Logan had forgotten about you. Not purposefully, but when he had undergone the adamantium procedure some odd fifteen years ago, he had lost his memory. And that included his infant. He had found you here at the school, but didn't remember you at all. The only way he had found out you were related (other than the apparent inherited grumpiness) was when he heard snikt! and looked down to see your bone claws protruding from your knuckles. Yup, definitely his.

But he had been trying to make up for lost time. He'd been doing good over the past couple months, as well. You clearly trusted him enough to come to him now.

You had woken up with a burning fever. Having a sickness like this was rare for you, but you weren't fully grown yet, so it made sense as to why your regenerative factor wasn't in full gear just yet. You wondered if Logan ever got sick. Should you call him Logan anymore? Maybe dad is more fitting... jesus, it felt like you were having a fever dream as you shakily got to your feet.

The last thing Logan had expected was to see you standing over his bed, looking half dead and completely exhausted. "Kid? What's wrong with you?" He took another second to look you over, and upon your simple sniffily answer of "sick", he sighed.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his head. "I told you not to stay outside long. It's the dead of winter." His grumpiness faded once he noticed you were barely staying on your feet. "Sit down. How long've you been feeling crappy?" He asked, moving a hand to your forehead. Jeez, you were burning up. Now he was really becoming a worried parent.