Disclaimer: To my credit, I do not run Marvel Comics, I do not drive a Benz, and I do not use five dollar bills to light my Cuban cigars. Therefore, I also do not own the X-Men or any related entities. At least...not yet...
Even For You
Somewhere, she told herself, it was raining.
And for a long time, Jean had only felt truly content during a downpour, a steady falling of rain. It was probably the cozy warmth that came from being safely inside, staring out at the cold utopia on the other side of the glass. She should feel happy today, of all days. But she could only hug her knees a little closer and stare out the window, telling herself that somewhere in the world, it had to be raining.
Her instinct brought her eyes inside, toward the phone. She already knew it was coming. The pierce of the ring didn't startle her; she simply flopped off the window seat and nestled the receiver to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey gorgeous. You're finally awake, I see. You were practically in a coma when I left this morning."
Jean smiled at the sound of Scott's voice. "I noticed you were gone. What was so important to call you away so early?"
"Well, actually, that's what I was calling about." Jean grimaced, knowing, as usual, what he was planning to say. "I'm afraid our plans tonight are down the drain."
She held her patience, with the trained control she had worked for. "Oh? And why would that be?" she asked innocently.
"It's the professor. He wants Ororo and I to fly to Washington and escort-"
"And why can't someone else go? It's not like the whole house is so busy," she mused sweetly, twirling the phone cord between two fingers. She had accepted her disappointment long before the words were out of his mouth.
"Look honey, I'm sorry. But it can't be helped." She heard a deep sigh on the other end. "I'll make it up to you next chance I get. And it'll be even better."
She was tempted to ask when that next chance would pop up, and if by any miracle of God it would be tomorrow. But this battle she couldn't win. "Alright darling. If it can't be helped..."
"That's my girl. I'll try to make it home by tomorrow morning. I've got to run, I'm at the airport...oh and Jean?"
"Yes?"
"I love you, baby." The dial tone bleeped before she could reply. She slammed down the receiver.
He was at the airport? He called from the airport? Which meant of course, that her objections wouldn't have amounted to diddly squat anyway, despite valiant efforts. Obviously, he thought she would protest, and make a fuss (as well she should), and didn't take the chance that she could sway him. Offered Jean little possible victory by calling from the airport.
God, if Scott couldn't be the most impossible person to live with, if he really tried.
Ah well. Considering the few options she had, it would do Jean little good to mope and groan about this brush off. Technically, it wasn't his fault for missing their...date. Although, chances were he was the first to volunteer.
She held back a growl and kicked a pillow instead. Damn, damn, damn, damn! He made her so mad sometimes. So maybe Scott didn't consider something very important, maybe a certain day wasn't at the top of his list. But she'd be damned if some things mattered to her...occasionally.
But his ignorance wouldn't get to her. She sauntered into her closet and changed into a sleeveless ivory turtleneck and matching ankle length skirt. She'd do something great to celebrate...like lie around the house until she found something better to do. Jean let out a sigh and, with careless precision, decided she was indeed very hungry.
"Happy birthday, Red," Logan greeted as Jean entered the kitchen around noon. She smiled.
"You remembered. That brings the grand total to one," she stated without an ounce of self-pity. She reached for a shiny red apple that lay in a basket centred on the table.
"That I don't believe. We're talkin' about Pretty Boy, right? He missed your birthday?"
"Not exactly. Emergency team duty. Sounded rather dire from the airport. Now what does that tell you? That he called from the airport?"
Logan snuffed his cigar, the smoke of which didn't seem to bother Jean. "It tells me he knew he'd come running home if you blinked a eye, and considerable distance had be put between you if any real work was going to be done."
Jean nodded in acknowledgement. "We can celebrate tomorrow though. It's not like my birthday is all that important to me anymore."
Logan eased himself out of his chair and over to the fridge, where he promptly retrieved a cold beer. "You tellin' me you're spending your birthday alone?" She nodded. "Thought so. Can't let you do that, by the way. You're comin' with me tonight. Better be ready at 7 or so." He disappeared into the house. Leaving Jean no chance to decline (or accept) his invitation.
