Third Christmas
Time line - 2 years and 7 months past movie, 2 years and 1 month after Logan's return, 3 months after the infamous dog tag exchange, 5 months before the weird surgical glove wearing sex debacle.
What does this timing mean? Well, Logan finally got his head out of his ass around seven months ago. However, Rogue, sadly, still hasn't figured this out. He doesn't know she doesn't know. Translation: Sometimes when physical expressions of love (even something as simple as a kiss) are barred, wackiness ensues.
Logan eased himself into Marie's room, careful not to wake her. Using all of his natural stealth he made his way over to the bed and slowly lowered himself down to sit at the edge. She didn't even stir. He took a moment to just watch her. Beautiful. Calm even breaths. An absolute picture of serenity; hair splayed out over the pillow in silky stands, warm body nestled under the covers. As much as he enjoyed admiring her as she slept, he liked Marie even better when she was awake. He reached out with a tentative gloved finger and caressed her cheek.
Rogue opened her eyes and blinked at the man hovering over her. "Hey."
A low soft voice accompanied with a small smile, "Hey kid, it's your favorite day of the year."
Rogue's eyes lit up as she lifted her arms over her head and stretched. "This is two years in a row Logan. Someone might start to think you like it."
He rolled his eyes and stood up to allow her to rise from the bed. "I like it." A light wack on the butt that made her jump. "Now get moving!"
Rogue shook her head as she put her feet into her slippers and ambled into the bathroom. Brushing her teeth she looked into the mirror; flannel Santa jammies, bed head and a metal chain peeking out from under her collar. It was their third Christmas together. Almost three years and she had grown up so much and in some ways changed so little.
Rogue had been extremely careful in her gift selection for Logan this year. It was of the utmost importance that she did not choose something that would whisper the words, "I love you."
Over the last year, she had toyed, briefly, with the idea of telling him her true feelings. However, it had gone so horrifically badly in her own imagination, she couldn't dare make the attempt in real life. She had only allowed herself to really think it through once.
One morning, the previous summer, she woke up early. A glance to the clock told her Logan was due to appear at her door in another ten minutes or so. Refusing to get out of bed even a second before her scantily clad, towel bearing alarm showed up, she snuggled under the covers and let her mind wander. Over the last couple of months he had been even more attentive than in the past, if that was believable. He touched her more, even held her hand on occasion. Maybe there was a chance. Maybe one day he would forget about Jean and be open to the idea of loving her. Maybe he just needed a little push.
He came into her room. She was sitting, waiting for him. He was surprised of course. A simple statement, "You're up already."
She answered directly, "Yes, I was thinking." The she faltered a little, "Can we, can we talk a minute?"
Amused, not knowing what was coming, "Okay."
"Maybe you should sit." Even more amused he complied. He had no idea. She doubted for a second, thought maybe she shouldn't, but she really, really wanted to, just once, get it out, say the words aloud. "There is something I want to tell you. I just want to say it, so that you know and maybe can consider new options." So ridiculously pathetic; she might as well have been saying, "Now, I know a man in your position usually doesn't consider life insurance, but wait until you see what we're prepared to offer."
And then he suddenly understood. He panicked. He tried to stop her. "Kid, don't."
"I love you." She could see it on his face already, she was ruining everything, but once she started she had to finish. "I'm in love with you Logan. And I just want to know, if you think maybe one day, you might learn to love me?"
He stared at the floor. Resigned, "No."
Suddenly she was angry. Furious with him for answering so fast. "Well don't even bother to think about it."
He looked up at her, miserable. "Kid you know..."
Jean. And she did. She had always known. But now she couldn't stand to be in the same room as him, to have him so close. She was so humiliated, weak, rejected, laid bare and stomped on. Quietly, "Go away."
He got up and walked to the door, head bowed. At the last second he turned, wanting to fix things a little. "Kid..."
But she hated the sound of his voice. She lashed out the only way she knew how. "You shouldn't have promised to take care of me. I was seventeen, you saved my life, you were the only one not afraid to touch me; you should have known what those words would do to me."
And he left. He had come to her room, her best friend, happily expecting a perfectly wonderful morning in the lake and she had taken that away. She had broken them, denied them the simple pleasure that was their friendship.
Rogue was sitting in her bed balling her eyes out like a baby. Sobbing. Practically wailing. She tried to catch her breath and hiccuped. Stupid. Stupid. It wasn't real. It was completely irrational. She needed to think happy thoughts; Logan holding her, Logan smiling at her, Logan putting her over his shoulder and carrying her up the stairs a couple weeks back when he caught her playing stip poker with four of the boys. Which really had been an overreaction considering the fact that she had been winning; she hadn't even lost a glove.
When Logan entered the room, towel in hand, that was how he found her; a heaving, red faced, swollen eyed, lump. He was at her side in an instant, sitting next to her, hand stroking her hair. So tender, "Hey, what is it?"
"Bad," she sniffled, "bad dream."
He quirked a smile. "I know about those."
She smiled back and then she was in his arms, a wonderfully tight embrace, her face nestled against the towel which protected his chest. She felt like such an idiot, a victim of a daydream gone horribly, horribly wrong. Who did that to themselves? But now she was so warm and safe. She would never ever do anything to risk giving this up.
So that was it then; she never wanted to hear him say "No," and not just for the obvious reasons. She knew the answer was no already, hearing it allowed would hurt too much, make it too real and final. But more than that, if Logan told her no, it would be essentially the same as asking her to stop loving him. She wasn't ready to do that yet. Having him in her life, caring for her, being close to him almost every day, worrying about him while he was away on missions, watching over him when he came back; perhaps it had started as a crush, but now, loving him was a part of her. Asking her to stop would create a hole she wouldn't know how to fill.
Rogue also had to consider Logan's feelings; saying "No," would hurt him too. It would rip him up inside, go against all his instincts to cause her pain and she didn't want to put him in that position. The sacrificial nature of love rears its self-effacing head.
Also, it would force him to make a choice, one he wouldn't want to face and the decision would cost them both. It wasn't that they consciously used each other as substitutes in a malicious sense, at all, but they were companions. She was even more certain of this arrangement after he returned the dog tags. If it became clear that there was an unequaled balance between them, his own honour would force him to withdraw. He would feel he was taking advantage of her. He would set her free. And the thing was, she knew how much he did love her, depend on her for the human connection he had come to enjoy after all his time alone. She didn't want to take herself away from him.
Of course, it was always possible that one day it would be safe to tell him.
