Disclaimer:
[1] I do not own. [2] I have no money.
The importance of these statements:
I don't own X-men, marvel does, see [1]. If I owned them, them being the X-
men, I would be rich, see [2]. If I was rich, I wouldn't be writing fan
fiction, see [2], because I would be able to buy the X-men, see [1].
Author's Note(s): My artist's muse went AWOL, so I stole a writing muse. Sorry if it was yours. That also gives me a reason to suck at writing. Ha ha! I would love reviews! Even flames, but if you flame me please be specific. How else will I learn from my mistakes? Constructive criticism is key. Archive to your hearts content, just e-mail me (tripping_tongue@yahoo.com) with the site so I can giggle over my growing popularity. And one final note : Continuity-shontimuinity. I would sink this bugger somewhere in between X-Men 110 and Uncanny X-men 413 (Warren is still blue in my story). And there is a point/plot. I'm getting there, I promise!
The heavy pounding on the door jarred her from her thoughts. She swiveled away from the computer, rising from the chair to make her way across the room. She began to undo the locks, her mind slipping instinctually upon years of drilled training, the muscles in her body tensing in anticipation of a possible attack. She paused a moment before continuing consciously dragging herself from snapping into a defensive stance. She was safe here, she reminded herself, in this pseudo-normal life she had fabricated. The biggest threats that she faced were the inconsequential traffic jam and crashed hard drive. Still, she knew better than to take chances. She cracked the door open, pulling the chain link lock taut. " Can I help you?" She managed to eek out unsuspectingly before catching a glimpse of the figure standing in the doorway. Her face then lit up with an almost abashed smile, and she chuckled giddishly. "Ohmygosh! Logan!"
"Kit, there ain't a man alive that can't be helped a bit by that smile."
"It good for what ails you, I've been told." She raised her hand to the chain lock, phasing the metal barrier and pulling the door wider. She jumped at him, catching him in an opened arm embrace. "And what charmer have you hanging around that you've been picking up those bad habits." She released him, stepping back to stand at arms length to get a good look.
"I ain't picking up anything of the sort. This is my own classy he stuff." He grinned appreciatively, noting the changes since he last saw her. She, at the very least, looked healthy, if a bit tired, which he was pleased to find.
"So what brings you out here then?" She smiled back, and then gasped. "Oh I'm so sorry, I'm being such a horrible host. Come on in, stay for a bit, and tell me how everyone's been." She ducked back into the room, opening the door for him as she let him into the small apartment.
The furniture was minimal and served nothing more than practical use. There seemed to be no scheme of design or thought put into decorating. The barely present signs of existence were not promising. Logan had to take a second survey of the room to make sure he hadn't noticed and oversight. Had she been packing, planning on a trip? He couldn't find anything to suggest that idea, no luggage, no signs of cleaning out the fridge. She dodged his looks and moved a basket of neatly folded sweatshirts off of the loveseat, and she grinned at him.
"Well, geez, I wasn't expecting visitors."
Logan grunted, "let alone another living breathing person."
"That obvious, hunh?"
He moved aside a stack of textbooks on what she seemed to regard as a coffee table, before seating himself. Plywood stacked on milk crates didn't constitute as furniture in his opinion. "Just a little."
She cringed. "I guess I deserve that judgment. I've just been so busy lately, it's hard to get out there and do the social thing."
He snorted. The distinct lack of another scent lingering in the room gave testimony to that. Part of him was secretly glad, not wanting to tread into the realm of relationship ups and downs with the young woman. Still, closing herself off to everyone wasn't the answer she was looking for.
She began to fidget underneath is stare, and she started to panic. He could always see through her like glass.
"Well, like I said, sorry about the whole mess. It's just that roommate left to go home for break a few days ago, and well, I-" She fumbled around with some cd cases on her computer desk, straightening them into a neat stack. Just don't make eye contact.
"Kit, you never were good at lying, don't you think you're a little old to try and learn that trick? There hasn't been another person in this room for over a month." He stood up, his boots falling heavily as he made his way to the door. She continued to play with the cases, unable to look up. "Obviously, it was a waste of my time to drive out here if you don't want to talk. So unless you've got something to say for yourself, I might as well head back in time for the elf and I to catch a ride home." He reached for he doorknob, as he heard her hesitate. He fought the urge to turn around and look at her. She would be caught there in a moment of indecision, biting her lip. Her mouth would open and no words would make their way out. The silence hung for a few more solemn seconds, then he turned the doorknob.
"Wait!"
She stepped away from the desk, closing the distance between them. He remained still, his back to her, trying to conceal the smirk that crossed his face. "Wait, Kurt's here?" He couldn't help it, a ruthless grin broke out. Some things never changed. At least the important things never did. He managed to compose himself as he turned and leveled a cold glare at her.
"Okay, fine, you're right. My roomie baled out just before midterms. And I didn't feel like having somebody move in. And I have been drowning myself in schoolwork for the last few months. There are you happy?" She crossed her arms over her chest, her chin lifting in defiance.
"Thrilled. Get a coat, darling, we need to get you out of this hole." She spun on her heel, storming to the closet, muttering phrases that made Logan grin. Things don't change at all. She pulled out an scrap of trench coat that had seen better days, and he raised a skeptical brow.