She sure as hell knew how to make a guy sweat, Logan thought to himself as he paced the floor in front of the main door. He had probably only been waiting a few minutes longer than the time he had laid on the table. But what did that matter when you were the one waitin'?
"Ahem."
Logan whipped around to see Jean perched at the top stair, slowly descending. Wearing a gorgeous red strapless dress. With a generous slit along one leg. He smiled.
"Here I was hopin' you'd go for the more traditional birthday suit." He said to her, fully aware she saw his appreciative glance sweeping her up and down.
"Behave, Logan dear. I'm sure I needn't remind you the only remaining person in this house is Rogue, upstairs. We don't want anyone talking."
"You can handle yerself."
Jean streamed past him in a current of perfume to reach her coat that draped on a hook next to the porch. "Your car or mine?"
"Whatever."
"Yours then." He held her coat as she slipped into it. "Do I dare to ask where you're taking me?"
"To eat."
"Great," she chirped. "I adore Denny's."
"This isn't Denny's, Logan." Jean remarked as the waiter sat them at their table (reserved, no less). "A glass of water here costs as much as this dress."
"Don't remind me. Jesus, I've never seen so many noses stuck up in the air before." He felt his eyes widen as he checked over the prices on the menu and immediately hoped Jean was equally engrossed in her own. She was. Oh well, he thought to himself, what did he need money for anyway? Ol' Chuck gave him all he wanted, more or less.
Shit, he realized after the initial shock wore off. All these words were French. He wasn't even a great master of English to begin with, let alone some other tool language. Randomly he selected something that looked okay from his side of the language barrier and didn't end in too many zeros.
The waiter was a little too prompt, arriving within moments of the menu's soft landing on the table. He struggled to pronounce what he thought he chose and passed him the folded menu.
Jean smiled at him from across the small table and then turned to the waiter, ordering her meal in perfect French, complete with a few other comments that seemed to amuse their snooty waiter. She waved him off on his way with a "merci beaucoup" or two and returned her gaze to her dinner companion.
"What?" She brushed away a red lock of hair that had fallen down near her face.
"You had to be the little Paris graduate, didn't ya?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. If, and I do stress if, you were referring to my knowledge of the French language, all I have to say in my defence is that private school can be quite extensive in the field of foreign languages."
"Is that so? You're tellin' me you went to one of those prissy finishing school places?"
"The prissiest, in fact. Does that surprise you? Or do you look down on me now, in all my girlie uniformed glory?"
"And I'll bet you use that crap a lot in everyday life?"
"Oh, you wouldn't believe. I've had strangers who absolutely needed me to recite the Canadian anthem in German and Portuguese. And you know what?"
"What?"
"I'm glad to do it. Anything to reach out to the common man." The final two words stuck in her throat as they both realized the statement didn't apply to either of them. They were not the common folk; they were the defenders of the common. No one they called friends fell into that category, nor any of their enemies. The word to their kind was a bitter spit in the face. Their kind was not ordinary or everyday or average. They were both mutants. Extraordinary. Jean sometimes managed to almost get through a day without reminding herself of that fact. For a moment they exchanged a look laden with the freedom of those words: the common man. If only it could be.
"Ya know what really gets me, Red?" Logan offered after a few moments of silence. She inclined her head as a response. "Most of these people don't know what goes on in the real world everyday. What we have to sacrifice so they can sit here on their velvet upholstered seats and congratulate themselves on bein so fuckin' stupendous."
"But that's why we do it, isn't it? So they'll never have to know. The strong take heed of the weak." Jean lay her napkin flat on her crossed legs. "I don't know why we do it sometimes either, honestly. It might be so much easier to sit back and let someone else save the world for a change. Or stop altogether."
"It's a pretty thought, all right." Logan leaned back in his chair and wished for a cigar to chew on thoughtfully. "Never gonna happen though."
"I tried it once, you know," Jean spoke up quietly. "I left it all to live normally again. I went home, and it was wonderful. I never once woke up and worried about what surprises the morning might bring. Ignorance is bliss. It really is."