Maybe someday she would learn to control her powers and some man would sweep her off her feet, or maybe there was a guy out there crazy enough not to care, who just hadn't found his way into her universe yet. They would meet, fall madly in love and decide to wed. Logan, in full brother mode would agree to give her away. Right before the trip down the aisle she would turn to him in the antechamber and say, "You know you were my first love right? Buddy up there certainly has a lot to live up to after you." And they would laugh and she would cry happy tears, spoiling her makeup and thank him for taking such good care of her. He would tell her how happy he was for her while at the same time offering to gut the man in question if he ever gave her any trouble.
Maybe they would never find anyone else, but always be there for each other. She would be ninety years old and he would amuse her with high speed wheel chair rides through the gardens of the old folks home. She would be the eccentric old woman who cackles loudly and never holds her tongue over the misguided youth of the day. All the other old bitties would be hugely jealous of her handsome visitor. In a moment of clarity she would look into his young face and say, "I was always a little bit in love with you." They would both smile at the memories and cry a little. He would kiss her on the forehead and because she was so old and so tired her skin wouldn't bother to notice. Then she would ask, if he didn't mind the taste of PolyGrip, could he give her a real kiss. And he would, his mouth sweet and gentle against her frail lips.
Hell, maybe when she was thirty-seven, he would get off the pot and decide that two decades is long enough to pine for the unattainable woman. They'd be sitting on the couch, watching something on the news about peace talks in the Middle East and all of the sudden, the heavens would part and the light would dawn. He'd look at her with new eyes and realize what a hot little number she actually was. Fortunately this would be just in time for her sexual peak.
One thing life had taught Rogue for certain was that anything was possible. However, for the foreseeable future, he could not know.
This was the first Christmas that Rogue would be wearing his dog tags around her neck, the first exchange of gifts since that emotional roller coaster of a morning, so she felt an immense pressure to make the gift perfect. It had to be within all established boundaries. It could not, under any interpretation, suggest that she had become somehow romantically confused. It should be something specific for Logan, that he would enjoy obviously, but it must not imply that she spent unprecedented quantities of time contemplating the inner workings of the man that was the Wolverine.
The answer was almost too simple: cigars. The problem was, Rogue knew exactly diddley squat about them. She needed help. She needed a man's perspective.
Scott was hunted down while he was tinkering with one of the cars, alone, in the garage on a Saturday afternoon. He patiently listened as Rogue told him of her dilemma. No, not the whole complicated drama. Just the simple fact that she had decided on the cigars but knew nothing about quality, selection, or even where she might find them.
Scott seemed to turn this story over in his brain as he carefully wiped a smudge of grease off a wrench with a soft cotton rag. Finally, "I know a place. I'll be in the area next week anyway. Why don't I pick something up for you while I'm there?"
This was a little more help than she had intended. "Are you sure?"
He shrugged and smiled and assured her it was not a bother at all. Put at ease with his casual air, she thanked him profusely and handed over her small amount of money.
A few evenings later the charming leader appeared at her door, parcel in hand. Rogue took a cautious glance down the hallway as she asked, "You were able to get something with what I gave you?"
Absolute confidence, "Not a problem. Logan should really enjoy these."
She opened the bag to see a flat rectangular package. It was a little heavier than she had expected, but she was distracted by something else. "It's already wrapped?"
Scott was unfazed. "Mhmm, they did it at the store."
Suddenly she was gripped with a minor suspicion. "You remembered they are meant to be a gift from me right? They aren't laced with something nasty or anything?"
Scott actually laughed. "Coming between a man and his cigars is a low not even Logan or I would stoop to, Rogue. Besides, I know better than to get messed up in your relationship."
Rogue frowned once for good measure, but then smiled and gushed her thanks before saying goodnight. She carefully hid the box under some sweaters in her bottom drawer. Bring it on Christmas, she was ready.
When Rogue came out of the bathroom Logan was sitting on her bed with a slight frown. "Are you just about ready?"
She took a dramatic pause to "consider" his question. "I think so."
Logan rose to his feet and took Marie's arm to lead her from the room. "All right then." Walking down the hall he moved his hand to the lower back of the woman at his side. Almost three years had passed. They had both changed. Right from the beginning she had staked her claim in his life like some sort of tenacious bull dog and then slowly, he had fallen in love with her. The Christmas before he met her, he never could have imagined it happening. The two years since, he had been practically oblivious to the evolution, but in retrospect the occasions seemed so distinct. He could almost look back on those interludes as sort of checkpoints on the path to where they were now. And here they were, number three; a day that would bring even fonder memories.
Logan had agonized over his gift selection this year. This was the first Christmas that Marie would be wearing his dog tags around her neck, the first exchange of gifts since the morning that almost killed him, so needless to say, it had to be perfect. It had to show that all barriers had been broken down. It could not, under any interpretation, suggest that he was having any doubts. It had to be something that demonstrated just how much time he spent thinking of her. It had to shout, "I love you."
Of course there was one basic problem; Logan had exactly zero experience swapping presents within the context of a romantic relationship. Hell, the having a lasting romantic relationship was a pretty freaking new idea. Fantasizing about one with Jean didn't count since she had put the kibosh on that before he even got out of the proverbial gate. Do not be mistaken, he had plenty experience with women, plenty. However, this was the first time he was expected to spend a holiday with a woman he actually wanted to stick around, forever. This was a precedent setting occasion; the pressure was immense.
Moreover, it was far from lost on Logan that this was also Marie's first romance. She was almost twenty years old, been kissed only once and it had gone particularly badly. He was well aware of the fact that there had been a time when she feared she would be alone for the rest of her life. There were some serious missed experiences and lost time to make up for.
He'd be damned if come Christmas morning she watched her little friends open indulgent ideals from some punk ass kids while she sat there holding a, a, hell, insert ubiquitously lame, grossly inappropriate item here ... maybe like a board game. Then the girls would sigh and pity her, for though she may have an overwhelmingly virile and sexy mate, he was also a cold, inattentive, unfeeling neanderthal. He never ever wanted to hear his woman offer up the excuse, "You just don't understand him like I do." Well of course no one understood him like Marie. Understanding each other was pretty much the whole foundation of their friendship. The point was, Marie shouldn't have to miss out on anything just because she happened to be the one person lucky enough to grasp the inner workings of the man that was the Wolverine.
It was important to Logan that Marie not want for anything. Marie deserved everything she had ever hoped for. He knew he could give her that. He just didn't know what to get her for Christmas. And this, friends, was kind of like the first domino.
He had realized he needed help. He needed the perspective of a man in a successful, long term relationship. He also knew, considering his options, this matter had to be handled with the utmost discretion and care.
