Chapter Text
The next day, you needed to go to the nursery. You slid behind the wheel of your car before Logan could say a word. The bandages on your hand made the grip awkward, but you weren’t about to let him drive. Logan didn’t argue. Just folded himself into the passenger seat and shut the door with a grunt. The engine hummed, and you turned the music up just enough to fill the space. No loud, not soft. Just enough to keep you from having to think about conversation. Logan leaned back, eyes half-lidded, and let the silence ride out. It was better this way. No notebooks or frantic pointing. No misunderstandings. Just the road stretching out and the radio crackling through.
The nursery smell of damp earth and fertilizer. You grabbed a cart with your good hand, Logan falling into step behind you like a reluctant shadow. You paused and pointed to a stack of terracotta pots.
Logan lifted two with ease and dropped them into the cart. “Light work,” he muttered. “You could’ve done that one-handed.”
You shot him a flat look, then pointed to another nearby shelf.
He grabbed the heavier ceramic ones, muttering. “Figures you’d pick the breakable crap.”
A row of seed packets caught your attention. So you pointed to a few of them.
Logan plucked the ones your finger lingered on, squinting at the labels. “Chamomile? Basil? What, you runnin’ a tea shop now?”
You rolled your eyes and moved on.
The soil was last— twenty pound bags stacked high. You gestured.
Logan hefted two at once onto his shoulder, smirking. “Finally, somethin’ worth me bein’ here.”
You ignored him, wheeling the cart toward the checkout.
Back at the car, Logan loaded everything into the trunk without a word. He slammed it shut and leaned against the bumper, arms crossed, watching you for a moment.
“Not a bad system,” he said. “You point. I lift. No arguments.”
You raised a brow before sliding into he driver’s seat.
Logan climbed in on his side, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Almost makes me wish you’d never get those stitches out.”
The glare you shot him could’ve stripped bark off a tree.
He chuckled. “Kidding, Mute. Just kidding.”
The music filled the silence again as you drove back to the school. But this time Logan didn’t lean back and close his eyes. He just watched the road— and maybe, every so often, you.
~~~
You flexed your hand carefully. The stitches were gone now, but the skin still tugged. It wasn’t complete freedom, but it was a big step in the right direction. Logan showed up like he always did, shouldering the door open with a grunt. He was halfway through his usual sarcastic greeting when he stopped. You were standing at the other end at a table, signing slowly— trying out motions you hadn’t been able to use for a couple of weeks. Your fingers trembled with the effort.
Logan’s brow furrowed. “Still hurts,” he noted, stepping closer.
You froze, startled that he noticed. Then you stubbornly waved him off and went back to sorting through seed packets. Your hand shook again, dropping one. Logan bend down and picked it up before you could, placing it back on the table. He leaned against the nearby pillar and watched you for a long beat.
“You don’t gotta push it,” he muttered. “Ain’t a race.”
You curtly signed, “I can handle it.” The tremor dulled the signs, making your frustration burn hotter.
Logan didn’t know what exactly you signed, but he caught the meaning. He huffed. “Yeah, I know you can. Does’t mean you should tear yourself up doin’ it.”
The words hung awkwardly between you. They weren’t mocking or dismissive but observing. You didn’t know what to make of it. And neither did Logan.
~~~
Charles had invited you to a conference and you couldn’t exactly say no. The greenhouse keys weighed heavy in your pocket when you left. It wasn’t easy leaving your sanctuary for a week. Logan watched you go from the window, expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything. Never did. But the next morning, he showed up to the greenhouse anyway. It felt too quiet with you. The plants rustled restlessly. Logan grabbed the watering can and got to work.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered to a bunch of daisies that somehow looked depressed. “She ain’t here. So you’re stuck with me.”
The vines swayed overhead. Logan ignored the way they seemed to shift away from him. He kept himself busy with watering, trimming the way he had seen you do it, and wiped down the benches and tables. Every day, for the entire week, he came back. And slowly, the plants seemed less hostile.
