Disclaimer: X-Men don't belong to me, they belong to Marvel and Fox etc., you know the drill.
Summary: My little Logan Comes Home (And Rediscovers the Power of Gravity) fic.
Series: Laws of Science (1)
Archive: If you want it, drop me a line
Rating: R for a few naughty words (Logan's the narrator, explain things a bit?)
Dedication: To Megan, to buffer you from the weird fics you had to suffer through today :)
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Where's the damned garden? 'Ro said she'd be out here, but she didn't tell me exactly where. Oh well, I can smell her -- this way.
Four months. Can't believe it's been so long. Coupla false leads and the Prof actually sounded sincere when he said he was sorry about Alberta. There, she touched that tree. East.
Hope she's happy to see me; hope she's not too pissed off. I should've called called or something. Don't know why I didn't. Fuck, the scent is getting stronger and now I miss her even more than I did all this time away, miss her like crazy though she's only a few yards off now, I smell . . .
Death? What the hell? Trees are clearing, there it is, the garden like they told me. Funny how they forgot to mention it's surrounding a graveyard. Only three, four headstones but still. Kid shouldn't spend time in creepy places like graveyards.
There she is, kneeling in the soil. Calm down, Logan. Heartbeat slowing, pulse relaxing, and now I'm not moving forward at all. I feel heavy, like my bones are made of lead -- well, they practically are. But this is different. This is strange. Why can't I walk to her?
No, I don't have to, not yet, I can watch her for a minute. She's concentrating, that little wrinkle between her eyebrows, chin stubborn. Her scent blends with that of roses and violets and other flowers till I can't tell where she begins and the blossoms start. No scarf? And no opera gloves either, just a pink pair of the thick gardening kind. In fact she doesn't even have sleevesl, she's wearing a thin little white tank top. One of its straps falls languidly over her shoulder, she pushes it back and the other one falls. Why am I so fascinated by her straps falling down? Bra is flesh-colored, looks satiny, she leans down and presses her face close to the ground and I'm looking straight down that shirt and God what am I doing? Marie, Marie, what are you doing to me here? Line of cleavage's longer than is possible, curves of breasts falling against the bra are so much rounder than I remember. Okay, shut the fuck up right now, bub. Seventeen -- or eighteen by now? A girl! Still a very young girl, legal or not!
She frowns, sits up with a weed in her hands and I swallow. Too loud -- her eyes raise to me and her face lights up -- I missed that smile so damned much.
And she's in my arms, tucking her face under my shoulder and laughing.
"Logan! I missed you, when'd you get home?" She pulls back and it feels like pain.
"Just now." What to say, Jesus, what to say? "How've you been?" Dull but safe. Lot safer than pinning her to a friendly tree like I want to do.
No I don't. Yes I do. I *shouldn't*, but I do.
"Good! How are you?" Bright, so sunny, so warm, so beautiful, beautiful, beautiful --
"Doin' okay." Am I giddy? Am I actually giddy? No fucking way, I'm too badass to be giddy, I'm too tough, I'm too *me*.
She takes my hand and starts to lead the way back to the mansion, silent for a moment. And shit, I'm glad it's starting to get dark, because sometimes gravity fails. Sometimes things go up no matter how you try to stop them.
~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: There's definitely a #2 and #3; there might be more.
Summary: My little Logan Comes Home (And Rediscovers the Power of Gravity) fic.
Series: Laws of Science (1)
Archive: If you want it, drop me a line
Rating: R for a few naughty words (Logan's the narrator, explain things a bit?)
Dedication: To Megan, to buffer you from the weird fics you had to suffer through today :)
~~~~~~~~
Where's the damned garden? 'Ro said she'd be out here, but she didn't tell me exactly where. Oh well, I can smell her -- this way.
Four months. Can't believe it's been so long. Coupla false leads and the Prof actually sounded sincere when he said he was sorry about Alberta. There, she touched that tree. East.
Hope she's happy to see me; hope she's not too pissed off. I should've called called or something. Don't know why I didn't. Fuck, the scent is getting stronger and now I miss her even more than I did all this time away, miss her like crazy though she's only a few yards off now, I smell . . .
Death? What the hell? Trees are clearing, there it is, the garden like they told me. Funny how they forgot to mention it's surrounding a graveyard. Only three, four headstones but still. Kid shouldn't spend time in creepy places like graveyards.
There she is, kneeling in the soil. Calm down, Logan. Heartbeat slowing, pulse relaxing, and now I'm not moving forward at all. I feel heavy, like my bones are made of lead -- well, they practically are. But this is different. This is strange. Why can't I walk to her?
No, I don't have to, not yet, I can watch her for a minute. She's concentrating, that little wrinkle between her eyebrows, chin stubborn. Her scent blends with that of roses and violets and other flowers till I can't tell where she begins and the blossoms start. No scarf? And no opera gloves either, just a pink pair of the thick gardening kind. In fact she doesn't even have sleevesl, she's wearing a thin little white tank top. One of its straps falls languidly over her shoulder, she pushes it back and the other one falls. Why am I so fascinated by her straps falling down? Bra is flesh-colored, looks satiny, she leans down and presses her face close to the ground and I'm looking straight down that shirt and God what am I doing? Marie, Marie, what are you doing to me here? Line of cleavage's longer than is possible, curves of breasts falling against the bra are so much rounder than I remember. Okay, shut the fuck up right now, bub. Seventeen -- or eighteen by now? A girl! Still a very young girl, legal or not!
She frowns, sits up with a weed in her hands and I swallow. Too loud -- her eyes raise to me and her face lights up -- I missed that smile so damned much.
And she's in my arms, tucking her face under my shoulder and laughing.
"Logan! I missed you, when'd you get home?" She pulls back and it feels like pain.
"Just now." What to say, Jesus, what to say? "How've you been?" Dull but safe. Lot safer than pinning her to a friendly tree like I want to do.
No I don't. Yes I do. I *shouldn't*, but I do.
"Good! How are you?" Bright, so sunny, so warm, so beautiful, beautiful, beautiful --
"Doin' okay." Am I giddy? Am I actually giddy? No fucking way, I'm too badass to be giddy, I'm too tough, I'm too *me*.
She takes my hand and starts to lead the way back to the mansion, silent for a moment. And shit, I'm glad it's starting to get dark, because sometimes gravity fails. Sometimes things go up no matter how you try to stop them.
~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: There's definitely a #2 and #3; there might be more.