Scott was sitting in the main lounge, miraculously alone, reading a newspaper. Logan trudged over to the couch opposite the young man. Once he acquired his position he was a little lost as to how to proceed next. He stood, frowning and thinking for a moment.
Scott turned a page.
Having decided his next logical move, Logan plopped down into his seat real casual like. That's right, just here sitting, no big deal, it could happen any day. Okay, to begin a conversation, it was kinda required he say something. Hmmm. A perfunctory greeting, "One Eye."
Not looking up from his paper Scott replied in the same dull tone, "White Fang."
"Pansy."
"Cro-Mag."
Both men, seemingly satisfied with their display of bravado, fell silent. Logan started tapping his thumb against the armrest and looked about the room.
Scott turned another page.
Must keep dialogue momentum going. "Um, just so we're clear a wolverine is..."
Now Scott did look up. "A big giant weasel. Got it." A smile, "Sorry, Logan, I couldn't think of a big giant weasel reference off the top of my head." And back to his reading he went.
Oh God, this was hell. This was like the definition of hell. He had absolutely no idea how to start a civil conversation with Summers that didn't involve either school or battle. Why, why why was it he had to live in a place where the only other relationship having male from his generation (well, appearance and memory wise anyway) had to be this infuriating, tightwad, pretty boy poof? Ah! Think, think. Seg to Christmas. Seg to Christmas! He made a production of looking about the room thoughtfully. "So, I guess it won't be too long till this place is overrun with tacky decor again huh?"
Oh man, now Scotty-boy was looking at him like he was crazy. "Yes."
Logan started nodding his head. "You picked out something for Jeanie yet? She really liked what you got her last year. What, what was that again?"
The newspaper was put aside and Scott crossed his arms. "You don't know what to get Rogue for Christmas."
Logan froze. "What?"
Scott frowned and continued. "I don't know what your problem is. You did a pretty good job the last couple of years. I mean, I've actually seen her bring that rabbit down for meals."
"Mr. Butler only comes down for dinner on Sundays." Scott's mouth fell open a little. "She says it's family night." Realizing this line of conversation wasn't going to help him any, Logan decided to get to the point. "Look, I want to make sure I get her something, right. It's important."
Scott sighed and leaned forward. "Logan, if I tell you what to get, it's not going to be right."
Logan growled quietly to himself. "Well, that makes an annoying amount of sense."
"With all the time the two of you spend together, there must be something you know about her that no one else does. Go with that." The words were very sincere. However, Logan was deeply suspicious that they were said in the exact same tone of voice Summers used when speaking to the boys about their melodramatic teen angst. As a result he felt totally justified in scowling and leaving the room without offering a thank you.
He walked around the halls turning the idea over in his head. Something he knows about her that no one else does. Something he knows about her that no one else does. Hmmmmm.
He knew she was heading to Alaska when they met, but he had already cashed in on that bit of insider knowledge. He supposed he could always wrap up some travel brochures and announce that they were going that summer. However, the promise was already made, the trip a guarantee, so despite the fact he knew she would be thrilled, that would be cheating.
He knew the teddy bear she had since she was a baby was named Wally. He had been sadly left behind when she was caught sleeping in prairie farmer's barn and had to make a run for it. She cried for an hour when she realized her mistake; frantically searching through her duffle bag in the next gas station rest room. A tragic story definitely, but there was nothing he could do to rectify it. He was not buying her a teddy bear. The idea was to get to the point where she would be comfortable curling up next to him as she slept at night, not to offer her a substitute.
He knew when she was ten she wanted to be a trapeze artist. She spent the summer swinging around on the wooden play gym her father built, with two of her friends. After just one week, her neighbor brought over his jazz cd collection because he was so sick of hearing Hagood Hardy blasted on their portable radio. Circus camp? Did such a thing as circus camp exist? No, no, no. It would be a trip for two of course. She would expect him to participate. That way madness lies.
He knew she liked to mail order her underwear because it made her feel pretty. Heh, heh, heh, bingo.
Deciding right off that risking a "discretely labeled" package arriving in the mail was completely unacceptable, Logan made a trip into the big city. The lingerie stores in Manhattan were vastly different from those in rural Canada. Right off the bat the sales girl, Chrissy, offered to try a few items on for him. Very tempting, but considering just how long it had been, he decided it was an extremely bad idea.
Selection was key. He did not want it to come off as a gift that was really for him ... at all. That was not the point. Rather he wanted something that would show Marie how special she was. How beautiful she was to him. When he explained that to Chrissy, in very hushed tones, she not only bounced back from his earlier "rejection", but actually looked a little teary. He glared at her and warned if she actually said, "Awww," he and his wallet wearing ass would be out of there before she could say the word "commission".
Finally Logan settled on a full length peach satin negligee and a matching robe. It was perfect, gorgeous and delicate. It struck exactly the balance he was looking for, mature and beautiful without seeming too overly bold on his part. He wanted to demonstrate to Marie how he saw her, but he didn't want her to feel pressured. This was not some cunning declaration that he wanted sex, now. She still wasn't ready, wasn't comfortable taking that risk and that was fine. They were moving slowly so she could learn to feel safe. This would show that he wasn't afraid of her. The idea of seeing her dressed this way wasn't frightening; it was wonderful.
When he got home that night he put the box in his bottom drawer with his jeans. He dropped on the bed and took a swig from the beer he had picked up in the kitchen on his way by. He couldn't help feeling smug; he was so ready.
When they reached the main room Logan pressed a kiss to the back of Marie's head before making his way over to his spot on the couch. For a moment he considered joining her on the floor, pulling her down into his lap, but he decided not to crowd her. This was always a part of the day she spent with her friends. They might be a couple now, but Marie would always be her own woman; just the way her liked her.
Rogue watched Logan take his place on the perimeter with the adults. He sent her a wink as Jean handed him his first box. She was rational enough to realize that was in no way intended as a remark on Jean; she wasn't that insecure. However, she couldn't help but wonder why the man couldn't take a second to think through how his actions might be interpreted, just once in a while.
Time went by quickly enough till Rogue was once again left with just two boxes; no hiding games this year. As she approached him, gifts in hand, Logan stood up and took her elbow. "How about we go off to the side a little?"
She shrugged, "Okay." Logan led her to a row of chairs along the wall. Together they sat, knees turned toward each other and she handed over his gift. "You're first this year."