"What happened?"
"I came back. I knew I would, eventually. It's pathetic really. It's not even that I wanted to, or that I missed it. Not at all. But just like that, before I knew it, I pulled myself back in and adapted, like I never missed a thing. I can't handle life being good. I'm pretty messed up in that respect."
"Jeannie, you're tellin' my life story."
"Hardly. I've had it easy compared to you. And that's saying something."
His jaw clenched as the words left her mouth. "I'm gonna confess somethin' to you, okay?" She nodded. "You're one of two people I would ever let get away with that remark. Ever."
Her mouth eased into a smile. "Who's the other?" she asked innocently, aware she was pushing her luck.
Logan knew her game. "C'mon, Red. There are limits. Even for you."
"Even for me," she echoed. "Logan, may I ask you something? And be honest."
"Depends on what it is."
"Why did you take me here? Really, now. I mean no offence, but I'm sure this one place you don't frequent."
He deliberately cast his eyes down to the table as he opened his mouth to reply. Their dinner conveniently arrived.
They ate in silence, each one constantly glancing at the other without a return look. Finally Jean broke the hollow air between them.
"Answer the question, please."
He almost grinned at her persistence, except it was too hard a request to laugh off. There were a couple dozen reasons that brought them to this restaurant on this night. Where to start was the real matter.
"Okay, Red. You win. I'll bear my soul, if it makes ya happy and shuts ya up." He placed both fork and knife down on his plate and pushed the whole outfit out of his way to leave room for his elbows. "You want the unabridged version or an original?"
"Just the truth, please, and quit stalling."
He was stalling, and be damned if she wouldn't willingly point it out. "Okay, Jeannie. Here it is, plain and simple, cause you asked for it. No sugar coating, you understand?" The expression on her face (which Logan could swear was almost smug) assured him she understood completely. "Okay then. It's because...because I felt guilty. I mean, you were gonna be home all night. And you know if there're one thing I can't stand, it's a pretty lady alone on a Saturday night." He even heard how absolutely shitty that sounded as it echoed in his head and knew she wouldn't swallow a word.
"Bullshit. God damn, Logan. I ask you one thing and you won't even answer with a straight face. For- come on, let's go home. Here, take my Visa. I'll be out in the car." Defeated, he offered his keys so she could at least warm up. "No thank you. I don't exactly need keys, if you'll remember." She tapped her temple in a quick angry gesture. "Don't be long."
He sat back in his chair and let out a chuckle. For the fuck of fuck, he knew this would happen. He fished his own card out and shoved it into the waiter's awaiting hand, avoiding the arrogant expression he knew was there. He made a fist as he waited for the card to return.
With anyone else, he was fine. Amazing, actually. For whatever fuckin' reason, he never seemed to have much difficulty with women before. Only this one. The only woman in the whole fuckin' world who could garner any type of anxiety in Logan was Jean Grey. Normally cool and collected, James Dean with a cigar in hand, Humphrey Bogart with a Harley, his logic flew out the door with one glance at Jean. He never showed it of course. No one on earth would have suspected it, not even a telepath (imagine the irony there). He was an old expert at burying his emotions deep enough to hide from anyone. He shifted in his seat and felt the bulge in his coat pocket. He hadn't gotten around to the more charming part of the evening. His gift to Jean.
Logan had, honestly, spent weeks on this one little gift. Logan, who hated the general public and shopping indefinitely had braved the mall once or twice, and even some of the smaller, more annoying shops that had to exist in order to piss him off. He had consulted Marie, never saying in so many words who it was for exactly, but knowing that all her suggestions wouldn't cut it. They were too plain, too expected. He poured over it forever, before finally settling on this.
And even now he wasn't so sure it was a hot idea. She'd like it, sure. But for him, liking this gift wasn't enough. He had used every gushy, romantic part in his body (which was minimal to say the least) to muster up this gem.
Maybe, he thought now as he waited for his credit card to return, maybe it would have been easier to go with the basics. Jewellery, a favourite book, clothes. He didn't lack details. He could list off in a minute everything that could be idly mentioned in a conversation; her favourite colour, author, composer, and place to eat, as well as her dress, ring and shoe size. It kinda made him ashamed how much he could spout off if he really tried. The waiter returned.
