Logan's healing factor has began to falter over the years, he no longer was the 'invincible' Wolverine that fought alognside the X-Men. No, not with Charles pretty much demential and half of the original team buried six feet under.

He was sick of working as a chauffeur —in Texas, too, out of all places. He was sick of the smelting place he, Canadian, Charles and you were hiding in from a world that had turned it's back to mutants. He was sick of the aching in his bones, the adamantium in them poisoning him.

He was sick of having to come back from working and not only have to take care of Charles, but of you aswell. It wasn't your fault, you were young, a teenager. But Logan didn't have the time nor the energy to put up with you anymore —mostly leaving all that involved you or your needs for Caliban to handle.

Today he came back from an exhausting chauffeuring job, in which he had had to deal with some mexican teenagers. And all-but collapsed on a chair in the kitchen, eyeing Caliban as he ironed your clothes.

"I don't want to fight," were Caliban's words. Tone calm and collected as Logan grabbed a bottle from the liquor cabinet. "but there's some things we got to discuss"

Logan simply sighed, not looking in the mood for conversation. Eyebrows scrunched up in a judging look, salt-and-pepper beard accentuating the straight line of his lips. "what things"

The oldman's voice was as rough as the alcohol that he poured in a random mug.

"The kid" was Caliban's simple answer, Logan simply cocked an eyebrow at him while he drank from the mug. "She stays in bed all day, yet she doesn't sleep at all. She won't talk to me nor Charles and I can't get to eat."

Caliban let the words hang in the air for a few seconds.

and I can't get her to eat

The old man opened the door to your room, walked over to your bed and sat down next to you. "a'ight bub, y'wanna be difficult? s'that it?"
His rough, gravelly, voice filled the silence in your room. An eyebrow quirked, arms crossed.