Logan gave a signature eyebrow raise, smirk combo as he started to tear the paper. Slowly a finely finished wood was revealed. Rogue gaped a little as Logan ran his hands over the humidor. She quickly switched to an easy smile when he looked up at her.
A little awed, "It's beautiful, kid."
She nodded. Oh yeah, gorgeous. Scott?
Then he opened the box. Logan's mouth dropped open. Individually wrapped, top of the line Cubans. "Oh my God, kid. You didn't have to do this."
She actually started to laugh a little. Scott! "You like them?"
Logan was aghast. "Like them?" He snorted. "You're kidding right? Oh my God, you must have been saving up all year for these."
That's when he leaned forward and pulled her into a hug. Rogue could see Scott over Logan's shoulder. He gave her a thumbs up. That jet owning, border hopping, bastard! Logan sat back in his seat, humidor open, fingers running possessively up and down the cigars. She half expected him to start tearing up. Oh, she was going to kick herself some serious golden boy ass. Logan gestured toward the box that sat forgotten in her lap. "You." Oh for Christ's sake, he was practically speechless.
Rogue ripped into the paper with gusto. By the time she was about to open the box Logan finally seemed to be climbing back down from heaven enough to pay a little attention. She lifted the lid, parted the tissue ... and completely froze.
She sat there, eyes wide, breathing through her mouth. She tentatively ran a finger down the silky material. Now she could feel the tears coming to her own eyes. Of course Logan felt the need to be the one to give her such a thing. He knew better than anyone that no other boy ever would. So here it was, fancy pajamas to make her feel pretty. It was lovely, beautiful, but it certainly didn't whisper sex, let alone scream it. It wasn't made of the suggestive lace that would drive a certain feral man over the edge and make him want to rip it from her body. No, it came complete with robe to make sure every last innocent inch of her was covered. And peach; it might as well be baby doll pink. Hardly a take me now colour like red. So it was true, Logan was just never going to think of her that way.
He was leaning forward, a concerned look on his face. "Is it okay? I, I didn't mean it to be presumptive or anything."
Of course he didn't. "No," she said quickly with a reassuring smile. "I understand. It's perfect. I love it."
He breathed deep and nodded. "Good."
Several hours later Logan was sitting on a couch, back in his track pants and t-shirt, drinking a beer with Marie curled up next to him, sound asleep. He couldn't blame her, really the best parts of the movie were all in the first half. The past couple of years he had felt a particular kinship with the most bizarre proposal scene ever captured on film. Poor George, knows his life is about to completely change because of a woman and no matter how hard his instincts tell him to fight, there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop it.
Finally the credits started to roll. Logan dug out the remote, turned off the TV and hit rewind. He looked down at the head nestled under his arm and stroked her hair. The rest of her body was hidden by the blanket they shared. When she had entered the room he snatched the quilt away and spread it out, giving her no choice but to join him rather than rolling herself up in it as usual. Hey, he had put his track pants back on for a reason; he was expecting some serious cuddle action. He had reminded himself not to be disappointed when she showed up in her Santa flannels. That was the point, no expectations or demands.
Putting the empty bottle on the table he carefully disentangled himself and eased Marie down to the couch with her back to the cushions. He rearranged the quilt and then got in with her, cautious to keep his head well above hers. That worked out okay rather nicely though; he could feel her warm even breaths against his chest. He pulled her close. As he drifted off he couldn't think of a better way for this Christmas to end.
When Rogue first woke up she was a little confused. The TV was off, but she knew they were still in the den. She was lying on the couch, trapped between Logan and the back cushions. Her face was against his chest. She could feel him breathe, hear his heart beat. It felt too good, she needed to get out of there. She moved slightly and he pulled her closer. That's when she felt it; he was aroused. She could feel him pressed against her stomach. She really needed to get out of there. She started to push him away.
Logan awoke with a snort. He gazed down at her. "Hey."
"Hey." He ran his fingers through her hair, stroked her arm, patted her hip. The only thing she could think of to say, "I fell asleep." God, didn't he know how much this confused her?
"We both did." He was starting to get his bearings. Hmm, now he hadn't intended that to happen, but there it was. Maybe he should have known better; take a good dream add a little friction and he had been just asking for trouble. Well, he couldn't deny it; she had to feel it. Then again, this was one way to put the idea out there. He could gauge her reaction, wait to see how she wanted to proceed, without making it an overt confrontation. The matter was completely in her hands, or not. "Do you want to stay here?"
Oh lord, she realized he must not know she could tell. Maybe he thought even if she could feel it, she, virginal little Rogue, wouldn't know what it was. But she really needed to get away from him. "No, I think I should go back to my room."
She wasn't ready. That was fair. He wasn't going to push her. He stroked her cheek with a gloved finger. "Okay."
He had no idea what he did to her. They both sat up and Rogue got to her feet. She reached out her hand, "My blanket."
He smiled a little. "I'll carry it." No point in making a production; he was wearing track pants.
Right, how embarrassing for him, so there was one good thing about being a girl. "Okay."
They walked up the stairs in companionable silence, both thinking over the past day. They reached her door.
Back under control he pulled her into the ritual goodnight hug. Happy to finally have the life he never knew he wanted, "Merry Christmas. I love you kid."
"I love you too Logan." And she meant it more than she would ever let him know. "Goodnight."
Fin
Gowdie and her muse speak.
Muse: So what have you learned?
Gowdie: It's entirely possible I might be evil.
Muse: Anything else?
Gowdie: Never lock two people in a room when you don't know exactly how to get them out again.
I know. Please don't hurt me. The good news is that is probably as angsty as I will ever get. Just remember, this is not where the story ends! Go back and read Part 3 of RD. It all works out! See, this is exactly why I wanted to publish the prequel BEFORE I ended RD. RD will have a happy ending. This ending sucks. Which do you want to read last? I thought so.
Right. And now I am off to work on Part 4. I swear! It won't be immediate cause I have to do some work writing over the next week, but after that it will have my full concentration.
FAQs from The Second Christmas
Lindor chocolates REALLY exist. I developed a bit of a Lindor problem during my last
set of exams. I get them at my che che la la grocery store. Really, anywhere in the same
aisle with the Pot of Golds etc. Of course, I am in Canada. However, the Lindors are
Swiss, so I was hoping it was safe - they would be imported in the States as well. I
HIGHLY recommend them. The ad campaign really was a woman in a flowing red dress
eating one as she ran her hands over her hair, face etc, and the music swelled. I thought,
man, what a pile of cheese! But then I tried one and OH MY GOD!
"Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" is a real live book by author Robert Pirsig. Found it on my Beta's shelf and knew it had to make an appearance.