He snatched the plastic card back from the little tray along with the bill as soon as it arrived, left a little snarl for the stuck up waiter to piss about, grabbed his coat and left. He spotted the old Jeep parked with a single passenger sitting in the dark, silently waiting his arrival.
He remembered how much he hated living with a women, how incredibly impossible and painful it was, and was instantly thankful (for once) that he was not Scott. He forgot about the benefits for the moment to salvage his own pride and sanity.
To top it all off, her zipper was now stuck.
Suppressing a loud scream by biting her tongue, Jean stumbled over to a mirror in a valiant effort to determine what was the cause of the unyielding zipper.
The entire evening had been a bust. Well, maybe not the first half. That was fine, right up until...until she asked him that stupid question. God, was she that dense? Husbands rarely get so confessional with their wives, for Pete's sake. Was it so much to accept that Logan had just wanted to take her out on a nice birthday dinner? She ran a hand roughly into her hair, tearing out the pins that held up so bravely through the night with savage precision.
Or was it that she wanted there to be something else? No, that couldn't be it. At least, that better not be it. Life wasn't difficult enough with just Scott. Let's add another to mix, shall we? God, the way he just threw her little plastic charge card at her after he got into the driver's seat was proof enough of how angry he had to be with her at this moment. He'd probably never forget how cruel she was, to leave him stranded in the middle of that restaurant. As if he wasn't already completely out of his element, how completely uncomfortable he was in a place like that. She eyed the bobby pin in her hand with renewed interest, and considered briefly if it was too blunt to drive into her temple.
She blinked away the thought when the soft knock at the door called her attention. Relief clouded her mind as she realized intuitively who it was. She stepped over to the door and eased it open.
"Hello."
Leaning against the doorframe, Logan looked up at her. "Hey."
"Come in?" She winced when she remembered her dress was hanging off in back and her hair must look like a rat nest. She reached back and tried to zip it up in one quick jerk, pinching her skin as she did.
"Nah, I won't be long." He straightened his posture an inch. "I wanted to give you your present." He produced a gift from inside his jacket. "That's why I, uh, took you out, actually. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to give it to you, but...here." He shoved it forward gently.
"Oh, Logan, you shouldn't have. I mean, really. I treated you so horribly, and for such a stupid reason." She took the package in hand.
"Don't beat yerself up over it. We'll be laughin' about it tomorrow, I bet. It was kinda funny, I guess." He looked at her with a gaze that could smoulder. "Open it."
She did. With an almost shameful eagerness. Jean tore off the red wrapping paper and let it fall to the floor as she examined what was inside.
"Casablanca," she murmured, as her fingers ran over the smooth edge of the video case. "How did you..."
"Well, I remembered the time you mentioned it was your favourite and how you always meant to get around to buying it but..."
"Never did," she finished for him. "That was ages ago. I had forgotten about it."
"Well, you know me and my great memory." There was nothing left to say. He kissed her cheek ever so appropriately, his restraint breaking her heart. "Night, Red. And happy birthday."
She closed her door after he left, lay the movie down on the nearest table and retreated to her closet. The zipper slid with a gracious ease, and she chose her comfiest pajamas. She combed out her hair, splashed her face with some water and slathered on some moisturiser for propriety's sake. Unwillingly, her hand drifted back to the video case, sliding it off the table and into her view again. A piece off paper escaped from the edge of the case and fluttered to the ground.
A card, she realized as she knelt to pick it up. Her hand slid inside and pulled out the simple, sparsely adorned card. It was short.
Red,
As far as I'm concerned, you're always my girl.
Logan
Jean was proud of him, knowing how hard it must have been for him to write even that much. With a satisfied grin, she tore the card into bits, vowing to forever keep the message between them. Logan was a private man, and he liked it that way, and if he liked it, that was enough for Jean. He had earned her respect a long time ago, and deserved it. She tossed the remains in the trash, careful to scatter them enough to remain inauspicious. She had done the right thing, she decided as she clicked off the lights in the room.
