Authors Note: It's been quite a while since my last offering. I suggest reading the final paragraphs of my previous post in case you've lost the thread. I predict I won't be as quick on posting as before. I've got a new 'real' job and this story has taken several unplanned turns that have me doing serious rewrites; all for the best, I hope.
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
On a minute dot of real-estate, one the many privately held island in the Caribbean Sea, another meeting was about to commence. Two youthful-looking men, clad in military style trousers and blouses, waited nervously in a well-appointed ante-room. Neither spoke. One, sitting cross legged, fidgeted with his bootlace while the other stared benignly at the tropical mural painted on the wall. The things, meant to simulate a window, were all over the well-guarded and camouflaged complex.
"Enter" barked a voice emanating from a speaker.
They stood, moved with precision and then froze at attention before the elegant yet masculine mahogany desk that dominated the room. A man, appearing to be in his sixties, dapper in khaki trousers and crisp white linen shirt, golden tanned and a mantle of perfectly styled thick, silver-black curls sat casually behind the desk. The comment was often made that he bore a strong resemblance to Rossano Brazi who'd portrayed Emeril LeBeq in the 1950's movie South Pacific. But that was only when viewed from his right profile.
Lucien Diebel turned to face his minions, revealing a hideous pattern of scarring; three slash marks that angled from his temple, to just below his eye, then down his cheek and ending at the jaw line. "Gentlemen," his voice dripped with false consideration, "it is not the custom of this organization to fail so thoroughly."
"No sir," the two answered in unison.
Diebel casually raised his hand in a gesture of silence. "You may speak when given permission," he said with a calm that belied the fury lurking behind his deep brown eyes. "Each of you shall provide an explanation to this phenomenal blunder and then it shall be decided what may be done to correct the mistakes. Mr. Kraft, kindly take seat out there." He pointed toward the waiting area.
When the door had been closed, Diebel continued, "Mr. Salieri, explain to me why two supposedly highly trained couriers cannot locate, secure and deliver a package when tasked to do so?"
The young man, clearly nervous, shifted his weight, rubbed sweaty palms on his trousers, sucked in a breath and answered. "Sir, the package contained an unforeseen surprise. Our orders were, as you correctly stated, to locate, secure and deliver. But we were also under orders to not draw attention to the extraction process or harm the package."
"And this unforeseen surprise?"
"She—ahem, the package was able to project an impenetrable shield. Once in place there was no unobtrusive way to secure and retrieve."
"So you abandoned the assignment."
"No sir. The local police became involved; but Kraft and I escaped their attentions. We were able to continue surveillance on the package all the way to the local hospital."
"How did the police become involved?"
"That was Kraft's fault."
"How so?"
"He broke protocols; became, umm, too friendly with--"
No longer able to conceal his rage, Diebel interrupted, "Damn fool! Define 'too friendly', Salieri."
The man proceeded to describe how Kraft had made contact with the package, though conveniently leaving out his complicity in the matter; and made 'inappropriate overtures'. "I made several attempts to stop him," Salieri lied, "but the package became unmanageable. Bystanders apparently called authorities."
"Enough," Diebel barked. "Send in Kraft and you wait out there."
Kraft told his side of the incident and it was, of course, a well-rehearsed similar version of Salieri's; save for who became sloppy and broke protocols. Kraft implicated Salieri.
After thorough interrogations, Lucien Diebel uncovered a bit of information that gave him a grain of hope that a second shot at retrieval of the valuable package might be possible. It would take careful planning, an extraordinarily skilled operative, a slightly more flexible timetable than originally planned and a bit of luck. The potential payoff made the added expense and time an acceptable trade off.
Diebel dismissed the two. When they were not quite out of earshot, he pressed a button on his desk and spoke "Security, Kraft and Salieri are not to leave the island. Please implement protocol three."
Instantaneously armed personnel surrounded the doomed pair. In less than an hour all traces of them would disappear from the planet. They never existed.