Time line - 2 years and 7 months past movie, 2 years and 1 month after Logan's return, 3 months after the infamous dog tag exchange, 5 months before the weird surgical glove wearing sex debacle.
What does this timing mean? Well, Logan finally got his head out of his ass around seven months ago. However, Rogue, sadly, still hasn't figured this out. He doesn't know she doesn't know. Translation: Sometimes when physical expressions of love (even something as simple as a kiss) are barred, wackiness ensues.
Logan eased himself into Marie's room, careful not to wake her. Using all of his natural stealth he made his way over to the bed and slowly lowered himself down to sit at the edge. She didn't even stir. He took a moment to just watch her. Beautiful. Calm even breaths. An absolute picture of serenity; hair splayed out over the pillow in silky stands, warm body nestled under the covers. As much as he enjoyed admiring her as she slept, he liked Marie even better when she was awake. He reached out with a tentative gloved finger and caressed her cheek.
Rogue opened her eyes and blinked at the man hovering over her. "Hey."
A low soft voice accompanied with a small smile, "Hey kid, it's your favorite day of the year."
Rogue's eyes lit up as she lifted her arms over her head and stretched. "This is two years in a row Logan. Someone might start to think you like it."
He rolled his eyes and stood up to allow her to rise from the bed. "I like it." A light wack on the butt that made her jump. "Now get moving!"
Rogue shook her head as she put her feet into her slippers and ambled into the bathroom. Brushing her teeth she looked into the mirror; flannel Santa jammies, bed head and a metal chain peeking out from under her collar. It was their third Christmas together. Almost three years and she had grown up so much and in some ways changed so little.
Rogue had been extremely careful in her gift selection for Logan this year. It was of the utmost importance that she did not choose something that would whisper the words, "I love you."
Over the last year, she had toyed, briefly, with the idea of telling him her true feelings. However, it had gone so horrifically badly in her own imagination, she couldn't dare make the attempt in real life. She had only allowed herself to really think it through once.
One morning, the previous summer, she woke up early. A glance to the clock told her Logan was due to appear at her door in another ten minutes or so. Refusing to get out of bed even a second before her scantily clad, towel bearing alarm showed up, she snuggled under the covers and let her mind wander. Over the last couple of months he had been even more attentive than in the past, if that was believable. He touched her more, even held her hand on occasion. Maybe there was a chance. Maybe one day he would forget about Jean and be open to the idea of loving her. Maybe he just needed a little push.
He came into her room. She was sitting, waiting for him. He was surprised of course. A simple statement, "You're up already."
She answered directly, "Yes, I was thinking." The she faltered a little, "Can we, can we talk a minute?"
Amused, not knowing what was coming, "Okay."
"Maybe you should sit." Even more amused he complied. He had no idea. She doubted for a second, thought maybe she shouldn't, but she really, really wanted to, just once, get it out, say the words aloud. "There is something I want to tell you. I just want to say it, so that you know and maybe can consider new options." So ridiculously pathetic; she might as well have been saying, "Now, I know a man in your position usually doesn't consider life insurance, but wait until you see what we're prepared to offer."
And then he suddenly understood. He panicked. He tried to stop her. "Kid, don't."
"I love you." She could see it on his face already, she was ruining everything, but once she started she had to finish. "I'm in love with you Logan. And I just want to know, if you think maybe one day, you might learn to love me?"
He stared at the floor. Resigned, "No."
Suddenly she was angry. Furious with him for answering so fast. "Well don't even bother to think about it."
He looked up at her, miserable. "Kid you know..."
Jean. And she did. She had always known. But now she couldn't stand to be in the same room as him, to have him so close. She was so humiliated, weak, rejected, laid bare and stomped on. Quietly, "Go away."
He got up and walked to the door, head bowed. At the last second he turned, wanting to fix things a little. "Kid..."
But she hated the sound of his voice. She lashed out the only way she knew how. "You shouldn't have promised to take care of me. I was seventeen, you saved my life, you were the only one not afraid to touch me; you should have known what those words would do to me."
And he left. He had come to her room, her best friend, happily expecting a perfectly wonderful morning in the lake and she had taken that away. She had broken them, denied them the simple pleasure that was their friendship.
Rogue was sitting in her bed balling her eyes out like a baby. Sobbing. Practically wailing. She tried to catch her breath and hiccuped. Stupid. Stupid. It wasn't real. It was completely irrational. She needed to think happy thoughts; Logan holding her, Logan smiling at her, Logan putting her over his shoulder and carrying her up the stairs a couple weeks back when he caught her playing stip poker with four of the boys. Which really had been an overreaction considering the fact that she had been winning; she hadn't even lost a glove.
When Logan entered the room, towel in hand, that was how he found her; a heaving, red faced, swollen eyed, lump. He was at her side in an instant, sitting next to her, hand stroking her hair. So tender, "Hey, what is it?"
"Bad," she sniffled, "bad dream."
He quirked a smile. "I know about those."
She smiled back and then she was in his arms, a wonderfully tight embrace, her face nestled against the towel which protected his chest. She felt like such an idiot, a victim of a daydream gone horribly, horribly wrong. Who did that to themselves? But now she was so warm and safe. She would never ever do anything to risk giving this up.
So that was it then; she never wanted to hear him say "No," and not just for the obvious reasons. She knew the answer was no already, hearing it allowed would hurt too much, make it too real and final. But more than that, if Logan told her no, it would be essentially the same as asking her to stop loving him. She wasn't ready to do that yet. Having him in her life, caring for her, being close to him almost every day, worrying about him while he was away on missions, watching over him when he came back; perhaps it had started as a crush, but now, loving him was a part of her. Asking her to stop would create a hole she wouldn't know how to fill.
Rogue also had to consider Logan's feelings; saying "No," would hurt him too. It would rip him up inside, go against all his instincts to cause her pain and she didn't want to put him in that position. The sacrificial nature of love rears its self-effacing head.
Also, it would force him to make a choice, one he wouldn't want to face and the decision would cost them both. It wasn't that they consciously used each other as substitutes in a malicious sense, at all, but they were companions. She was even more certain of this arrangement after he returned the dog tags. If it became clear that there was an unequaled balance between them, his own honour would force him to withdraw. He would feel he was taking advantage of her. He would set her free. And the thing was, she knew how much he did love her, depend on her for the human connection he had come to enjoy after all his time alone. She didn't want to take herself away from him.
Of course, it was always possible that one day it would be safe to tell him.