And noticed that outside, it was raining.
Even For You
Somewhere, she told herself, it was raining.
And for a long time, Jean had only felt truly content during a downpour, a steady falling of rain. It was probably the cozy warmth that came from being safely inside, staring out at the cold utopia on the other side of the glass. She should feel happy today, of all days. But she could only hug her knees a little closer and stare out the window, telling herself that somewhere in the world, it had to be raining.
Her instinct brought her eyes inside, toward the phone. She already knew it was coming. The pierce of the ring didn't startle her; she simply flopped off the window seat and nestled the receiver to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey gorgeous. You're finally awake, I see. You were practically in a coma when I left this morning."
Jean smiled at the sound of Scott's voice. "I noticed you were gone. What was so important to call you away so early?"
"Well, actually, that's what I was calling about." Jean grimaced, knowing, as usual, what he was planning to say. "I'm afraid our plans tonight are down the drain."
She held her patience, with the trained control she had worked for. "Oh? And why would that be?" she asked innocently.
"It's the professor. He wants Ororo and I to fly to Washington and escort-"
"And why can't someone else go? It's not like the whole house is so busy," she mused sweetly, twirling the phone cord between two fingers. She had accepted her disappointment long before the words were out of his mouth.
"Look honey, I'm sorry. But it can't be helped." She heard a deep sigh on the other end. "I'll make it up to you next chance I get. And it'll be even better."
She was tempted to ask when that next chance would pop up, and if by any miracle of God it would be tomorrow. But this battle she couldn't win. "Alright darling. If it can't be helped..."
"That's my girl. I'll try to make it home by tomorrow morning. I've got to run, I'm at the airport...oh and Jean?"
"Yes?"
"I love you, baby." The dial tone bleeped before she could reply. She slammed down the receiver.
He was at the airport? He called from the airport? Which meant of course, that her objections wouldn't have amounted to diddly squat anyway, despite valiant efforts. Obviously, he thought she would protest, and make a fuss (as well she should), and didn't take the chance that she could sway him. Offered Jean little possible victory by calling from the airport.
God, if Scott couldn't be the most impossible person to live with, if he really tried.
Ah well. Considering the few options she had, it would do Jean little good to mope and groan about this brush off. Technically, it wasn't his fault for missing their...date. Although, chances were he was the first to volunteer.
She held back a growl and kicked a pillow instead. Damn, damn, damn, damn! He made her so mad sometimes. So maybe Scott didn't consider something very important, maybe a certain day wasn't at the top of his list. But she'd be damned if some things mattered to her...occasionally.
But his ignorance wouldn't get to her. She sauntered into her closet and changed into a sleeveless ivory turtleneck and matching ankle length skirt. She'd do something great to celebrate...like lie around the house until she found something better to do. Jean let out a sigh and, with careless precision, decided she was indeed very hungry.
"Happy birthday, Red," Logan greeted as Jean entered the kitchen around noon. She smiled.
"You remembered. That brings the grand total to one," she stated without an ounce of self-pity. She reached for a shiny red apple that lay in a basket centred on the table.
"That I don't believe. We're talkin' about Pretty Boy, right? He missed your birthday?"
"Not exactly. Emergency team duty. Sounded rather dire from the airport. Now what does that tell you? That he called from the airport?"
Logan snuffed his cigar, the smoke of which didn't seem to bother Jean. "It tells me he knew he'd come running home if you blinked a eye, and considerable distance had be put between you if any real work was going to be done."
Jean nodded in acknowledgement. "We can celebrate tomorrow though. It's not like my birthday is all that important to me anymore."
Logan eased himself out of his chair and over to the fridge, where he promptly retrieved a cold beer. "You tellin' me you're spending your birthday alone?" She nodded. "Thought so. Can't let you do that, by the way. You're comin' with me tonight. Better be ready at 7 or so." He disappeared into the house. Leaving Jean no chance to decline (or accept) his invitation.
