So, I've actually been writing this story for about two years now as an original piece. However, I kind of got back into Marie/Logan recently and I decided this story could work really well for them both. So, I'm going to shorten it from the original idea to be better suited for a fanfic (it'll still be pretty long). Let me know what you guys think!
Marie
I dream of the explosions. The bombs and the smoke. The things that no one expected to come, and that no one expected to survive. It kills me to not remember all of it. Knowing that something could flip my life around so quickly and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it is bad enough, but to not remember everything is simply the worst.
Yet, there are some things I have acquired from other mouths and I have been able to piece together with my own unclear memories. Of them all, I remember the noises of the bombs the most, although I try to forget the shrieks that followed.
The blasts were spread out at first. Quick and simple. But, then it appeared as if the heat got turned up, and soon enough there wasn't a second gone by where you couldn't hear a bomb detonate. They tore through the air like bullets, leaving everyone hiding beneath the closest thing they could find. Friends clung to each other and covered their heads, and the ones who didn't have any people to rely on just sort of dove down and hoped for the best. Then, there was the thing that followed, the savage mu- Wait.
I guess for this to be a good story I should tell you the beginning. How all of my nightmares started that one night in Alabama.
WASTELAND
Chapter 1- Small Town
"For goodness sake, Clarence. How much did you put in there?" Professor Realy inquired with clear irritation as she peeked up from behind her desk, eyes wide with the likeness of an owl.
The boy in question peered back at her through the thick cloud of smoke, his knee digging into the small brunette's side to his left. Despite her loud yelping at the sensation, he continued as if intending to carve out Marie's intestines like a Turkey on Thanksgiving. With a firm hand on the desk, feigning courage that was lost on everyone in the hazy room- this was the same guy that had hid under a picnic table for fifty minutes when a squirrel tried to eat his fallen peanuts in the quads- Clarence pulled himself to his feet and cautiously examined the area around him. Marie wearily stood up soon after, coming to the conclusion that if he hadn't exploded into a glorified array of blood and flesh, the beaker on the desk in front of them was done with its previous fireworks show. The thought that he could make great money near New Years was gone just as quickly as it came.
"Two containers full," he said simply, as if he had done nothing wrong. Yet the students erupted into fits of sighs and groans. Something that the boy was definitely not unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of.
Professor Realy smacked her hand to her blemish-free forehead, coming to her feet. Her once perfect ponytail now disheveled and hanging hard to the left. "It said two cups, Clarence." The instructor enunciated, making her frustration evident. "Cups, as in the measurement. Not cups as in the actual cup." She shook her head, then looked up at the clock as her delicate fingers ran over her pristine white lab coat in an unavailing attempt at straightening the rumpled fabric. "Well, you only have about a minute left anyway. Clarence, you stay here and help clean this up."
"But I have practice-" The red head began to protest, but the exasperated professor silenced him with a single look, sucking the breath right out of his lungs as he backtracked on his previous statement. "-which can wait," he finished, his head hanging almost to his knees as he walked to the back of the class to grab the broom.
"Indeed, it can." She stepped forward and began inspecting the charred ceiling with a scrunched nose, when something loud and booming sank through the walls of the classroom.
Students looked up, the shift in mood tangible as faces expressed the switch from laughable anxiety to full blown panic. In seconds, the windows were blocked by broad eyes and pink open mouths, soft flesh pressed against the cold glass in an attempt at catching a glimpse of whatever made the reverberating blare. "It's just an airplane," the now irrelevant instructor exclaimed more than said, trying to defuse the situation.
Marie's mind began to race as she considered what this could mean. She had never felt such a deep vibration before, not even in high school when the seniors over took the intercom system to play bass heavy hip hop at full blast in the middle of 6th period.
The room lit up with the light of people's phone screens, some trying to take pictures of the plane that was already long gone and others attempting to see if anyone else knew what caused this unusual disturbance.
"Phone's up!" Professor Realy shrieked, her voice breaking in the middle of her last word. It was to no avail, everyone simply too apprehensive to listen. "Now!" she cried, trying to gain control of the situation. Her hands shook, face bright red. She was a tea kettle ready to blow.
The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and just like that, she was back to her prim and proper self, her face void of all frustration she had felt less than five seconds before. Perhaps she would have had a better chance as an actress than a college Chem professor.