Maybe someday she would learn to control her powers and some man would sweep her off her feet, or maybe there was a guy out there crazy enough not to care, who just hadn't found his way into her universe yet. They would meet, fall madly in love and decide to wed. Logan, in full brother mode would agree to give her away. Right before the trip down the aisle she would turn to him in the antechamber and say, "You know you were my first love right? Buddy up there certainly has a lot to live up to after you." And they would laugh and she would cry happy tears, spoiling her makeup and thank him for taking such good care of her. He would tell her how happy he was for her while at the same time offering to gut the man in question if he ever gave her any trouble.
Maybe they would never find anyone else, but always be there for each other. She would be ninety years old and he would amuse her with high speed wheel chair rides through the gardens of the old folks home. She would be the eccentric old woman who cackles loudly and never holds her tongue over the misguided youth of the day. All the other old bitties would be hugely jealous of her handsome visitor. In a moment of clarity she would look into his young face and say, "I was always a little bit in love with you." They would both smile at the memories and cry a little. He would kiss her on the forehead and because she was so old and so tired her skin wouldn't bother to notice. Then she would ask, if he didn't mind the taste of PolyGrip, could he give her a real kiss. And he would, his mouth sweet and gentle against her frail lips.
Hell, maybe when she was thirty-seven, he would get off the pot and decide that two decades is long enough to pine for the unattainable woman. They'd be sitting on the couch, watching something on the news about peace talks in the Middle East and all of the sudden, the heavens would part and the light would dawn. He'd look at her with new eyes and realize what a hot little number she actually was. Fortunately this would be just in time for her sexual peak.
One thing life had taught Rogue for certain was that anything was possible. However, for the foreseeable future, he could not know.
This was the first Christmas that Rogue would be wearing his dog tags around her neck, the first exchange of gifts since that emotional roller coaster of a morning, so she felt an immense pressure to make the gift perfect. It had to be within all established boundaries. It could not, under any interpretation, suggest that she had become somehow romantically confused. It should be something specific for Logan, that he would enjoy obviously, but it must not imply that she spent unprecedented quantities of time contemplating the inner workings of the man that was the Wolverine.
The answer was almost too simple: cigars. The problem was, Rogue knew exactly diddley squat about them. She needed help. She needed a man's perspective.
Scott was hunted down while he was tinkering with one of the cars, alone, in the garage on a Saturday afternoon. He patiently listened as Rogue told him of her dilemma. No, not the whole complicated drama. Just the simple fact that she had decided on the cigars but knew nothing about quality, selection, or even where she might find them.
Scott seemed to turn this story over in his brain as he carefully wiped a smudge of grease off a wrench with a soft cotton rag. Finally, "I know a place. I'll be in the area next week anyway. Why don't I pick something up for you while I'm there?"
This was a little more help than she had intended. "Are you sure?"
He shrugged and smiled and assured her it was not a bother at all. Put at ease with his casual air, she thanked him profusely and handed over her small amount of money.
A few evenings later the charming leader appeared at her door, parcel in hand. Rogue took a cautious glance down the hallway as she asked, "You were able to get something with what I gave you?"
Absolute confidence, "Not a problem. Logan should really enjoy these."
She opened the bag to see a flat rectangular package. It was a little heavier than she had expected, but she was distracted by something else. "It's already wrapped?"
Scott was unfazed. "Mhmm, they did it at the store."
Suddenly she was gripped with a minor suspicion. "You remembered they are meant to be a gift from me right? They aren't laced with something nasty or anything?"
Scott actually laughed. "Coming between a man and his cigars is a low not even Logan or I would stoop to, Rogue. Besides, I know better than to get messed up in your relationship."
Rogue frowned once for good measure, but then smiled and gushed her thanks before saying goodnight. She carefully hid the box under some sweaters in her bottom drawer. Bring it on Christmas, she was ready.
When Rogue came out of the bathroom Logan was sitting on her bed with a slight frown. "Are you just about ready?"
She took a dramatic pause to "consider" his question. "I think so."
Logan rose to his feet and took Marie's arm to lead her from the room. "All right then." Walking down the hall he moved his hand to the lower back of the woman at his side. Almost three years had passed. They had both changed. Right from the beginning she had staked her claim in his life like some sort of tenacious bull dog and then slowly, he had fallen in love with her. The Christmas before he met her, he never could have imagined it happening. The two years since, he had been practically oblivious to the evolution, but in retrospect the occasions seemed so distinct. He could almost look back on those interludes as sort of checkpoints on the path to where they were now. And here they were, number three; a day that would bring even fonder memories.
Logan had agonized over his gift selection this year. This was the first Christmas that Marie would be wearing his dog tags around her neck, the first exchange of gifts since the morning that almost killed him, so needless to say, it had to be perfect. It had to show that all barriers had been broken down. It could not, under any interpretation, suggest that he was having any doubts. It had to be something that demonstrated just how much time he spent thinking of her. It had to shout, "I love you."
Of course there was one basic problem; Logan had exactly zero experience swapping presents within the context of a romantic relationship. Hell, the having a lasting romantic relationship was a pretty freaking new idea. Fantasizing about one with Jean didn't count since she had put the kibosh on that before he even got out of the proverbial gate. Do not be mistaken, he had plenty experience with women, plenty. However, this was the first time he was expected to spend a holiday with a woman he actually wanted to stick around, forever. This was a precedent setting occasion; the pressure was immense.
Moreover, it was far from lost on Logan that this was also Marie's first romance. She was almost twenty years old, been kissed only once and it had gone particularly badly. He was well aware of the fact that there had been a time when she feared she would be alone for the rest of her life. There were some serious missed experiences and lost time to make up for.
He'd be damned if come Christmas morning she watched her little friends open indulgent ideals from some punk ass kids while she sat there holding a, a, hell, insert ubiquitously lame, grossly inappropriate item here ... maybe like a board game. Then the girls would sigh and pity her, for though she may have an overwhelmingly virile and sexy mate, he was also a cold, inattentive, unfeeling neanderthal. He never ever wanted to hear his woman offer up the excuse, "You just don't understand him like I do." Well of course no one understood him like Marie. Understanding each other was pretty much the whole foundation of their friendship. The point was, Marie shouldn't have to miss out on anything just because she happened to be the one person lucky enough to grasp the inner workings of the man that was the Wolverine.
It was important to Logan that Marie not want for anything. Marie deserved everything she had ever hoped for. He knew he could give her that. He just didn't know what to get her for Christmas. And this, friends, was kind of like the first domino.
He had realized he needed help. He needed the perspective of a man in a successful, long term relationship. He also knew, considering his options, this matter had to be handled with the utmost discretion and care.