She sure as hell knew how to make a guy sweat, Logan thought to himself as he paced the floor in front of the main door. He had probably only been waiting a few minutes longer than the time he had laid on the table. But what did that matter when you were the one waitin'?
"Ahem."
Logan whipped around to see Jean perched at the top stair, slowly descending. Wearing a gorgeous red strapless dress. With a generous slit along one leg. He smiled.
"Here I was hopin' you'd go for the more traditional birthday suit." He said to her, fully aware she saw his appreciative glance sweeping her up and down.
"Behave, Logan dear. I'm sure I needn't remind you the only remaining person in this house is Rogue, upstairs. We don't want anyone talking."
"You can handle yerself."
Jean streamed past him in a current of perfume to reach her coat that draped on a hook next to the porch. "Your car or mine?"
"Whatever."
"Yours then." He held her coat as she slipped into it. "Do I dare to ask where you're taking me?"
"To eat."
"Great," she chirped. "I adore Denny's."
"This isn't Denny's, Logan." Jean remarked as the waiter sat them at their table (reserved, no less). "A glass of water here costs as much as this dress."
"Don't remind me. Jesus, I've never seen so many noses stuck up in the air before." He felt his eyes widen as he checked over the prices on the menu and immediately hoped Jean was equally engrossed in her own. She was. Oh well, he thought to himself, what did he need money for anyway? Ol' Chuck gave him all he wanted, more or less.
Shit, he realized after the initial shock wore off. All these words were French. He wasn't even a great master of English to begin with, let alone some other tool language. Randomly he selected something that looked okay from his side of the language barrier and didn't end in too many zeros.
The waiter was a little too prompt, arriving within moments of the menu's soft landing on the table. He struggled to pronounce what he thought he chose and passed him the folded menu.
Jean smiled at him from across the small table and then turned to the waiter, ordering her meal in perfect French, complete with a few other comments that seemed to amuse their snooty waiter. She waved him off on his way with a "merci beaucoup" or two and returned her gaze to her dinner companion.
"What?" She brushed away a red lock of hair that had fallen down near her face.
"You had to be the little Paris graduate, didn't ya?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. If, and I do stress if, you were referring to my knowledge of the French language, all I have to say in my defence is that private school can be quite extensive in the field of foreign languages."
"Is that so? You're tellin' me you went to one of those prissy finishing school places?"
"The prissiest, in fact. Does that surprise you? Or do you look down on me now, in all my girlie uniformed glory?"
"And I'll bet you use that crap a lot in everyday life?"
"Oh, you wouldn't believe. I've had strangers who absolutely needed me to recite the Canadian anthem in German and Portuguese. And you know what?"
"What?"
"I'm glad to do it. Anything to reach out to the common man." The final two words stuck in her throat as they both realized the statement didn't apply to either of them. They were not the common folk; they were the defenders of the common. No one they called friends fell into that category, nor any of their enemies. The word to their kind was a bitter spit in the face. Their kind was not ordinary or everyday or average. They were both mutants. Extraordinary. Jean sometimes managed to almost get through a day without reminding herself of that fact. For a moment they exchanged a look laden with the freedom of those words: the common man. If only it could be.
"Ya know what really gets me, Red?" Logan offered after a few moments of silence. She inclined her head as a response. "Most of these people don't know what goes on in the real world everyday. What we have to sacrifice so they can sit here on their velvet upholstered seats and congratulate themselves on bein so fuckin' stupendous."
"But that's why we do it, isn't it? So they'll never have to know. The strong take heed of the weak." Jean lay her napkin flat on her crossed legs. "I don't know why we do it sometimes either, honestly. It might be so much easier to sit back and let someone else save the world for a change. Or stop altogether."
"It's a pretty thought, all right." Logan leaned back in his chair and wished for a cigar to chew on thoughtfully. "Never gonna happen though."
"I tried it once, you know," Jean spoke up quietly. "I left it all to live normally again. I went home, and it was wonderful. I never once woke up and worried about what surprises the morning might bring. Ignorance is bliss. It really is."
"What happened?"