At night, when the mansion was quiet, Logan sat in his room with a battered laptop open on his lap. On the screen played a sign language tutorial video. He rewatched the basics over and over again, trying to memorize the way the hands moved and what each sign meant. It felt stupid, especially with his memory issues. But he kept going. Maybe because he was beginning to realize that Charles wasn’t going to put him back on the team unless he actually tried. He had to at least try to understand your signs, or there was no more missions for him. No one else knew what he was doing at night and he wasn’t about to admit it.
When you came back a week later, you were tired but glad to be home. The first place you went was the greenhouse, and what you found stopped you cold. The floors were swept. The seedlings had been watered. The vines were trimmed. Everything was tidy and alive. You turned slowly to see Logan leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, with that same familiar scowl.
“Don’t give me that look,” he grunted. “Didn’t want your precious jungle dyin’ on my watch.”
You blinked, unsure what to say. The plants rustled faintly around you but were calmer than you expected. Almost as if they’d finally grown used to him. And Logan… he just looked away before you could meet his eyes.
~~~
The following day, the greenhouse was alive with its usual hum. You were back in your rhythm after the conference— one hand still tender but steady enough to sign and work. Logan was leaning against a pillar, pretending not to watch you, but you could feel his eyes following your movements.
You reached for a stack of empty pots and signed a thought without thinking, “Careful. Fragile.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Logan grunted.
You froze for a moment. Slowly, you turned towards him. His scowl faltered just a fraction when he realized what he’d done.
“What?” He said, defensive.
“You understood that,” you quickly signed.
He shifted, looking away. “Lucky guess.”
You stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Fragile,” you signed again.
Logan huffed. “Means careful, right? Don’t break it.”
You stared. He wasn’t fluent. But he wasn’t guessing either. The plants rustled faintly, like they also sensed something different.
“You’ve been—“ You stopped, knowing that he couldn’t understand your full thought. Frustration bubbled, but you pointed at him, then tapped your temple before signing, “You understand me.”
Logan growled low in his throat, like he’d been caught red-handed. “…just been watchin’ videos.”
Your mouth fell open.
“Don’t look at me like that. I gotta get back into the field. Just figured I should know what the hell you’re sayin’ all the time. That’s all.”
You were completely stunned. For months, Logan had dismissed you, mocked you, and called you a burden. Multiple times. And now— secretly— he’d been studying just to understand you.
Logan shifted again under your stare, clearly uncomfortable. “Don’t make it a big deal.”
Too bad, it was.
~~~
Logan stood stiffly in front of Charles’ desk, arms already crossed defensively.
“I’ve noticed a change,” Charles stated. “You’ve been making an effort with Y/N.”
“Don’t make it should like I’m buyin’ her roses,” Logan grunted.
Charles smiled faintly. “Regardless, I believe you’ve earned your way back. You’re no longer benched from missions.”
Logan nodded once. “Let me guess, I’m back on training the Mute. Hope Scott hasn’t messed anything up.”
“Y/N hasn’t trained since her initial drill.”
“What?”
“She asked to be excused. Said that if you were benched, she deserved to be too.”
Logan’s jaw clenched. Images of that first drill flashed back— your silence, the panic, the way he’d torn into you after pulling you out. He hate that his stomach twisted.
~~~
When Logan walked into the greenhouse that afternoon, you were crouched among the rows. The plants were leaning towards you, soft and content.
Logan leaned against the doorframe. “You haven’t trained.”
You looked up, brows furrowed and signed slowly, “I don’t want to.”
“That’s not the point.” Logan stepped inside. “If you’re gonna be on the team— or even just here at the school— you don’t get to sit out. Not after one round.”
Your hands moved sharply. “I don’t belong on the team. I teach. I belong here.” You motioned to the greenhouse.
He shook his head. “That’s not how it works. Here, the fight finds you whether you want it or not.”