Scott was sitting in the main lounge, miraculously alone, reading a newspaper. Logan trudged over to the couch opposite the young man. Once he acquired his position he was a little lost as to how to proceed next. He stood, frowning and thinking for a moment.
Scott turned a page.
Having decided his next logical move, Logan plopped down into his seat real casual like. That's right, just here sitting, no big deal, it could happen any day. Okay, to begin a conversation, it was kinda required he say something. Hmmm. A perfunctory greeting, "One Eye."
Not looking up from his paper Scott replied in the same dull tone, "White Fang."
"Pansy."
"Cro-Mag."
Both men, seemingly satisfied with their display of bravado, fell silent. Logan started tapping his thumb against the armrest and looked about the room.
Scott turned another page.
Must keep dialogue momentum going. "Um, just so we're clear a wolverine is..."
Now Scott did look up. "A big giant weasel. Got it." A smile, "Sorry, Logan, I couldn't think of a big giant weasel reference off the top of my head." And back to his reading he went.
Oh God, this was hell. This was like the definition of hell. He had absolutely no idea how to start a civil conversation with Summers that didn't involve either school or battle. Why, why why was it he had to live in a place where the only other relationship having male from his generation (well, appearance and memory wise anyway) had to be this infuriating, tightwad, pretty boy poof? Ah! Think, think. Seg to Christmas. Seg to Christmas! He made a production of looking about the room thoughtfully. "So, I guess it won't be too long till this place is overrun with tacky decor again huh?"
Oh man, now Scotty-boy was looking at him like he was crazy. "Yes."
Logan started nodding his head. "You picked out something for Jeanie yet? She really liked what you got her last year. What, what was that again?"
The newspaper was put aside and Scott crossed his arms. "You don't know what to get Rogue for Christmas."
Logan froze. "What?"
Scott frowned and continued. "I don't know what your problem is. You did a pretty good job the last couple of years. I mean, I've actually seen her bring that rabbit down for meals."
"Mr. Butler only comes down for dinner on Sundays." Scott's mouth fell open a little. "She says it's family night." Realizing this line of conversation wasn't going to help him any, Logan decided to get to the point. "Look, I want to make sure I get her something, right. It's important."
Scott sighed and leaned forward. "Logan, if I tell you what to get, it's not going to be right."
Logan growled quietly to himself. "Well, that makes an annoying amount of sense."
"With all the time the two of you spend together, there must be something you know about her that no one else does. Go with that." The words were very sincere. However, Logan was deeply suspicious that they were said in the exact same tone of voice Summers used when speaking to the boys about their melodramatic teen angst. As a result he felt totally justified in scowling and leaving the room without offering a thank you.
He walked around the halls turning the idea over in his head. Something he knows about her that no one else does. Something he knows about her that no one else does. Hmmmmm.
He knew she was heading to Alaska when they met, but he had already cashed in on that bit of insider knowledge. He supposed he could always wrap up some travel brochures and announce that they were going that summer. However, the promise was already made, the trip a guarantee, so despite the fact he knew she would be thrilled, that would be cheating.
He knew the teddy bear she had since she was a baby was named Wally. He had been sadly left behind when she was caught sleeping in prairie farmer's barn and had to make a run for it. She cried for an hour when she realized her mistake; frantically searching through her duffle bag in the next gas station rest room. A tragic story definitely, but there was nothing he could do to rectify it. He was not buying her a teddy bear. The idea was to get to the point where she would be comfortable curling up next to him as she slept at night, not to offer her a substitute.
He knew when she was ten she wanted to be a trapeze artist. She spent the summer swinging around on the wooden play gym her father built, with two of her friends. After just one week, her neighbor brought over his jazz cd collection because he was so sick of hearing Hagood Hardy blasted on their portable radio. Circus camp? Did such a thing as circus camp exist? No, no, no. It would be a trip for two of course. She would expect him to participate. That way madness lies.
He knew she liked to mail order her underwear because it made her feel pretty. Heh, heh, heh, bingo.
Deciding right off that risking a "discretely labeled" package arriving in the mail was completely unacceptable, Logan made a trip into the big city. The lingerie stores in Manhattan were vastly different from those in rural Canada. Right off the bat the sales girl, Chrissy, offered to try a few items on for him. Very tempting, but considering just how long it had been, he decided it was an extremely bad idea.
Selection was key. He did not want it to come off as a gift that was really for him ... at all. That was not the point. Rather he wanted something that would show Marie how special she was. How beautiful she was to him. When he explained that to Chrissy, in very hushed tones, she not only bounced back from his earlier "rejection", but actually looked a little teary. He glared at her and warned if she actually said, "Awww," he and his wallet wearing ass would be out of there before she could say the word "commission".
Finally Logan settled on a full length peach satin negligee and a matching robe. It was perfect, gorgeous and delicate. It struck exactly the balance he was looking for, mature and beautiful without seeming too overly bold on his part. He wanted to demonstrate to Marie how he saw her, but he didn't want her to feel pressured. This was not some cunning declaration that he wanted sex, now. She still wasn't ready, wasn't comfortable taking that risk and that was fine. They were moving slowly so she could learn to feel safe. This would show that he wasn't afraid of her. The idea of seeing her dressed this way wasn't frightening; it was wonderful.
When he got home that night he put the box in his bottom drawer with his jeans. He dropped on the bed and took a swig from the beer he had picked up in the kitchen on his way by. He couldn't help feeling smug; he was so ready.
When they reached the main room Logan pressed a kiss to the back of Marie's head before making his way over to his spot on the couch. For a moment he considered joining her on the floor, pulling her down into his lap, but he decided not to crowd her. This was always a part of the day she spent with her friends. They might be a couple now, but Marie would always be her own woman; just the way her liked her.
Rogue watched Logan take his place on the perimeter with the adults. He sent her a wink as Jean handed him his first box. She was rational enough to realize that was in no way intended as a remark on Jean; she wasn't that insecure. However, she couldn't help but wonder why the man couldn't take a second to think through how his actions might be interpreted, just once in a while.
Time went by quickly enough till Rogue was once again left with just two boxes; no hiding games this year. As she approached him, gifts in hand, Logan stood up and took her elbow. "How about we go off to the side a little?"
She shrugged, "Okay." Logan led her to a row of chairs along the wall. Together they sat, knees turned toward each other and she handed over his gift. "You're first this year."
Logan gave a signature eyebrow raise, smirk combo as he started to tear the paper. Slowly a finely finished wood was revealed. Rogue gaped a little as Logan ran his hands over the humidor. She quickly switched to an easy smile when he looked up at her.