"I came back. I knew I would, eventually. It's pathetic really. It's not even that I wanted to, or that I missed it. Not at all. But just like that, before I knew it, I pulled myself back in and adapted, like I never missed a thing. I can't handle life being good. I'm pretty messed up in that respect."
"Jeannie, you're tellin' my life story."
"Hardly. I've had it easy compared to you. And that's saying something."
His jaw clenched as the words left her mouth. "I'm gonna confess somethin' to you, okay?" She nodded. "You're one of two people I would ever let get away with that remark. Ever."
Her mouth eased into a smile. "Who's the other?" she asked innocently, aware she was pushing her luck.
Logan knew her game. "C'mon, Red. There are limits. Even for you."
"Even for me," she echoed. "Logan, may I ask you something? And be honest."
"Depends on what it is."
"Why did you take me here? Really, now. I mean no offence, but I'm sure this one place you don't frequent."
He deliberately cast his eyes down to the table as he opened his mouth to reply. Their dinner conveniently arrived.
They ate in silence, each one constantly glancing at the other without a return look. Finally Jean broke the hollow air between them.
"Answer the question, please."
He almost grinned at her persistence, except it was too hard a request to laugh off. There were a couple dozen reasons that brought them to this restaurant on this night. Where to start was the real matter.
"Okay, Red. You win. I'll bear my soul, if it makes ya happy and shuts ya up." He placed both fork and knife down on his plate and pushed the whole outfit out of his way to leave room for his elbows. "You want the unabridged version or an original?"
"Just the truth, please, and quit stalling."
He was stalling, and be damned if she wouldn't willingly point it out. "Okay, Jeannie. Here it is, plain and simple, cause you asked for it. No sugar coating, you understand?" The expression on her face (which Logan could swear was almost smug) assured him she understood completely. "Okay then. It's because...because I felt guilty. I mean, you were gonna be home all night. And you know if there're one thing I can't stand, it's a pretty lady alone on a Saturday night." He even heard how absolutely shitty that sounded as it echoed in his head and knew she wouldn't swallow a word.
"Bullshit. God damn, Logan. I ask you one thing and you won't even answer with a straight face. For- come on, let's go home. Here, take my Visa. I'll be out in the car." Defeated, he offered his keys so she could at least warm up. "No thank you. I don't exactly need keys, if you'll remember." She tapped her temple in a quick angry gesture. "Don't be long."
He sat back in his chair and let out a chuckle. For the fuck of fuck, he knew this would happen. He fished his own card out and shoved it into the waiter's awaiting hand, avoiding the arrogant expression he knew was there. He made a fist as he waited for the card to return.
With anyone else, he was fine. Amazing, actually. For whatever fuckin' reason, he never seemed to have much difficulty with women before. Only this one. The only woman in the whole fuckin' world who could garner any type of anxiety in Logan was Jean Grey. Normally cool and collected, James Dean with a cigar in hand, Humphrey Bogart with a Harley, his logic flew out the door with one glance at Jean. He never showed it of course. No one on earth would have suspected it, not even a telepath (imagine the irony there). He was an old expert at burying his emotions deep enough to hide from anyone. He shifted in his seat and felt the bulge in his coat pocket. He hadn't gotten around to the more charming part of the evening. His gift to Jean.
Logan had, honestly, spent weeks on this one little gift. Logan, who hated the general public and shopping indefinitely had braved the mall once or twice, and even some of the smaller, more annoying shops that had to exist in order to piss him off. He had consulted Marie, never saying in so many words who it was for exactly, but knowing that all her suggestions wouldn't cut it. They were too plain, too expected. He poured over it forever, before finally settling on this.
And even now he wasn't so sure it was a hot idea. She'd like it, sure. But for him, liking this gift wasn't enough. He had used every gushy, romantic part in his body (which was minimal to say the least) to muster up this gem.
Maybe, he thought now as he waited for his credit card to return, maybe it would have been easier to go with the basics. Jewellery, a favourite book, clothes. He didn't lack details. He could list off in a minute everything that could be idly mentioned in a conversation; her favourite colour, author, composer, and place to eat, as well as her dress, ring and shoe size. It kinda made him ashamed how much he could spout off if he really tried. The waiter returned.