You glared at him. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t lived my whole life fighting just to be heard?”
Logan caught enough of it to understand the bite in your tone. “You need to train, Y/N. Not for us— the team. But for you.”
You looked away, throat tight, unable to answer.
~~~
The Danger Room was different now. There were cases of plants along the edge so that you could use your power successfully. The simulation kicked in before you were really ready, walls melting into the jagged ruins of a city street. Sentinel prototypes stalked the shadows.
Scott’s voice came sharp and clear through the comms, “Team formation. Ororo, high ground. Jean, support. Logan, point. Y/N, center with me.”
Your stomach knotted. The air was thick with the memory of your first drill— Logan’s words echoing: burden, weak link. Logan glanced your way, jaw tight. He didn’t say anything, but you caught the flicker of a look that wasn’t pure disdain.
“Move!” Scott barked, and the team surged forward.
You filled, your powers sparked to life as vines broke through simulated pavement, wrapping around the ankles of one of the Sentinels. You slammed it to the ground while Scott sliced it with his laser eyes. Logan grunted approval and kept you in his line of sight as he tore into another.
For a while, you held your own. You were blocking, striking, and weaving your powers into the rhythm of the team. Until the swarm came. You pivoted, trying to keep up, but three drones cornered you against a collapsed wall. You signed the command for help before realizing no one could see you. Suddenly, Logan was there, claws flashing, tearing two drones apart before they could pin you. He shoved the third back hard enough for your vines to finish it.
He turned to you, chest heaving. “You freeze like that again, you’re dead.” His voice was sharp, but something underneath it was frantic, close to fear.
Your hands snapped up— angry and trembling. “I didn’t freeze! I was fighting!”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t understand every sign, but he caught the meaning in your fury. “You think that’s fightin’? You gotta do more than flail and hope the plants save your ass!”
The simulation ended at Scott’s command. He looked between you both, frowning. “You two need to figure this out. Fast. Because out there? There are no do-overs.”
You turned on your heel and stormed out. You knew you had froze. You just couldn’t explain why. You were a fighter— a good one. But for some reason drills got to you. Logan watched you go, fists clenched. He didn’t know if he wanted to shake you… or himself.
~~~
You stormed into the greenhouse. The plants reacted instantly. The ivy curled tight against its trellis, the orchids snapped shut, and the air thickened. You paced, hands flying in shape, furious signs no one was around to see.
“I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t useless. He doesn’t get to do that.”
Leaves rattled, echoing the storm inside you. The door opened again, heavy boots against the stone floor.
“Mute,” Logan’s voice came, rough and low.
You spun on him, eyes blazing. The vines snapped taut against the glass walls.
Logan held up his hands. “Easy. I ain’t here to fight.”
Your hands moved too fast. “You already did.”
He caught some of it with help from the venom in your expression. “You think I like chewin’ you out?” He stepped closer. “I don’t. But I’ll be damned if I watch you freeze up again and get torn apart!”
You slammed your palm against the workbench near you, pots rattling. The vines whipped forward, curling around his boots like angry snakes.
Logan didn’t flinch. He simply looked down, then back at you. “Go ahead. Let ‘em. If it makes you feel better.”
Your breath caught, furious tears threatening to burn. The plants pressed closer, but his steady gaze didn’t waver. Finally, with a harsh exhale, you shoved the vines back. They recoiled, shivering against the walls.
Logan’s voice dropped, quiet but edged with something raw. “You got train, Y/N. Not ‘cause I want you to. Not ‘cause Chuck says so. For you. So next time, you ain’t trapped waitin’ for someone else to save you.”
Your hands trembled. The signs you wanted to throw at him twisted in your chest, caught in the ache of your still-healing palm. You hated him for being right. You hated him for making it sound like he cared. You turned away sharply, shoulders tight.
Logan shifted, exhaling hard. “… I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The door clicked behind him, and you sagged against the bench.