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. The solid rubber ball smacked the wall and bounced on the floor before rebounding back into Logan's hand. He didn't know exactly how long he'd been sitting there tossing it but it was long enough to create a mark on the gray-blue painted wall surface.
He'd delivered an exhausted and queasy Susan back home then returned to campus. In the past two weeks his life had taken unbelievably complicated turns and he needed isolation; time to think; to compartmentalize, or maybe just simply try to quiet his troubled mind. Most of the complications required a certain finesse, diplomacy and patience to handle; skills that weren't exactly second-nature for him.
He thought he'd handled Marla Jennings well. Conversely, the mental bet with himself; that his daughter probably wouldn't enroll at Xavier's School, seemed like a chumps' wager. Charles, raising the question; how would he handle Wendy; nagged at him. He still didn't have an answer that felt right. For now it boiled down to keep out of it only because that's what Marla demanded. That chapped his ass. He didn't usually take orders. But considering the kid, he'd comply—for now.
Susan's reaction; now that tied him in knots. He wondered how much the pregnancy hormones skewed her behavior. Probably not that much. Her conflicted feelings took him by surprise. Normally she was a steadying voice of reason; a calming influence over him. Now he felt like the role was reversed and he doubted his capacity to provide the same for her.
He hadn't heard word-one from Creed. Since he'd med with Charles last week, he dropped completely out of sight. Far as Logan could tell he wasn't even at his house. Being incommunicado wasn't necessarily abnormal if Creed was deeply undercover but it didn't exactly inspire a sense of all-is-well. In fact, Logan had been poised for events- catastrophic since the meeting. Aside from a significant risk to those he loved, he relished a chance to strike back at whatever remnants of Weapons X he failed to exterminate the last go-around.
Last, but probably not least; was the irritation of the Lippincott investigation. The whole thing was almost comical except for the fact that if he had to defend himself from a true indictment of murder or accessory to murder, the investigation and trial would bring on unwanted publicity to Xavier's School and render him a liability to the Team.
He could picture the headline in the Westchester Chronicle: 'Mutant School Teacher Strikes Noted Physician Down in His Prime.' Logan knew the case had no real merit but with the Mutant Registration Act poised for full implementation in just a week, there was no way in hell anything would befair about it. He might as well take a permanent-marker and write Scapegoat across his forehead or plaster a target on his ass.
There was the possibility of a Wrongful Death lawsuit and if that held up, defending against it would take a huge chunk of the family fortune. If he lost, he doubted the Trust Elizabeth gifted him and Susan with would come close to settling it.
The telephone jangled, causing him to startle. The rubber ball went wide and rolled under a chair. He grabbed for the receiver. "Yeah," he said with an irritated rumble. Upon hearing the voice on the other end, he tensed and knit his brow, giving the appearance of a man about to morph into a werewolf at any moment. "Speak o' the devil," Logan quipped to Detective Terrasino. "A friendly reminder, eh?" Logan parroted back, "not to leave town without checkin' with Westchester's finest." He spat the words. "Listen detective, unless you're plannin' on making an indictment and hauling me in, lay off." He was more than ready to pick a fight with someone and the cop was as good a mark as any. While Terrasino expounded with politely cached threats, Logan smirked at a mental picture he formed of them actually trying to take him into custody. "Got four words for ya, bub; talk to my attorney." With that phrase, Logan clicked off the phone and dropped it onto the base. A frustrated rumble came from deep inside. He picked up the rubber ball and hurled it with anger-stoked strength denting the side of a metal file cabinet on the opposite side of the room. "Fuck it all," he grumbled loudly, retrieved the ball and was about to give it another hurl. At the last second he thought better of it, not wishing the hassle of replacing a broken window or worse.
He pulled a cigar from the desk drawer and lit up; Xavier's rules be damned. This was his office. Most of the kids were gone or at least not anywhere nearby at the moment. If his life was going to continue going cluster fuck at least he could relish a minor, calming pleasure.
