Chapter 42– Midnight Lessons
The mansion was silent, the kind of silence that wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. Logan padded down the hall barefoot, scratching absently at his stomach, hair sticking out in wild tufts. He yawned wide enough to crack his jaw.
The kitchen door creaked open under his hand. Darkness swallowed the room. But to Logan's eyes, sharpened by night vision, it was clear as day.
And there he was.
A blue misfit crouched half-hidden in the corner, tail twitching, a drumstick clenched between his fangs, arms piled with bread rolls, fruit, and what looked like half a pie. His lips moved in a desperate whisper: "Please don't let anyone catch me, please don't let anyone—"
Logan smirked. 'Elf's midnight raid. Figures.'
He made a show of ignoring him, tromping over to the fridge. The door glowed bright when he swung it open, pulling a beer from the shelf. He twisted off the cap, chugged a long swig, foam dribbling down his beard.
Then he turned, eyes locking on the thief.
"What're you doin', Elf?"
Nightcrawler froze. The drumstick still dangled from his mouth. "Mmmmf. Nuffing."
Logan tipped the bottle toward his arms. "Then what's that in your hands?"
Kurt blinked, looked down at the wobbling tower of food, then snapped his gaze back up. With a frantic shuffle, he shoved it all behind his back, tail curling to shield the pie. "Nothing, Uncle!"
Logan started toward him. Slow. Heavy boots echoing on tile. He inhaled deep — panic smelled sharp and sour, rolling off Kurt in waves.
Kurt took a step back for every step Logan took forward. Until his back hit the wall with a soft thunk.
A bead of sweat rolled down Kurt's forehead. He swallowed audibly. "Uhh… what's wrong, Uncle?"
Logan's mouth curved into a wolfish grin. "Nothin'."
And in one swift motion he snatched the drumstick right out of Kurt's hand.
"Hey!" Kurt yelped, muffled, tail flicking in outrage. "That's mine!"
Logan bit clean through, chewed twice, swallowed, and tossed the bone into the trash with a clink. He reached a hand out, palm open, eyebrow raised.
"C'mon. Gimme another."
"You wouldn't dare," Kurt whispered dramatically.
"Try me."
And in a puff of sulfur and brimstone — BAMF! — Kurt vanished, food and all. His voice echoed faintly from upstairs: "Thief!"
Logan chuckled low, shaking his head, and padded out of the kitchen.
The night air was cool when he stepped onto the garden steps. He dropped onto the stone, beer bottle dangling from one hand. The stars shimmered above. He took a long gulp, then pulled a cigar from his pocket, striking it up with a flare of orange.
Smoke curled skyward when he heard the soft whirr of wheels behind him.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Logan asked, not turning.
"No," came Charles' calm voice. He rolled up beside him, pale in the moonlight, hands folded in his lap. He looked out at the garden for a long moment before speaking again. "I should thank you, Logan."
Logan frowned. "For what?"
"For John." Xavier's voice was gentle but heavy with meaning. "For teaching Thunderbird discipline. He's fiery, yes, but he listens to you. He respects you. That… may have saved his life, and perhaps all of theirs, one day."
Logan puffed his cigar, exhaling a stream of smoke into the dark. His mouth twisted into a smirk. "For what again?"
Charles chuckled softly, eyes glinting. "You know."
The silence after wasn't empty — it was easy. Two men who carried weight, sitting under the stars, saying more with nothing than most could with everything.
Logan leaned back, beer resting against his thigh, smoke curling from his cigar. His lips curved into that crooked smirk.
"Guess we'll see if the kid proves me right."
Charles smiled faintly. "I believe he will."
And the night settled again, the two of them keeping watch over a house full of dreamers, warriors, and thieves sneaking pies in the dark.