"Don't forget about your exam Monday. Have a good weekend, and Elliot," she pointed at the boy who was beginning to walk through the door to leave. "Actually study this time."
The boy nodded, then rushed out, hitting Marie's shoulder. Worn out books with scratched out writings on the covers fell to the ground, spiraling out around her in a circle. And in less than a second, she had been converted into the nerd trope in a 90's teen movie.
"Hey, asshole!" Marie hollared, but he was already gone, disappearing into the abyss of hyped college students trying to flood the front doors like a crack in a dam. She had no doubt that the only thing she'd hear about for the rest of the day was that noise.
Knowing her small town, the rumors that were bound to spring up around it were endless. From aliens to nuclear warfare, this town had no shortage of imagination.
…
Logan
A loud slap on the counter beside him drew Logan from his internal musings. Looking off to the right, he noticed the not entirely uncommon sight of his colleague Joseph taking off his stained black apron, tossing it onto the counter with little regard, and stepping from behind the bar.
Before his feet were able to spread more than shoulder length apart, Logan had leaned across the counter and caught his attention. "Your shift ending?" Logan asked, suspicion and a hint of amusement soaking his voice like the dishes Joseph left in the sink in the back.
Joseph grinned back at him, crooked piss yellow teeth doing better than any commercial to scare kids from sticking a cigarette to their lips. "Not yet. Just taking a quick break."
Letting his own rag glide smoothly over the counter, doubling back to remove some fallen residue from the night before, Logan sighed. "I've told you once, I'll tell you again. I'm not picking up your slack. And besides," Logan's hand started to drift then, like a lion on the prowl. Both pair of eyes watched the wayward hand with interest before it finally pounced, knocking a glass off of the counter and landing with an almost splash of shards in front of Joseph's feet. "Someone needs to clean that up."
The man threw his head back up, a vicious glint in his eyes. "What the hell, Logan?" he screeched.
Logan turned, organizing some glasses with an echoing clink. "Either you get your ass in gear or we find a new bartender. Plenty of college kids around that'd be more than happy for the cash."
"God damn it," Joseph grumbles, slipping back behind the bar and tying on the black apron, sharp thin fingers seizing the broom with vigor. "It's not like we're busy. Why do you have to be such a pain in my ass?"
That only drawls a chuckle from the taller man beside him. "Take it as me doing you a favor," Logan gestures to the small pack now hanging loosely out of Josephs front pocket on his shirt, forgotten. "That shit'll kill you."
Joseph's pinched up face becomes even more drawn in, his lower lip nearly engulfing the chapped upper one in his attempt at a smile. With the thin hair on his head slicked back against his waxy transparent skin, he looked at least twenty years older. "Well," he chirps as he scoops up the rest of the glass, still holding it in his right hand when he turns around and shrugs a shoulder. "That's what I'm hopin' for."
After a moment of silence that has Logan wondering about the man's mental health as much as physical, they both have a boisterous laugh; Logan clapped the man hard on the back, not completely oblivious to the groan that leaks out before rotating on his heels to finish up.
"Kill yourself on your own time, son," a scratchy voice calls out from the front of the bar. Logan recognizes it immediately but doesn't pay the man much attention, instead continuing to run a different rag through the hollow insides of the freshly cleaned glass cups. "Logan," the voice calls out again, the attitude behind it different now.
He didn't need to hear another word to know that the news wouldn't be pleasant. Logan had been exposed to that tone of voice from his boss before, and he'd be god damned if it didn't mean trouble. Once he peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his boss, his assumption turned factual. It was so clear; In the way his mouth was pursed slightly, lines of his forehead drawn together in an "M". In the clench of his fist around what Logan was sure was the baseball cards he brought his son after every one of his t-ball games. Logan hoped the kid won tonight, his dad was starting to get less and less enthusiastic every game. Hell, it was even in the way his hair was styled, or not styled. If you ever needed to know exactly how the man was feeling, look at his hair. "I need you to come in tonight at eight."
Damn.