He paced around a bit then opened the door to the outside. It was snowing again. From the dusting on surfaces it'd been doing so for quite some time, blanketing the grounds in pristine splendor. That was the thing about nature; she, as he liked to think of it; could do wondrous things. From placid sights like fresh snow to the horrific devastation of a volcanic eruption; he always seemed to be more at ease with what she could throw at him. Nature wasn't vindictive, she didn't have agendas; she simply was. Learn to listen to, observe and respect her ways and a man could get along very well in the world.
He felt her tugging at his spirit and followed an inner compass. He was lead past the athletic fields, through the stand of birches and eventually found himself standing at the ponds' edge. A skim of ice had formed on it and powdery snow skittered across the surface carried by the wind. Cardinals and Blue Jays flitting among the trees added dashes of color to the drab winterscape. A pair of squirrels chattered and scolded, probably disapproving of his presence. By the time he finished the cigar he'd got a good dusting of snow on himself and he was beginning to feel the chill, but he felt calmer and slightly more optimistic. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and trekked back to his office.
His computer screen flashed a full electronic mail in-box and he frowned over the intrusion of technology. How quickly it could negate the fragile peace he felt at the moment. Shit! A hundred a fifty three messages, he thought; I don't know that many people. It had been more than a week since he'd checked his mail. Most of the time, and this was no exception, the vast majority was spam. He always got a huge chuckle over Viagra solicitations. He'd be a rich man if he could turn his mojo into a commercial product. The get-rich schemes always amazed him and he couldn't believe the stuff that people dreamed up let alone the suckers who fell for it.
He clicked message after message off, deleting about two-thirds. He came upon a message from the local community college; his exam results. With mild trepidation he clicked the read icon. Trepidation gave way to a grin. He'd passed them all. Even sick as he'd been, he'd passed and passed well. The good feeling quickly became tempered by a message from the registrar informing him that everything he'd studied in Canada as a young man would not transfer. The news didn't foretell the end of the world but it was going to keep him at the 'books' for longer than he'd hoped. Geez, composition one-o-one all over again? Like it's gonna do me a lotta good. Might hafta re-think this degree thing.
Another interesting bit caught his attention; a brief article regarding the Mutant Registration Act. It expounded on global impact of the measures and briefly ran down a nation by nation summary on enforcement. It came as no surprise to him that the North American continent, especially the United States was poised to go hard-line; but it was an interesting revelation that Canada had chosen to allow each Province to determine their own levels of compliance. Predictably Eastern Canada and the far Western coastal Provinces with higher, non-native populations leaned to stricter levels. The central part of the country, more rugged and populated by greater levels of natives, was a patchwork of complicity. His home Province, Alberta, appeared to be the least compliant of the lot. He wasn't sure why but he had a gut feeling that bit of trivia might be useful one day.
There were a few actual correspondence e-mails; most notably one from his sister. She tended to send something about once a week, whereas his mother telephoned. Actually, it was Susan who usually telephoned and it was probably a good thing because he wouldn't think to communicate that frequently, if at all. Julia's mail outlined the social calendar for the upcoming Holiday week and she'd taken the liberty to upgrade the reservation he'd made at Lake Louise Resort. She had great connections being CEO of Howlett OmniMedia. He didn't think there was anything half-baked with the reservations he'd made; but hey, if lil' sis wants too, then he was cool with it.
Around four the thought he'd better check in with Susan. She might want him to pick something up on the way home and beside that he wanted to get a sense of her mood. He could tell she'd been online for part of the afternoon so he tapped out and Instant Message. Hey, darling.
The return was simple; what?
Feeling better?
Yes
He knew better. She was normally chatty. Need me to pick up anything on my way home?
No. BTW: don't forget the WYAF performance tonight. I need you ready at 6.
What the hell was she talking about? He typed:
Westchester Youth Arts Foundation – The Nutcracker.