"What?" She shot back. "I happen to like it. It hold's sentimental value."
He glared at her. "Time to go. I need to teach you had to share your feelings ---Canadian style."
Author's Note(s): My artist's muse went AWOL, so I stole a writing muse. Sorry if it was yours. That also gives me a reason to suck at writing. Ha ha! I would love reviews! Even flames, but if you flame me please be specific. How else will I learn from my mistakes? Constructive criticism is key. Archive to your hearts content, just e-mail me (tripping_tongue@yahoo.com) with the site so I can giggle over my growing popularity. And one final note : Continuity-shontimuinity. I would sink this bugger somewhere in between X-Men 110 and Uncanny X-men 413 (Warren is still blue in my story). And there is a point/plot. I'm getting there, I promise!
The heavy pounding on the door jarred her from her thoughts. She swiveled away from the computer, rising from the chair to make her way across the room. She began to undo the locks, her mind slipping instinctually upon years of drilled training, the muscles in her body tensing in anticipation of a possible attack. She paused a moment before continuing consciously dragging herself from snapping into a defensive stance. She was safe here, she reminded herself, in this pseudo-normal life she had fabricated. The biggest threats that she faced were the inconsequential traffic jam and crashed hard drive. Still, she knew better than to take chances. She cracked the door open, pulling the chain link lock taut. " Can I help you?" She managed to eek out unsuspectingly before catching a glimpse of the figure standing in the doorway. Her face then lit up with an almost abashed smile, and she chuckled giddishly. "Ohmygosh! Logan!"
"Kit, there ain't a man alive that can't be helped a bit by that smile."
"It good for what ails you, I've been told." She raised her hand to the chain lock, phasing the metal barrier and pulling the door wider. She jumped at him, catching him in an opened arm embrace. "And what charmer have you hanging around that you've been picking up those bad habits." She released him, stepping back to stand at arms length to get a good look.
"I ain't picking up anything of the sort. This is my own classy he stuff." He grinned appreciatively, noting the changes since he last saw her. She, at the very least, looked healthy, if a bit tired, which he was pleased to find.
"So what brings you out here then?" She smiled back, and then gasped. "Oh I'm so sorry, I'm being such a horrible host. Come on in, stay for a bit, and tell me how everyone's been." She ducked back into the room, opening the door for him as she let him into the small apartment.
The furniture was minimal and served nothing more than practical use. There seemed to be no scheme of design or thought put into decorating. The barely present signs of existence were not promising. Logan had to take a second survey of the room to make sure he hadn't noticed and oversight. Had she been packing, planning on a trip? He couldn't find anything to suggest that idea, no luggage, no signs of cleaning out the fridge. She dodged his looks and moved a basket of neatly folded sweatshirts off of the loveseat, and she grinned at him.
"Well, geez, I wasn't expecting visitors."
Logan grunted, "let alone another living breathing person."
"That obvious, hunh?"
He moved aside a stack of textbooks on what she seemed to regard as a coffee table, before seating himself. Plywood stacked on milk crates didn't constitute as furniture in his opinion. "Just a little."
She cringed. "I guess I deserve that judgment. I've just been so busy lately, it's hard to get out there and do the social thing."
He snorted. The distinct lack of another scent lingering in the room gave testimony to that. Part of him was secretly glad, not wanting to tread into the realm of relationship ups and downs with the young woman. Still, closing herself off to everyone wasn't the answer she was looking for.
She began to fidget underneath is stare, and she started to panic. He could always see through her like glass.
"Well, like I said, sorry about the whole mess. It's just that roommate left to go home for break a few days ago, and well, I-" She fumbled around with some cd cases on her computer desk, straightening them into a neat stack. Just don't make eye contact.
"Kit, you never were good at lying, don't you think you're a little old to try and learn that trick? There hasn't been another person in this room for over a month." He stood up, his boots falling heavily as he made his way to the door. She continued to play with the cases, unable to look up. "Obviously, it was a waste of my time to drive out here if you don't want to talk. So unless you've got something to say for yourself, I might as well head back in time for the elf and I to catch a ride home." He reached for he doorknob, as he heard her hesitate. He fought the urge to turn around and look at her. She would be caught there in a moment of indecision, biting her lip. Her mouth would open and no words would make their way out. The silence hung for a few more solemn seconds, then he turned the doorknob.
"Wait!"
She stepped away from the desk, closing the distance between them. He remained still, his back to her, trying to conceal the smirk that crossed his face. "Wait, Kurt's here?" He couldn't help it, a ruthless grin broke out. Some things never changed. At least the important things never did. He managed to compose himself as he turned and leveled a cold glare at her.
"Okay, fine, you're right. My roomie baled out just before midterms. And I didn't feel like having somebody move in. And I have been drowning myself in schoolwork for the last few months. There are you happy?" She crossed her arms over her chest, her chin lifting in defiance.
"Thrilled. Get a coat, darling, we need to get you out of this hole." She spun on her heel, storming to the closet, muttering phrases that made Logan grin. Things don't change at all. She pulled out an scrap of trench coat that had seen better days, and he raised a skeptical brow.
"What?" She shot back. "I happen to like it. It hold's sentimental value."
He glared at her. "Time to go. I need to teach you had to share your feelings ---Canadian style."