It wasn't that Logan could complain. He made decent money from this job, mainly the tips kept him happy and the hours were usually pretty flexible; and God help his wallet at the end of the night if it was a Friday cage match. But, lately it's been hard to find loyal employees that wouldn't skip out as soon as there was a sign of trouble- which was becoming increasingly more common in good ol' Lamarck's. They'd had six true bar fights that weren't in the cage in the last two weeks, and Logan hadn't been there every time to stop the bastards before there was significant damage.
When the going got tough, the employees got going. It was becoming more and more clear that no one was willing to put themselves on the line for a job that barely paid above minimum wage, and the part of him that wasn't pissed that he would be working more hours that night understood. Of course, the other part was grumbling about 'lazy bastards', upset that he'd made a promise to Carl that he'd stick around because the man had helped him out in a tough time. But Logan was nothing if not a man of his word, so he bit through the hindrance and smiled.
"Eight? I'll be here by seven." Logan's smile turned to a grin at the way Carl's eyebrows narrowed, before checking the watch on his wrist and seeing that his shift had ended over twenty minutes ago. Grabbing his keys, he lay his own apron out on one of the shelves in the back room. When he made it back into the main area, Carl tried to muster a stern look that wasn't any tougher than a pup. Logan couldn't keep himself from patting him on the back and failing to fight back his laughter.
"I'm serious. Take a break from the ladies or whatever it is you do in your spare time, and make sure you get here on time tonight." Carl whirled back around, glancing at the empty sitting area, a critiquing look in his gaze. It was just past three, this was nowhere near a busy hour. Still, they did have regulars and not a damn one of them had shown up. "I don't pay you to forget to set your alarm."
Chuckling, Logan waved off Carl's uncertainties. "Quit your bitchin' pops, you know I'll be here on time. See ya' tomorrow, Carl." Swiping one finger over a table while walking out, Logan smiled up into the bright sunlight. The sky was blue and there wasn't a cloud in sight. The grass still damp from the past week of non stop rain, bright green in the much needed sunlight. His hands fell to his hips, looking up just in time for a jet to soar through the sky above.
The noise roared, and his head rotated rapidly as the building began to shake and shudder, giving the slight impression that it may fall. The thought quickly left his mind as Logan recalled how it survived Hurricane Frederic in '79 and everything that had been thrown at it since.
A box of empty bottles fell to the concrete behind him, making him jump a little and spin around.
"God damn. What on Earth was that?" Joseph asked, walking out of the tin building to stand beside Logan, who only sighed. Joseph smelled of sweat and stale beer, partially ruining the calm feeling that the world had slowly began giving off again.
"An F-22 maybe?" Logan finally responded, bringing his tanned hand to his forehead to block out some of the penetrating sun as his eyes searched for the plane. Yet, there was nothing but the clear blue out there. No sign that the plane ever made an appearance.
"That's a fighter jet, yeah? The fuck is it doing here?" The short man asked, his eyes flickering all over the sky before they came to look at his colleague.
Logan reverted his gaze to look at him too, taking in the splash of soap mixed with old food that goes from the underside of an armpit to just below a rib, deciding not to tell him about it before shrugging. "Maybe they're just testin' the thing," he offered helplessly before turning around and raising up the fallen box. "Clean this glass up, would ya'? I gotta get home and mow before it gets dark out."
"Sure thing, Logan," Joseph responded, already kneeling down when Logan lifted his hand slightly, flicking his wrist to him before changing directions and leaving for the day. Thick brown boots kick up some dirt on the concrete and while looking down, he noticed something funny. The flowers that usually line the road were brown, sitting crumpled on the ground.
Flowers die, Logan rationalized. But, all of them? In twenty-four hours?
Since when do you give two shits about flowers? Since... Well, he doesn't. There's more important things than flowers, His mind reminded him, followed by an eye roll because he had to tell himself something like that. Or that I have to tell myself anything at all. Can't be healthy.
Logan averted his gaze to focus on more important things, like where the hell his truck was.
Spotting it in the parking lot, he gave a verbal sigh of relief until he realized he had parked it farther away than usual. "Shit, Logan. What were you thinkin'," wishing he had decided to fix his truck's air conditioner. It's not like I don't got time for the damn thing, it's just that I keep forgetting.
He didn't remember parking so far away, though. Logan always tried to get on the first row, and by try, that means he is always on the first row. Since he's one of the first one's here, why would he park on the last? You're being paranoid.
"Howlett!"