Aw shit! He wanted to forget about it. He thought ballet was stupid. The Nutcracker, overplayed at best and then schmaltz it up even more with a bunch of kids; well, root canal surgery seemed preferable. Right, he typed. He wondered if he could find a way out but he knew with everything going on at the moment she probably wouldn't appreciate it if he did. Why couldn't she sponsor a hockey team or something like that? Don't have to dress up for this? he keyed.
Business casual.
"Grrrrr!" he rumbled in his throat and then sighed. Could be worse; at least he didn't have to wear the suit. Leaving in 5; see you soon.
She typed B-E, short for Bright Eyes; drive safe. At the end of the message she added a heart icon and the letter U.
He smiled. Maybe her mood wasn't that bad after all.
The mood at home did seem decidedly cheerier; maybe a little too cheery. Susan had the stereo going full blast; loud enough to hear back in the bedroom; with holiday tunes. Logan was beyond picky about what music he listened to and commercial Christmas music was beyond contempt in his opinion. While he'd never come out and admit it, he appreciated traditional carols done in traditional style and he was truly looking forward to Susan's solo of Ave' Maria at Midnight Mass.
He strolled into the master bedroom. "Think it's loud enough?"
Startled, she gave a squeal. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Never mind. Hurry up and change."
"In a sec," he replied before returning to the family room. He stood poised between the mini-fridge and the cupboard, debating between beer and something stronger. After today and owing consideration to this evenings' 'entertainment' something stronger won out. He poured himself a double shot of Glenfiddich before returning to their room.
"Guess who called this afternoon?" he groused as he stood in his closet staring blankly at several pair of dress slacks hanging in rows.
"No idea," she replied while inserting earrings.
"Detective Terrasino."
"Uh-oh! What did he have to say?"
"Just wanted to wish me Merry Christmas," Logan answered mockingly.
"Right. Come on, what did he want?"
"Just to lean on me and remind me I better not take off anywhere without checkin' with him first."
"So, can you repeat your response?"
"Yeah, I can. You'd be real proud 'o me darlin'." She glanced skeptically in his direction. "Told him unless he planned on making an official indictment he better lay off."
"And then what?"
"Told him to contact my attorney."
"You didn't? Oh Logan! In case you've forgotten we haven't officially retained one."
"Whatever."
"Don't say that. You could find yourself served and sitting in jail by tomorrow morning, you know."
"That's bull shit. 'Sides, like to see 'im try."
"Don't get stupid, Logan. I think you ought to call Sandra Chapman right now."
"Who the hell's Sandra Chapman?"
"The lawyer friend I asked to find out who was behind the investigation. She offered to take you as a client if need be."
"Just like that? She don't know me from Adam."
"She's a good friend and she happens to be very sympathetic to Mutants. I think she might even be one. Now will you hurry up and change?"
He grunted, grabbed a pair of dark gray trousers and a light gray turtleneck pullover. Petulantly he asked, "This acceptable?"
Susan sighed. "It'll do. Why don't you mix up the colors a little bit? You're always so—monochromatic."
He shot her a sour look. "What da ya suggest darlin', a chartreuse sweater?"
"Would certainly garner attention."
"Don't wanna garner attention. Things don't go too well when that happens, ya know."
Yeah, yeah. You do have a nice sweater in the top drawer." She pointed to the armoire.
He huffed, trudged over, yanked open the drawer and pulled a multi-hued cable knit sweater on. "Happy now?" Look like a fuckin' Christmas tree, he thought.
She laughed. "Look at your hair."
His devil-horn cowlicks stood out more pronounced than usual. "Ehh, who gives a shit," he grumbled and smoothed them down.
"Usually it's can dress 'em up but can't take 'em out," she teased, fluffed her fingers through his raven locks and pecked him on the cheek. "Come on, you look fine and the sweater's good colors for you."