A little awed, "It's beautiful, kid."
She nodded. Oh yeah, gorgeous. Scott?
Then he opened the box. Logan's mouth dropped open. Individually wrapped, top of the line Cubans. "Oh my God, kid. You didn't have to do this."
She actually started to laugh a little. Scott! "You like them?"
Logan was aghast. "Like them?" He snorted. "You're kidding right? Oh my God, you must have been saving up all year for these."
That's when he leaned forward and pulled her into a hug. Rogue could see Scott over Logan's shoulder. He gave her a thumbs up. That jet owning, border hopping, bastard! Logan sat back in his seat, humidor open, fingers running possessively up and down the cigars. She half expected him to start tearing up. Oh, she was going to kick herself some serious golden boy ass. Logan gestured toward the box that sat forgotten in her lap. "You." Oh for Christ's sake, he was practically speechless.
Rogue ripped into the paper with gusto. By the time she was about to open the box Logan finally seemed to be climbing back down from heaven enough to pay a little attention. She lifted the lid, parted the tissue ... and completely froze.
She sat there, eyes wide, breathing through her mouth. She tentatively ran a finger down the silky material. Now she could feel the tears coming to her own eyes. Of course Logan felt the need to be the one to give her such a thing. He knew better than anyone that no other boy ever would. So here it was, fancy pajamas to make her feel pretty. It was lovely, beautiful, but it certainly didn't whisper sex, let alone scream it. It wasn't made of the suggestive lace that would drive a certain feral man over the edge and make him want to rip it from her body. No, it came complete with robe to make sure every last innocent inch of her was covered. And peach; it might as well be baby doll pink. Hardly a take me now colour like red. So it was true, Logan was just never going to think of her that way.
He was leaning forward, a concerned look on his face. "Is it okay? I, I didn't mean it to be presumptive or anything."
Of course he didn't. "No," she said quickly with a reassuring smile. "I understand. It's perfect. I love it."
He breathed deep and nodded. "Good."
Several hours later Logan was sitting on a couch, back in his track pants and t-shirt, drinking a beer with Marie curled up next to him, sound asleep. He couldn't blame her, really the best parts of the movie were all in the first half. The past couple of years he had felt a particular kinship with the most bizarre proposal scene ever captured on film. Poor George, knows his life is about to completely change because of a woman and no matter how hard his instincts tell him to fight, there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop it.
Finally the credits started to roll. Logan dug out the remote, turned off the TV and hit rewind. He looked down at the head nestled under his arm and stroked her hair. The rest of her body was hidden by the blanket they shared. When she had entered the room he snatched the quilt away and spread it out, giving her no choice but to join him rather than rolling herself up in it as usual. Hey, he had put his track pants back on for a reason; he was expecting some serious cuddle action. He had reminded himself not to be disappointed when she showed up in her Santa flannels. That was the point, no expectations or demands.
Putting the empty bottle on the table he carefully disentangled himself and eased Marie down to the couch with her back to the cushions. He rearranged the quilt and then got in with her, cautious to keep his head well above hers. That worked out okay rather nicely though; he could feel her warm even breaths against his chest. He pulled her close. As he drifted off he couldn't think of a better way for this Christmas to end.
When Rogue first woke up she was a little confused. The TV was off, but she knew they were still in the den. She was lying on the couch, trapped between Logan and the back cushions. Her face was against his chest. She could feel him breathe, hear his heart beat. It felt too good, she needed to get out of there. She moved slightly and he pulled her closer. That's when she felt it; he was aroused. She could feel him pressed against her stomach. She really needed to get out of there. She started to push him away.
Logan awoke with a snort. He gazed down at her. "Hey."
"Hey." He ran his fingers through her hair, stroked her arm, patted her hip. The only thing she could think of to say, "I fell asleep." God, didn't he know how much this confused her?
"We both did." He was starting to get his bearings. Hmm, now he hadn't intended that to happen, but there it was. Maybe he should have known better; take a good dream add a little friction and he had been just asking for trouble. Well, he couldn't deny it; she had to feel it. Then again, this was one way to put the idea out there. He could gauge her reaction, wait to see how she wanted to proceed, without making it an overt confrontation. The matter was completely in her hands, or not. "Do you want to stay here?"
Oh lord, she realized he must not know she could tell. Maybe he thought even if she could feel it, she, virginal little Rogue, wouldn't know what it was. But she really needed to get away from him. "No, I think I should go back to my room."
She wasn't ready. That was fair. He wasn't going to push her. He stroked her cheek with a gloved finger. "Okay."
He had no idea what he did to her. They both sat up and Rogue got to her feet. She reached out her hand, "My blanket."
He smiled a little. "I'll carry it." No point in making a production; he was wearing track pants.
Right, how embarrassing for him, so there was one good thing about being a girl. "Okay."
They walked up the stairs in companionable silence, both thinking over the past day. They reached her door.
Back under control he pulled her into the ritual goodnight hug. Happy to finally have the life he never knew he wanted, "Merry Christmas. I love you kid."
"I love you too Logan." And she meant it more than she would ever let him know. "Goodnight."
Fin
Gowdie and her muse speak.
Muse: So what have you learned?
Gowdie: It's entirely possible I might be evil.
Muse: Anything else?
Gowdie: Never lock two people in a room when you don't know exactly how to get them out again.
I know. Please don't hurt me. The good news is that is probably as angsty as I will ever get. Just remember, this is not where the story ends! Go back and read Part 3 of RD. It all works out! See, this is exactly why I wanted to publish the prequel BEFORE I ended RD. RD will have a happy ending. This ending sucks. Which do you want to read last? I thought so.
Right. And now I am off to work on Part 4. I swear! It won't be immediate cause I have to do some work writing over the next week, but after that it will have my full concentration.
FAQs from The Second Christmas
Lindor chocolates REALLY exist. I developed a bit of a Lindor problem during my last
set of exams. I get them at my che che la la grocery store. Really, anywhere in the same
aisle with the Pot of Golds etc. Of course, I am in Canada. However, the Lindors are
Swiss, so I was hoping it was safe - they would be imported in the States as well. I
HIGHLY recommend them. The ad campaign really was a woman in a flowing red dress
eating one as she ran her hands over her hair, face etc, and the music swelled. I thought,
man, what a pile of cheese! But then I tried one and OH MY GOD!
"Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" is a real live book by author Robert Pirsig. Found it on my Beta's shelf and knew it had to make an appearance.