Asha's Arrival
by pari106
pari106@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html
Disclaimer and rating found in chapter 1.
A/N: Thanks to everyone for reviewing! Thanks to a fan for your helpful hints (you're right…I think it
was supposed to be San Francisco…) Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.
A/A/N: I know my original summary for this story was "Asha's thoughts"…and this story is that, in part.
But I had to throw in a little of Logan's perspective, too. I just couldn't help it. Plus, I've actually had a
request for "what Logan's thinking"…so that's my excuse ?
Chapter 4
Logan's POV
The skylight.
Why is it always the goddamned skylight?
It's fitting, though, I suppose. Tonight, on almost the exact anniversary of Max's death, months ago…I
guess it's fitting that they should come tonight. And through the skylight.
I suppose it might not be Manticore. It could be anyone, really. I haven't exactly made a lot of friends
since I lost Max. I guess I kind of went crazy without her. Then for her. I took stupid risks and I made
some mistakes, but I did it all for her. To avenge her death.
And I suppose it might not be Manticore sneaking through my skylight. It could just be some thief.
My lips quirk at the thought.
Yes, it could be a beautiful young woman sneaking through my skylight. Coming to swipe the statue of
Bast, perhaps? What would be the odds?
Besides, I sold that statue a long time ago. Along with anything else of value around here. No, it isn't a
thief trying to break in. Everybody knows I don't have anything left to thieve. Except my computers. And
those are hidden away. No self-respecting thief would try to turn this place over.
So it's someone else.
Someone I've been waiting for, no doubt.
I've been waiting for Manticore to catch up with me.
I've been sitting here all night, in front of the window here in my bedroom, staring out at the night sky. I'm
slumped in my seat, wearing nothing but a wrinkled pair of trousers with my leg braces underneath. I
haven't slept tonight. I don't sleep often, really. Not anymore. I was an insomniac before, but now…
Who knows? Maybe that's yet something else I picked up from Max. The ability to go without sleep. Or
maybe its just a symptom of the other thing I picked up from her – a broken heart.
I've been just sitting here, but at the sound coming from the main room I freeze. Then I straighten in my
seat. I know that sound.
How could I not? It's the same sound that preluded Max's entry that first, fateful night that we met.
Only now it's louder, noisier. Whoever Manticore sent must really be the runt of the litter. Because
they're sloppy. Jesus, *I* could burglar a place more quietly than this guy. And I'm wearing a thirteen-
pound metal exoskeleton, for crying out loud.
I move slowly, calmly. Like I said, I've been waiting for this.
I casually walk out of the bedroom, slipping the piece I had sitting by my bed into my hand as I go.
I grab the old t-shirt I'd laid on a nearby chair and slip it on. Then I approach my would-be intruder, ready.
As I do, I am struck by the irony of this situation.
One year and several months ago, when Max had slipped down that same skylight, things had been very
different. I was different. The world was different.
When Max slipped down that skylight, she saw a sleek modern interior. Artwork on the walls; a computer
room full of the latest technology. Expensive furniture; a full kitchen. Then she'd run into me. And I'd
been so sure of myself then. So naïve, for all my belief in the opposite. I used to wear my hair short then,
and one of my shirts, then, had probably cost more than my entire "ensemble", if you can call it that, cost
now. In double.
One year, and the tragic end of Max's life, ago, things had been very different. I was different. The world
was different.
Yet here I am, in the same penthouse in the same situation. And my intruder is coming through the same
skylight.
Always the goddamned skylight.
I should have had it boarded up, but I hadn't had the heart to do it.
I pause behind a corner, watching the intruder's entry point. Sure enough, snaking down from the ceiling,
there is a ro…
I blink.
That's not a rope.
And I lower my gun.
"What the…"
Then I walk closer.
Well, it is a rope. A makeshift rope. Made of…a pair of jeans and a large shirt, apparently.
My intruder is shimmying down my skylight using a rope made out of a pair of clothes.
I really don't know what to think about that.
Then I look up and see the intruder, and if I didn't know what to think before, now I'm just plain incapable
of thought.
I had joked that perhaps it was a beautiful woman breaking in to still the statue of Bast. Well, I had the
beautiful woman part right.
Only there's no Bast.
And, apparently, that rope is made out of her clothes.
Because she's naked. Well…mostly naked.
And, no, I have not been without the company of a woman for so long that I've forgotten the proper
protocol. I know that, when confronted by an attractive, scantily clad woman, your first reaction should
probably not be to point a gun at her.
But how many attractive, scantily clad women show up in the skylight in the middle of the night?
I panic.
And, suddenly, the aforementioned woman loses her grip on the rope and falls, the rest of the way into the
main room, landing on the floor with a soft thud. And I'm standing here, pointing a gun at her.