"Where's what's 'er names number?"
"Sandra? Ummm, wait a sec, I've got it programmed in my cell." She left the room, rummaged through her purse, punched the numbers then handed it over as it rang.
"Whoa Susie, don't ya think it'd be better if you talked first?" He handed it back.
Her face reflected perplexity and mild amusement over his reticent behavior. "Ok," she answered. The phone rang into voice mail and she left a brief message. "Sandra, it's Susan. Remember that situation I had to you look into? Looks like we're gonna need you. We're out tonight but if you could call Logan directly tomorrow he can better explain things." She dictated his cell and thanked her then clicked off. "How hard was that, Bright Eyes? Now, call Terrasino and actually give him your attorney's number."
"Umm, don't ya think I better talk to this Sandra first? How do ya know she'll really take me on?" The he got a strange look on his face as he realized Susan had been at it again. "You had this arranged already, didn't ya?"
"Let's just say I wanted to keep Murphy from getting the upper hand. Better to be prepped for the worst and pleasantly surprised if you don't need it."
"Anybody ever tell ya that yer a busybody?"
"Of course and I work hard for the reputation. Now, let's get a move on or we'll be late."
A bit later, stuck at a traffic light for the second cycle, traffic was that heavy, Susan expressed, "You know, this isn't how I imagined our first Christmas together."
"Huh?"
"Oh, I don't know; I get unrealistically sentimental this time of year. I kind of expect things to be like a Hallmark Christmas card or something. You know; perfect and beautiful—never any problems. Seems like we've had more than our share of problems the last ten days alone."
Logan nodded in agreement. "Can ya really remember one when it was really like that; you know, picture perfect?"
Susan thought for a long moment and admitted, "Not in a long time."
"How 'bout when your boys were little?"
"Oh you won't believe how complicated a time that was. We had to balance Hannukah and Christmas. Even though Allen always said dual traditions were just as important to him, I always felt like he looked down on Christmas."
They made it through the intersection and sped along. "Logan, how do you really feel about the Holidays?"
He rubbed one hand through his hair and sighed. "Guess I feel like I'm just learning about it for the first time. I got a few memories from when I was a kid; but they don't seem all that real and ya really don't wanna know about when I was on the road."
"What's important to you about it?"
He draped his arm across her shoulder and pulled her close. "You bein' with me, darlin'. That's all."
She smiled gave his knee a squeeze and snuggle into him.
They made it to the theatre with little time to spare. Logan immediately tensed from the unfamiliar crowd. Not wanting to be there in the first place made it that much harder to keep the anxiety in check. "This is gonna suck," he muttered.
"Don't be a scrooge. These kids are good," Susan scolded.
He shook his head and studied his boots as they waited in queue for seats.
"I'm serious, Logan. Westchester Youth Arts Foundation only takes the best of the best. Most of the kids performing have realistic shots at Julliard or the Peabody Institute or any number of prestigious performing- arts colleges."
He briefly raised an eyebrow and then shrugged.
They made their way to seats in the rear of the auditorium and he made sure he got the outer row chair. At least he wouldn't feel completely hemmed in and could stretch his legs along the aisle.
They'd just got settled when two white- haired, elderly ladies reeking with perfume indicated their wish to take the seats just next to theirs. Logan and Susan stood to let the women pass and it wasn't two minutes before his eyes began to water and his sinus's itched. He pinched his nostril and breathed through his mouth; but that just made his throat feel tickly and he coughed.
Susan gave him a queer look. He mouthed 'perfume' and promptly fell into a sneezing fit. "Good grief, bless you," she said fishing a tissue from her purse. "Here."
He looked at her like she was crazy. Tissue, Wolverine- nah ah! Besides one measly slip of delicate paper wouldn't do squat for him. Given enough time his healing factor would kick in and he'd become desensitized to whatever particular skunk juice the old broads wore. Meantime, he was in for a bit of suffering. He felt sorry for everybody around him for about thirty seconds until the next explosion of sneezes. "Gotta get some fresh air, darlin'," he told Susan glaring past her directly at the old ladies.
