girl.” That statement stunned Logan, so much that he actually released Victor. He rolled his eyes and made it halfway to the door before Logan, in a moment of desperation, yelled, “Creed!” Victor paused. “What…what is her name?” Logan half-begged to know. Victor turned around. His eyes, black as obsidian, gleamed in the light. “To you,” he said with a cruel smirk before leaving, “my daughter has no name.” He pulled off his shirt, splattered with blood and strawberry shake, and tossed it in the trash, leaving Logan to his thoughts. No! Logan cleared his mind and raced out the door. Where were they? Where were they going? No, Logan thought, frenzied and teetering on a berserker rage. I won’t let them leave without knowing my name. I’ll ask Ororo myself, if I have to… Logan watched as his daughter run to a water fountain, teetering over dangerously. “Goddess, my daughter!” Ororo cried, her eyes wide, but of course she couldn’t hear. Ororo’s hands flew out, and a gust of wind kept her from falling into the water face first. Unfortunately, because of Ororo’s unstable hormones, it also blew about half the water out the fountain. Not exactly inconspicuous.  The girl rushed toward Ororo, screaming, “Again, again, again!” She had enjoyed the coast on air. Ororo bent over as well as she could. “What on earth has gotten into you, running off like that?” Ororo asked her daughter. “You know Mommy can’t run after you.” The girl laughed jubilantly, raising her arms above her head. Ororo sighed and picked up her daughter, balancing her carefully on her hip, half-scolding, half-teasing. “What am I going to do with you, Carmen?” Carmen. Carmen. Carmen. Logan repeated the name in his mind, over and over. “Just like her ol’ man,” Victor tickled Carmen under her chin, and the child squealed with delight. “You give Mommy hell, just like your old man, right? Take no prisoners.” No! Not right! She’s my little girl! Not his, mine! MINE! But all Logan could do was watch in half-anguish as Carmen reached for Ororo’s husband. Dressed in a light T-shirt, now, he seized Carmen as if Carmen was his property as well as Ororo. “You cost me a shirt, little girl,” he taunted Carmen. Carmen began to speak – some strange language that must’ve been all her own, a language only she, Victor and Ororo could decipher. “What on earth is she babbling about?” Ororo asked, running a hand through Carmen’s jet-black locks. “What happened in the restroom?” Sabretooth’s healing powers had kicked in already, so the bruises and cuts on his face and body were already gone. But a wife’s intuition, he had learned over the years, was a sonofabitch.“Oh. Nothing,” Victor lied smoothly. “Just some bum that was in the bathroom when I was in there.” Bum. It rang through Logan’s ears and nearly stopped his heart. Bum. He was a bum, and a pussy. The confrontation of a lifetime, and it didn’t go the way Logan planned. Not only was Victor Creed still breathing, he was leaving the mall with Logan’s woman and Logan’s daughter. Failure. The word rang in Logan’s mind over and over again. Never again. There would be a second time, and on Logan’s terms. “I’m going to get you back,” Logan whispered to the trio walking out of the shopping mall and into the parking lot. “You hear me, Carmen? I’m coming to get you soon.” END