His body nearly shot to the clouds as it reacted to gut instinct, swinging around with a carefully trained elbow, hurling Joseph down in the process. He stumbled back, completely losing his footing until Logan quickly grasped his upper arm, catching him only inches before his head gruesomely met the curb.
There Joseph sat, the back of his head hovering above the scorching concrete that was warming his head even from the distance between, as Logan stared blankly down at him.
"Sorry, I didn't mean-" he began as his mind registered the terror in the eyes beneath him.
"You could have killed me, man!" Joseph shouts, shoving him hard in the chest. Logan doesn't respond, or even fully look at him. I did almost crack his head open. "Whatever. I was just coming out here to bring you your keys," he said, pulling them out of his pocket.
That caught his attention. Sure enough, when Logan reached into his back pocket, the keys are gone. "Did you take 'em from me?"
Joseph tilted his head to the left making the taller man feel like a moron, still holding his keys in his left hand, dangling them like he was trying to calm a child. "No-o? You left them on the back shelf."
"No, I grabbed them. I'm sure of it," he corrected him, unaware of the rumbling growing in his chest.
The other man just laughed, tossing the keys at Logan's dark button up shirt. "You're losing your mind, old man." Then he left Logan's mouth open, keys hanging off his fingertips. Maybe he was right, maybe Logan was just losing his mind.
When he'd finally prepared to turn around and get in the truck to go home, he found it less than ten feet ahead of him, parked on the front row. Somehow the air seemed thicker, making it harder to breathe while a cold breeze blew up his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. "Alright, who is it? Joseph?" Logan shouted to the air, hand held out in front of him with his calloused palm facing the open sky. "Neat trick. Now, can we stop this bullshit?" But there was no reply. "If I catch one of you, I'm gonna kick your ass for touching my truck." He continued walking to the vehicle while realizing the flaw in his logic. He hadn't heard it being moved.
Groaning, Logan opened the thick metal door of his dark blue pickup. The seats were hot enough to fry on, and the compressed air inside was enough to make a man feel like a rotisserie chicken, but he started her up anyway and got on the road, when another, less loud, jet flew above. This can't be right. This was a small town in Alabama, nowhere near a military base.
To the right, there were three women on the side of the road talking rather loudly and gesturing to the sky, not one under the age of sixty.
"Excuse me, young ladies," Logan said as he pulled over, wiping some of the sweat from his brow. "You wouldn't happen to know what the story behind these planes are, would you?"
They all turn, some getting a bit flustered. "Sorry, sweetheart. You're just as clueless as we are," one replied, running her hand through her aging hair.
"Maybe it's a sign of the end," another, who looks much older, mentioned in a hushed tone. Logan laughed, nodding.
"Maybe you're right," he responded, looking up.
Another one wearing a sundress hushed him quickly with her hand. "Don't go feeding her fantasies, son," she seemed to have said more to herself than to him. This started an argument among them, each one bickering about their own reasoning for what they believe in- Routine launch, getting ready for a war, another country's jet. Another glance at the sky reminds him of his tall grass, and he knows that he needs to get home.
"Well, thanks anyway, ma'am. You all have a nice day." After a quick wave, his arm rested on the outside of the truck window, pulling back into his lane.
Another jet flew above as the tires finally scratch the loose rocks on his driveway, and when he looked out of the open window quickly, the fading sound registers some buried memory. That's definitely a fighter jet. But, what the hell is it doing in Alabama? His boots hit the ground, the door slamming shut beside him, sounding like it was miles away. He knew his mood was beginning to darken. Wasn't even aware of the bright sun shining, dark clouds shadowing his awareness.
"Hello, Logan!" A chipper female voice called from beside him. He blinked and turned, seeing his neighbor, a blonde woman in her late forties. And where there was Annette, there was- ah, there it is. That god damn look in her eyes. Made him feel ten years younger and ten times more weary.
"Afternoon," Logan responded, waving as he walked over to where she was perched on the porch swing. Her knees tucked beneath her like a teenager with gossip on the peak of her tongue. "How are you?"
Annette's smile grew almost cartoonishly with each step he took towards her. "Never better," she stated with her hands under her chin. "Are you going to be mowing today?" He was tempted to ask how she knew, when she continued. "It's Tuesday," she told him with a hint of mischief in her eyes, but her voice sounding casual, taking a sip of what he assumed was iced tea. Long Island Iced Tea, of course.