She looks up at me…and bursts into tears.
by pari106
pari106@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html
Disclaimer and rating found in chapter 1.
A/N: Thanks to everyone for reviewing! Thanks to a fan for your helpful hints (you're right…I think it
was supposed to be San Francisco…) Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.
A/A/N: I know my original summary for this story was "Asha's thoughts"…and this story is that, in part.
But I had to throw in a little of Logan's perspective, too. I just couldn't help it. Plus, I've actually had a
request for "what Logan's thinking"…so that's my excuse ?
Chapter 4
Logan's POV
The skylight.
Why is it always the goddamned skylight?
It's fitting, though, I suppose. Tonight, on almost the exact anniversary of Max's death, months ago…I
guess it's fitting that they should come tonight. And through the skylight.
I suppose it might not be Manticore. It could be anyone, really. I haven't exactly made a lot of friends
since I lost Max. I guess I kind of went crazy without her. Then for her. I took stupid risks and I made
some mistakes, but I did it all for her. To avenge her death.
And I suppose it might not be Manticore sneaking through my skylight. It could just be some thief.
My lips quirk at the thought.
Yes, it could be a beautiful young woman sneaking through my skylight. Coming to swipe the statue of
Bast, perhaps? What would be the odds?
Besides, I sold that statue a long time ago. Along with anything else of value around here. No, it isn't a
thief trying to break in. Everybody knows I don't have anything left to thieve. Except my computers. And
those are hidden away. No self-respecting thief would try to turn this place over.
So it's someone else.
Someone I've been waiting for, no doubt.
I've been waiting for Manticore to catch up with me.
I've been sitting here all night, in front of the window here in my bedroom, staring out at the night sky. I'm
slumped in my seat, wearing nothing but a wrinkled pair of trousers with my leg braces underneath. I
haven't slept tonight. I don't sleep often, really. Not anymore. I was an insomniac before, but now…
Who knows? Maybe that's yet something else I picked up from Max. The ability to go without sleep. Or
maybe its just a symptom of the other thing I picked up from her – a broken heart.
I've been just sitting here, but at the sound coming from the main room I freeze. Then I straighten in my
seat. I know that sound.
How could I not? It's the same sound that preluded Max's entry that first, fateful night that we met.
Only now it's louder, noisier. Whoever Manticore sent must really be the runt of the litter. Because
they're sloppy. Jesus, *I* could burglar a place more quietly than this guy. And I'm wearing a thirteen-
pound metal exoskeleton, for crying out loud.
I move slowly, calmly. Like I said, I've been waiting for this.
I casually walk out of the bedroom, slipping the piece I had sitting by my bed into my hand as I go.
I grab the old t-shirt I'd laid on a nearby chair and slip it on. Then I approach my would-be intruder, ready.
As I do, I am struck by the irony of this situation.
One year and several months ago, when Max had slipped down that same skylight, things had been very
different. I was different. The world was different.
When Max slipped down that skylight, she saw a sleek modern interior. Artwork on the walls; a computer
room full of the latest technology. Expensive furniture; a full kitchen. Then she'd run into me. And I'd
been so sure of myself then. So naïve, for all my belief in the opposite. I used to wear my hair short then,
and one of my shirts, then, had probably cost more than my entire "ensemble", if you can call it that, cost
now. In double.
One year, and the tragic end of Max's life, ago, things had been very different. I was different. The world
was different.
Yet here I am, in the same penthouse in the same situation. And my intruder is coming through the same
skylight.
Always the goddamned skylight.
I should have had it boarded up, but I hadn't had the heart to do it.
I pause behind a corner, watching the intruder's entry point. Sure enough, snaking down from the ceiling,
there is a ro…
I blink.
That's not a rope.
And I lower my gun.
"What the…"
Then I walk closer.
Well, it is a rope. A makeshift rope. Made of…a pair of jeans and a large shirt, apparently.
My intruder is shimmying down my skylight using a rope made out of a pair of clothes.
I really don't know what to think about that.
Then I look up and see the intruder, and if I didn't know what to think before, now I'm just plain incapable
of thought.
I had joked that perhaps it was a beautiful woman breaking in to still the statue of Bast. Well, I had the
beautiful woman part right.
Only there's no Bast.
And, apparently, that rope is made out of her clothes.
Because she's naked. Well…mostly naked.
And, no, I have not been without the company of a woman for so long that I've forgotten the proper
protocol. I know that, when confronted by an attractive, scantily clad woman, your first reaction should
probably not be to point a gun at her.
But how many attractive, scantily clad women show up in the skylight in the middle of the night?
I panic.
And, suddenly, the aforementioned woman loses her grip on the rope and falls, the rest of the way into the
main room, landing on the floor with a soft thud. And I'm standing here, pointing a gun at her.
She looks up at me…and bursts into tears.