Short Skirt, Long Jacket - Cake

Why can't I fall in Love - Ivan Neville

Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie! (A Man After Midnight) - ABBA

Glycerin - Bush

If the nightmares she had as a result of Logan's past inside her head were any indication of his nightmares Holly had no clue how the man slept. She was up for the fourth night in a row, watching one of her own movies in the teacher's lounge. She lay curled up on the couch, her own pillow tucked against her head and one between her legs to make up for the lack of support provided by the couch springs.

This time he didn't flip on the light switch, "Can't sleep again?" Logan asked as he leaned on the wood of the door way.

Holly didn't spare him a glance, "The blood and death in your head isn't conducive to sleep."

Whether or not that pot shot bothered him he didn't say, "What are you watching?"

This time she did look at him, "Why?"

"I can't sleep," he said plainly, but there was an undertone.

"Pump up the Volume," She said, "No sex, no mind games, no innocent girls being seduced."

He laughed, it was a low and sarcastic sound, but it was a laugh. He walked into the room and found the movie's case without even turning on the light. Well that certainly answered the other super senses question. He set the case down, "Move yer feet."

Holly bit back the annoyed groan and curled up until her knees and pillow were nearly against her chest.

Logan reached over and grabbed the control and hit the menu button. He restarted the disc.

Her feet were cold and her calves were cramping before they were even half way through the movie. Well, she could remedy the cramps. Holly flexed her feet, hissing just a little at the relief. Rolling her ankle made the bone feel like it was grinding. The movie stopped.

Holly jerked and nearly sprang off the couch when he touched her leg.

"Jeez kid," he said in a half annoyed tone, "I wasn't gonna hurt ya."

Her fist clenched and unclenched, "I don't like being touched."

"Sorry," he replied and it sounded sincere. "I was just gonna help you out with the cramp." He held up his hands in innocence, "Honest."

It took conscious effort to relax her hand. "Warn me next time." She sat back down with a slight limp. Springing up that fast had not been good for her leg. The pins and needles feeling went from irritating to actually painful.

He hit play again.

Holly set to digging her own fingers into her leg to fix the ache. Not that it worked.

The movie stopped again.

"Want help with that?" He asked.

Half frowning, half glaring, "Just don't touch my skin."

"Promise," He said.

She extended her leg and let him try. Her eyes closed when the cramping ache released after his decidedly talented fingers dug in. Whatever he did worked. Holly almost sighed with relief.

The movie kept going. He didn't release her leg after he was done, his thumbs kept circling, pressing, working out kinks she hadn't been aware of.

Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis were topless and dancing on screen. "I lied," Holly said, her voice cutting through the dark. "I can dance really well."

He didn't say anything. The only indication that he wasn't sleeping was that his hands had stopped their attention to her leg and were now still and resting on top of her calf.

"My grandfather was a Vietnam vet," Holly continued, "he made me take lessons at the officer's club for nearly six years before my mutation developed. Then he taught me himself." She laughed a little to herself, "You know, if I hadn't had this mutation, I probably could have won contests."

"Why are you telling me?" He asked. His voice was carefully neutral. Holly had a feeling that if the lights were on and she could see him that his face would be blank and his eyes would be hooded.

She shrugged, retracting her leg and suddenly missing the warmth he'd been radiating. "I've got an awful lot of your memories. I think you deserve one or two of mine."

"I'd rather have mine."

Holly looked down at the couch, her dark green eyes tracing the patterns in the gold and brown material, "If I could do it without frying your brain I'd give them all back."

"I'll regenerate," he said it as if it was such a plain idea. Easy as pie.

"No you won't." Holly told him. "It's permanent damage Logan. I've put a guy in the hospital because I flooded him." She looked at him in the darkness, "They feed him through a tube. Machines breathe for him."

Superior speed must have been part of his mutation package, because he was right there in the blink of an eye. Logan loomed large and fairly dangerous in the bluish white light of the television screen. It lit him from behind making him a frightening shadow in the darkness. He crouched slowly and Holly had to swallow the panicked squeal that bubbled in her throat.

The last time she'd been this close to anyone – anyone she was attracted to – was sixteen years ago. Joshua Clark, the cutest boy in school, kissing her in the closet during seven minutes in heaven. Holly shoved herself back into the couch until the springs and wood creaked under the pressure.

"Try it," he said. It sounded way too desperate.

"I won't fry you." She had meant it to sound like iron conviction. It came out wobbly.

"Try," Logan repeated with a lot more fervor.

"No." Holly said, "I won't do it."

Pissed was not a word that even came close to describing how he looked at that moment. Enraged. He looked enraged. It wasn't his memories in her head that made her fear him, it was the look in his eye at that moment. Like he could have ripped her head off and it would have satisfied his rage.

God how many times had she thought about scenes just like this in books she'd read. Movies she'd watched. Where the heroine of the story should have leaned in and kissed her angry lover instead of letting him remain furious with her. How many times had she wished to be exactly in that position so she could take advantage of being able to kiss an angry, handsome man?

Holly shook involuntarily for more reasons than one. No matter how scared of him she was, she was still ultimately attracted to him. And she couldn't do a god damn thing about it.

His nostrils flared. Some of the angry heat left his eyes. He leaned in just a little, enough that he was close to breaching her personal space. Logan breathed in again smelling something on the air that she couldn't.

All five of his senses were superior to the average person, her brain reminded her. Which meant he could smell both pheromones and fear. Both of which were rolling off her in waves. Both of which spelled his name backwards and forwards.

His eyes were refocusing in a way that didn't look all that much like anger any more.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Holly bolted. She scrambled up along the couch, jumped over the arm and sprinted out the arch that served as the doorway. Her heart thudded in her ears the entire three or four seconds it took to get to her door and open it She closed her door, throwing the lock into place. Logan could have caught her if he really wanted to, she knew that, but he didn't. She was so very, very glad that he didn't.

She also really, really wished he had.

Insert evil maniacal laughter here.

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