"You ok?"
"Will be in a couple minutes. Be back before the show starts. Ok?"
"Logan, be good," Susan warned in a gentle tone. The look on her face reflected her seriousness. Leaving him alone with unfamiliar people was a recipe for trouble.
"I swear," he replied leaning close to her, "just gotta take a pi--, hit the restroom. I'll be a perfect gentleman."
She tugged his arm gently. "Define perfect gentleman."
He was about to take offense when he saw the twinkle in her eyes. If his senses hadn't been short-circuited by the perfume, he'd have smelled her vivacity. He gently squeezed her shoulder. "Promise babe, Miss Manner would give me a gold star," he joked.
"Hurry back," she replied as he made his way out of the auditorium. She made a mental note to herself that if he wasn't back in ten minutes she'd go get him; even if it meant a foray into the men's room.
The old lady sitting to Susan's left side commented, "Is your husband all right?"
"Just allergies..," she replied wistfully. Her tone changed as she clarified and emphasized her own distaste, "..to perfumes."
"Oh dear, how difficult," the old lady sympathized.
Susan rolled her eyes, looked away and thought, How clueless can these old bats be? Oh never mind, it's not worth the aggravation. Just hope Bright Eye's night isn't ruined because of them.
Logan made it back just as the opening dance began. He sneezed a few more times then spent the rest of the evening stifling coughs and clearing his throat.
"How come you can smoke those obnoxious cigars without a hitch and perfumes turn you into a snot fountain?" Susan whispered just after he'd settled back into the seat.
"No clue," he answered curtly. He surveyed the audience and details of the auditorium looking for what? He could never go anywhere without scanning for hidden dangers, likely places for bombs or snipers, hostile mutants, location of exits and ease of getting to them; even feasibility of forceful defensive action if necessary. Give it rest, bub, he thought, it's a freakin' Christmas ballet. He forced himself to take a deep breath and relax. Dumb idea; he got another whiff of perfume and let out with a loud sneeze.
He scrutinized the stage. The lead dancer had just received the gift of a nutcracker from the uncle character. His eyes darted back to the lead dancer; a petite thing, willowy and lithe, just as a dancer should be; and the kid was good. She was probably going to be a knock-out someday too. He studied her face; even from the back of the auditorium he had no trouble making out her delicate, yet patrician—"Holy shit!" he gasped far too loudly.
Susan glared at him and the old ladies reacted as if they'd been slapped with a wet fish. One of them harrumphed while the other tittered something about the rudeness of the younger generation.
"Gimme that program," he demanded, moderating his voice.
"What is your deal?" Susan whispered.
"Look at the kid on stage."
"Logan, there are at least a dozen."
"The lead dancer; the Clara character," he specified.
She had to squint and after a moment she asked to look at the program. There it was listed in the cast: Clara played by Wendy Leigh Jennings. "I don't believe this," she muttered.
Sinking down low in the seat he echoed "You don't believe it?"
"Do you wanna leave?"
"Yeah," answered quickly and began to rise but changed his mind.
Susan was surprised when he settled back. "You sure?"
He nodded though couldn't verbalize why. Something made him need to stay and watch her. Call it curiosity, a touch of pride; (the kid was good) and maybe even a touch of stupidity. Certainly her mother had to be in the audience or maybe backstage. Knowing Marla; and he remembered enough, she'd be one of those stage-mother types. There were too many overlapping scents and the damned perfume had his olfactory nerves on overload, so there was no way he could get a sense where she might be. He definitelycaught a whiff of growing tension coming from Susan. Geez, Louise, he thought, ain't goin' through another night like last night. "How 'bout you?" he whispered, "wanna bug outta here?"