He snatched the plastic card back from the little tray along with the bill as soon as it arrived, left a little snarl for the stuck up waiter to piss about, grabbed his coat and left. He spotted the old Jeep parked with a single passenger sitting in the dark, silently waiting his arrival.
He remembered how much he hated living with a women, how incredibly impossible and painful it was, and was instantly thankful (for once) that he was not Scott. He forgot about the benefits for the moment to salvage his own pride and sanity.
To top it all off, her zipper was now stuck.
Suppressing a loud scream by biting her tongue, Jean stumbled over to a mirror in a valiant effort to determine what was the cause of the unyielding zipper.
The entire evening had been a bust. Well, maybe not the first half. That was fine, right up until...until she asked him that stupid question. God, was she that dense? Husbands rarely get so confessional with their wives, for Pete's sake. Was it so much to accept that Logan had just wanted to take her out on a nice birthday dinner? She ran a hand roughly into her hair, tearing out the pins that held up so bravely through the night with savage precision.
Or was it that she wanted there to be something else? No, that couldn't be it. At least, that better not be it. Life wasn't difficult enough with just Scott. Let's add another to mix, shall we? God, the way he just threw her little plastic charge card at her after he got into the driver's seat was proof enough of how angry he had to be with her at this moment. He'd probably never forget how cruel she was, to leave him stranded in the middle of that restaurant. As if he wasn't already completely out of his element, how completely uncomfortable he was in a place like that. She eyed the bobby pin in her hand with renewed interest, and considered briefly if it was too blunt to drive into her temple.
She blinked away the thought when the soft knock at the door called her attention. Relief clouded her mind as she realized intuitively who it was. She stepped over to the door and eased it open.
"Hello."
Leaning against the doorframe, Logan looked up at her. "Hey."
"Come in?" She winced when she remembered her dress was hanging off in back and her hair must look like a rat nest. She reached back and tried to zip it up in one quick jerk, pinching her skin as she did.
"Nah, I won't be long." He straightened his posture an inch. "I wanted to give you your present." He produced a gift from inside his jacket. "That's why I, uh, took you out, actually. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to give it to you, but...here." He shoved it forward gently.
"Oh, Logan, you shouldn't have. I mean, really. I treated you so horribly, and for such a stupid reason." She took the package in hand.
"Don't beat yerself up over it. We'll be laughin' about it tomorrow, I bet. It was kinda funny, I guess." He looked at her with a gaze that could smoulder. "Open it."
She did. With an almost shameful eagerness. Jean tore off the red wrapping paper and let it fall to the floor as she examined what was inside.
"Casablanca," she murmured, as her fingers ran over the smooth edge of the video case. "How did you..."
"Well, I remembered the time you mentioned it was your favourite and how you always meant to get around to buying it but..."
"Never did," she finished for him. "That was ages ago. I had forgotten about it."
"Well, you know me and my great memory." There was nothing left to say. He kissed her cheek ever so appropriately, his restraint breaking her heart. "Night, Red. And happy birthday."
She closed her door after he left, lay the movie down on the nearest table and retreated to her closet. The zipper slid with a gracious ease, and she chose her comfiest pajamas. She combed out her hair, splashed her face with some water and slathered on some moisturiser for propriety's sake. Unwillingly, her hand drifted back to the video case, sliding it off the table and into her view again. A piece off paper escaped from the edge of the case and fluttered to the ground.
A card, she realized as she knelt to pick it up. Her hand slid inside and pulled out the simple, sparsely adorned card. It was short.
Red,
As far as I'm concerned, you're always my girl.
Logan
Jean was proud of him, knowing how hard it must have been for him to write even that much. With a satisfied grin, she tore the card into bits, vowing to forever keep the message between them. Logan was a private man, and he liked it that way, and if he liked it, that was enough for Jean. He had earned her respect a long time ago, and deserved it. She tossed the remains in the trash, careful to scatter them enough to remain inauspicious. She had done the right thing, she decided as she clicked off the lights in the room.
And noticed that outside, it was raining.