A laugh fell from his lips as he looked down. "So it is." Logan had fathomed she was real fond of him, but he didn't think she had memorized his mowing schedule. Looking back up, he tried not to seem uncomfortable. The women around here liked to ogle and feast their eyes upon whatever they could. Calling them out on it would just cause a further hassle. "How's Marie?" He asked in a subject change. A preferred one.
Annette bit her lip, nodding. "She's great. She'll be turning twenty soon."
"That's great," he said, catching himself smiling. "She's doing pretty well in school, right?"
Annette grinned at the thought of her daughter. "Oh, yes. She's always been the smart one of the family." Logan somehow didn't doubt that. "Me and her brother are so proud of her."
He'd nearly forgot she had a brother. "He's in Sacramento, right?"
"Yes." Annette sat down her glass of tea, and Logan watched as water trailed down the side and began to puddle on the wood table beneath it. "He should be coming in today, so maybe you'll meet him?" Annette took another sip, and Logan nodded.
"That'd be real nice." And he meant it. He liked talking to Marie when he could, she was a nice girl, always good to her mother and sweet to everyone else. She had spoken of her brother with Logan before, once or twice slipping up and saying she'd like for the two of them to meet. Logan didn't think it was such an awful idea, despite his usual disinterest with mingling.
Logan recalled the first time he had the pleasure of meeting the young brunette girl. She had still been in high school then, came home every day at 5pm because of some after school activity. But that particular day was different. She came home in a blur, bike racing around the curb with fingers like damn vice grips. He hadn't known what on earth was making her fly like a bat out of a hell, but the expression on her face told him it'd be a mistake to ask.
He didn't know much about her then, just that she was his neighbors sweet daughter. Sweet and extremely young.
Eyes focused on her puffed up red face, he didn't notice when something crossed her path on the broken pavement. She ripped the handle bars to the side to dodge, resulting in her flying off the sidewalk and sliding along the concrete several feet into the road. His feet were in motion without hesitation, sprinting full force to her side, rake abandoned in the middle of his yard.
"Hey kid, are you alright?" He gripped her shoulders, turning her gently towards him. She was bleeding, he knew that much. The rest of her injuries were hidden beneath her clothes.
The girls glossy brown hair hung over her face, blocking her expression from view. "Is it okay?"
Hell, was she that worried about her bike? "Don't worry about that, we just need to get you cleaned up." He sighed, hand resting on her upper arm. "I'll fix any damage to your bike."
She shot up then, standing wobbly on her two feet. Logan was up just as quick, steadying her. "Not my bike! The chipmunk! Is it okay?" The passion in her eyes shook him deep, leaving him speechless. Then hers fell to the ground, guilt flittering across her cheeks. "I almost ran over it. I could have killed it."
And then for the first time in months, Logan had smiled.
"Yeah, kid. I think he ran off into the grass." He couldn't help it then, his smile was wide and goofy as hell, but it just wouldn't stop. She nearly broke a bone from a bad crash, and she's worried about the chipmunk that did it to her. Logan could almost feel his teeth begin to hurt, she was so sweet.
Her hand fell on his, which was still located on her upper arm. "Thank you for coming to help me. I was just so upset, I wasn't even paying attention to the road in front of me."
"What's got you so upset?" After he asked, he wish he hadn't. Logan wasn't exactly the friendliest guy, so he knew that if it ever came to him finally making a friend in the place he'd been living for three years, it sure as hell wasn't going to be with a damn high schooler.
Still, a small part of his interest was piqued to know the answer. Curious to know what could get this innocent girl so angry, Logan disregarded the tension in his own hands.
"It was just a guy at school," she shook her head ruefully, as if she just realized how silly she had been. "He… Uh, well he did something I didn't want him to do, and got angry with me when I told him not to." Her fingers were ringing together, not wanting to look Logan in the eyes. That was probably for the best because suddenly, he was feeling like busting a few heads together and was sure his face showed it. Not exactly because of Marie, but because he couldn't stand the thought of some teen boy out there forcing himself on a girl when a good ass kicking could fix him right up.
"Your boyfriend?" his voice spoke out, not considering the way it could be misconstrued by a young girl.