She didn't answer for what seemed like far too long and it worried him, especially since he could sense her stress hormones continue to ratchet up. Finally she replied, "At intermission. It'd be rude any sooner." Decision made, her stress seemed to moderate though she not- so- subtly clasped his hand through the remainder of the show.
Suddenly he had an entirely different outlook on the production. He kept his eyes on his daughter marveling at her grace. Didn't get that from me, he thought.
He was surprised when Susan voiced, "She's so much like you; so fluid in movement."
"Say what?" he whispered back.
"Like when you go through that routine, you know after a work out in the Dan—er, gym." She almost said Danger Room.
He didn't quite agree with her comparison and shook his head. It really began to bother him; Marla ain't Wendy's mom, I'd smell it if she was, but she's lying about something. Just who the hell was her mother? Thoughts raced through his mind as he recalled the days' earlier happenings. How did Marla come to adopt her and why were the records sealed or possibly non-existent like Scott mentioned? If the DNA doesn't gimme answers she will or I swear I'll beat it outta her.
Applause broke his reverie. Intermission arrived faster than he expected and Susan was on her feet before the applause petered out. Without a word she grasped his arm and made haste toward the exit. He wasn't sure whether the urgency was for him or herself. If he had any thoughts of staying and watching the second half he knew it was going to stay just that; thoughts.
Susan needed to visit the restroom before the journey home so she left him in the lobby. "Don't move, don't talk, don't even look anybody in the eye," she commanded.
"Jawohl" he replied sharply though the look on his face reflected insult and irritation. After she'd gone he sighed and thought, gotta lot more to work through.
Suddenly he caught the scent and heard the voice almost concurrently. "What are you doing here?"
He turned slowly to face the woman who raised his daughter. With a flippant smirk he replied, "Waitin' for my wife." He glanced toward the ladies room.
"You know exactly what I mean."
"I'm watching the show. What are you doing here?
"The same as you," she answered elusively.
Trying for a hint of civility, he remarked, "Small world, ain't it? Twice in one day, eh."
She glared angrily, in no mood for small talk.
Trying once more for the gentlemanly approach he observed, "She's something, isn't she?" He meant Wendy.
Marla visibly stiffened. "I told you to stay away from her."
He chuckled acidly, realizing she wasn't going to give an inch. "So ya did."
"And do you think I was joking for one moment when I said I'd seek legal recourse if you didn't."
Gentility out the window, he exclaimed, "Geezus, woman! I'm here to see the fuckin' ballet. I'm supposed to know she was in it? Didn't even know she danced."
Marla eyes darted nervously, alert to any sign of Wendy making an appearance. Logan relished being the cause of her anxiety, so much so he thought he might up the ante. "Marla, have you thought about how you're gonna keep blocking her telepathy?"
"That's none of your business."
"She's gonna find out sooner or later. You can't keep secrets like that. I can tell ya from bitter experience."
"I couldn't care less about your--"
At that moment Susan emerged from the ladies room. "Ready? Let's— Oh, no!"
"Doctor Harris," Marla acknowledged with an icy expression and then turned her attention back to Logan. "I could care less about your experiences or your opinion."
"So be it. But lemme ask you this; what are you gonna tell her when she does ask?"
"The truth."
"And what's the truth?"
"You simply provided a share of the biological material needed to bring her to life"
"What the fuck does that mean?" he growled.
"Excuse me the show's about to begin." She turned and moved in the opposite direction.
Logan reached aggressively for her while Susan grabbed him by the arm. "Logan, not now!" He snagged the edge of Marla's coat and growled at both she and Susan.
Marla stared him down trying to appear unperturbed. "What does it mean? Figure it out." She wrenched away and sped back to the auditorium.
Susan, thoroughly offended that he would growl at her, wrapped her coat around herself and flounced out of the lobby. Logan, feeling like he'd just gotten a double barrel shotgun stuffed up his butt, stood there. He debated for a few seconds going after Marla. He wanted clarification about the biological material crack she made. He didn't like the implication. Instead, he figured he better make quick for the car lest Susan drive off without him. It'd be a long, cold walk in just this sweater. It's gonna be another one 'o those nights he predicted to himself.
She waited for him and already started the engine to warm the car up, but the icy blast she emoted nullified the heater. "I cannot believe you! Three freaking minutes, Logan! That's all I was gone and you can't manage to keep out of trouble."
"Don't start, Susan," he warned as he revved the engine and squealed out of the lot. "You think I went looking for it. Lemme tell ya how it went down. I was standing there mindin' my own business. She's the one who started in on me."
"Oh, all right. Fine," Susan responded and then fell silent.
They drove for several miles before another word was uttered. "Logan?"
"What?" His response was sharp.
"This is something that's not going a way unless somebody relocates."
"Yep. Thinking about taking a job up on the Alaska Pipeline."
"Don't joke," she rebuked. "The stalemate between you and Marla has got to be resolved. The longer it goes on the more harm to everybody, especially Wendy."
"And you think I don't know that? Unfortunately darlin' ain't much I can really do without Marla making the first move. Thing is, even if she does nothing, Wendy's gonna find out. Her telepathy's strong. I had a hard time blockin' without projecting thoughts that would have freaked her out. Marla's only a little stronger than me."
"Marla's telepathic?"
"No. She can only block fairly weak telepaths. I'd forgotten about that 'til tonight."
"Some how," Susan suggested, "you and Marla are going to have communicate and come up with a strategy. If it comes out by accident or Wendy picks up on it from you or Marla--"
He cut in. "Yeah, it's gonna be devastating for her."
They rode in silence for a few miles and then she asked, "Do you want to be a father to her?"
"You know, I probably wouldn't turn down the chance."
"Enough to fight for her; even custody?"
"Wouldn't put her through that without damn good reason, Sue. I remember how all the innuendos about my real father made me feel when I was growing up; and nobody ever said anything directly. I think I'd take it as it comes and be—be whatever Wendy wanted me to be."
"You have put some thought into this, haven't you Bright Eyes?"
"Let's say it ain't exactly been on the back burner, ya know?"
The climate, once they'd reached home and settled in for the evening, hadn't really warmed much. It may have been a pleasant seventy degrees on the thermostat, but the wall of ice separating the two sides of the king-sized bed made frostbite a distinct possibility. Susan sighed and tossed and turned, timing it just so.
Every time Logan drifted off she'd do it again. Exasperated, he whispered, "Susie, what's a matter?"
"Just can't get comfortable."
Finally, after a few more turns and yawns, she murmured, "Did you love her?"
"Marla? No," he replied with certainty.
"What was she then?"
He groaned, reluctant to get into the topic and propped up on his elbow. "I dunno—she was—just there; you know?" He hesitated, trying to sort through his thoughts. "I was lonely; on the rebound. 'Riko'd been gone just a couple months."
"Was she ever involved in the awful things they did to you?"
"Nah, she was gone by then."
"Did you think she was beautiful?"
"She was ok, I guess. Not too much to choose from."
"What about now?"
"Huh?"
"Do you think she's attractive now?"
"Aww Susie, what are ya getting at?"
"Nothing," she snapped and rolled away from him.
There was definitely something. He could smell sour jealousy again. He switched on the lamp and tenderly pulled her closer. "Look at me" he pleaded. Hovering over her, he lovingly cradled her face in his hands and brushed his lips against hers. "You got nothing to worry about" he murmured. Ardently, he crushed his mouth to hers. He knew he'd better find a way to prove that the vow he'd made with her; no force in the universe would ever come between them, was as unbreakable as the metal bones in his body. Need and passion evident, he murmured huskily, "Don't say no, darlin'; not tonight."
She looked deep into his smoldering, dark eyes, her own bright with yearning. The fiery kiss she returned, the way she melted into his flawless body gave the answer they both craved.