She took a step towards him, eyes wide. "God, no! He's just some jerk at school who likes to treat me like a piece of meat."
Logan realized what he was doing then, digging into a high school girls love life that was frankly none of his fucking business. The girl was probably extremely uncomfortable because of it, she was just too nice to tell him so herself. Paralleling her earlier movement, he took a step away from her, shutting out the irritation he was feeling at the kid she was talking about. "You should kick his ass." If Logan wasn't a grown adult, he'd already have kicked the boys ass half way to Canada.
She laughed then, scrunching up her nose and shifting her eyes away from him, a strange look he didn't bother analyzing crossing over her features before dissipating. "Yeah, maybe I should," she was smiling at him now, bright white teeth with a cute gap between the front two on full display. And then, like an anchor dropped on his head, the entire situation was unnerving. They were at least two feet apart, but Logan felt like there should be a football field between them. He should have just stayed on his lawn and let the kid pick herself up. Now that he'd actually met her, it was obvious that they'd get along, and that would only make life harder. And not just for him. "I'm Marie D'Ancanto, by the way."
Despite his doubts about the whole damn situation, that drew a smile out of him. Marie. It was a pretty name. Suited her, she seemed kind. "Logan Howlett."
"Logan," she tested the words in her mouth. "That's nice."
"Listen, kid." Kid. How old was this girl anyway? Fifteen? Maybe sixteen? Definitely a kid.. "If that dick gives you trouble, don't feel bad about kicking him right in the-"
"I got it!" She shouted, hands up in the air. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, reminding Logan of just how innocent this child was. As if the backpack and handle bars with tassels (Jesus fucking Christ, she wasn't that young) weren't making it clear enough. "That's… What I did today, actually," the guilty look was back on her face full force, but in it was a hefty mix of pride.
Well damn if she wasn't a little spit fire. Logan nodded approvingly, this time able to conceal the smirk. At least, mostly. He couldn't help but feel his own slice of satisfaction at her actions. He may not know her well, but it was quite the relief to know she could take care of herself. Plus, the thought of her lowering the boys chance at procreation wasn't exactly displeasing.
Instead, he settled for a quick pat on the shoulder, tearing his hand away before it could be socially unacceptable. "If he's smart, he'll stay away from you."
"If he has to be smart to make that decision, I wouldn't hold my breath."
Yeah, Logan definitely was going to get attached.
Annette leaned back and howled in laughter, momentarily catching him off guard. What the hell had they been talking about? "He'd love you. Matt was always friends with men like you."
Oh, Marie's brother. Logan leaned on her railing now, splinters pricking at his skin through the fabric of his shirt. "What do you mean, "men like me"?" he questioned, tone a bit harsher than intended.
"Older," she said first, looking down at him. "Quiet, strong, someone who'd be reliable." Her eyes flickered to the upper right, as if she were remembering something. "You remind me of someone, Logan. Someone who I miss very much."
His curious smile fell then as he knew exactly who she was talking about. Marie had told him small details about her father. One of which was the reason why he wasn't here with her and her mother. "I'll see you later, Annette," he voiced quietly, pushing back from the railing to head towards his lawn mower.
"You should come to the party!" Annette shouted, jumping up and grinning brightly with pleasure at her idea as her hair flew around her in the wind.
He lifted his hands and shook his head. "Oh no. I wouldn't want to crash chi-Marie's occasion on her big day or anything. I'm sure there will just be friends and family, and I'll probably have to work-"
"Don't be silly! Marie loves you. You are practically family!" She insisted.
He struggled with the urge to stop her. Annette had no idea how Marie felt about him. She had never been around much for Marie, and Logan just couldn't see her being a likely candidate for Marie to tell her feelings and secrets too. He'd know, as she'd been using him as a personally diary for years.
Besides, it would probably embarrass the girl to have him hanging out with her mom while the rest of her young friends gather around and eat cake and ice cream. Not to mention how uncomfortable he would be.
"I'll check my work schedule and get back to you," Logan promised. And it was true. He would check his work schedule and see if he could ask for a shift for that day, and if not, he'd go. After he was sure Marie was okay with it first.
Speaking of, she would be getting back from class soon.
A.N.: Like it? Hate it? Preferably not the latter? Let me know!