ANs: I forgot about Logan's healing power re: him technically not being able to have a hang over. I know that the Hummer H2 SUT wasn't out in 2000. I may upset anyone living in Vegas, Niagara Falls, or Wyoming in the chapter, I'm sorry but it worked.
Relax and go with it.
Oh, and personalized notes to everyone re: reviews next posting.
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters
May 7, 2000 8 AM
Logan woke with a vicious hangover. He really didn't want to get out of bed. He wanted even less to shower and get dressed, as that seemed like awfully strenuous work. So he did all three as slowly as possible. After washing up and stumbling down the stairs in a clean pair of faded jeans and fitted black tshirt, he attempted to appear somewhat rested and refreshed.
Dropping into the seat next to a black-clad Marie at the kitchen bar, he concluded that black must be the color of the day. It definitely went with his mood.
Having trouble keeping both eyes open at the same time, he considered having some coffee, but his stomach warned against it. Marie was twirling a piece of her hair around one gloved finger, and reading something she seemed to find fascinating.
Turning to him finally, she laid one elbow on the bar, leaned her head against her hand, looked him over, and said, "You look like hehll. Does this have anything to do with Mr. Giles' visit last night?"
"Giles... yeah," Logan grunted, as he pushed himself up and walked over to the coffee pot. Distractedly, he wrapped his fingers around a heavy indigo mug from the collection on the counter, and began to pour. He savored the solid weight of the ceramic.
This is the lamest delay tactic ever, he thought. But how could he tell Marie something that he had to keep hidden from the woman who would be his wife?
"Yeah... uh... Giles was just passing through New York... We had a few too many," he groaned, massaging his temples with the unencumbered hand.
"Is sohmething else bothering you?"
Logan smirked and sat back down. I'm so hung over, that if I drink this coffee I will definitely be sick, and by the way, I'm not just a freakish mutant, I've got the magically-induced, love-sick werewolf blues as well.
Setting the mug aside, he muttered, "I really don't want to talk about it."
"Well, of course you dohn't," Marie chided. "If you talked about it, it mihght actually help."
"Lay off me, Rogue."
"Shore Ah will. You juhst sit there and scowl, Logan. I'll drink my coffee and read the pahper, completely ignoring your churlish and sour disposition."
Logan sighed and looked around, making sure that no one else would overhear. "Fine. Try this one on for size. I've fallen for Buffy Summers and I can't seem to shake it. She's arriving in a few weeks and I'm dreading it, because I am certain to make an ass of myself."
Marie looked at him for a millisecond as if he had just passed gas without an apology; and then laughing, she nudged his arm with her shoulder and admonished him, "Quit tohying with my emotions. You know every woman wants to play mahtchmaker to her most eligible bachelor friends."
Reaching into a nearby basket for a blueberry muffin and then deciding against it, Logan grimaced. A few seconds later, he smiled as if what she'd said just occurred to him, "Most eligible? Really?"
Logan must be in a bad way from last night, Marie thought. He's having trouble keeping up.
"Why nahturally," she drawled. "You're smart, sexy, and very occasionally... chahrming. What mohre could a girl ask for? But you know that you're going to hahve to tell Scott about this crush, right? Because if he hears through the grapevihne that you've asked her out..."
"Thanks," he grinned and then rubbed his face with his hands. "I was trying to pretend I lived in a world without interfering cousins named Scott."
"Have you decihded where you'll be spending the honeymoohn?"
Honeymoon, eh? He definitely liked the sound of that. Deciding to play along, he said, "Niagara Falls."
Marie, getting into the game, feigned offense on Buffy's behalf. "Niagara Falls! Logan, a girl only gets one honeymoohn, if she's lucky enough to find a good mahn like you. You should take her sohmewhere that she might actually like..." Pretending to think about it, she suggested, "Buffy's a California girl, she might like some place trohpical."
"Vegas?" he laughed.
Marie rolled her eyes, and replied sardonically, "Vegas! Absoluhtely! Because that's no where near as overdohne as Niagara Falls, it's bursting with local color, and it sounds just like Buffy... I was thinking more along the lines of St. Thohmas or Hawaii."
As appealing as the mental picture of nighttime oceanic skinny dipping with Buffy was, he couldn't let Marie off that easily. "That's really not my style. How about Wyoming?"
Slapping her hand against the counter as if she couldn't bear to hear any more, she cried, "Wyoming! Logan, did you know that 'Wyoming' is a Native American word which loosely translates into English as 'why oh why would anyone ever want to come here?'"
"I don't know Marie... Wyoming has a certain appeal... big sky... nice mountains... not a lot of people..."
"Not to mention the fahct that it's freezing cold there most of the year..."
"Wait a sec..." she giggled, then jumped up and ran into the other room, returning with a travel magazine. "If you're thinking of a winter wehdding and honeymoohn, you should consihder the Alps." Marie flipped to a photo spread of the region, "See? Just thihnk... you could lease a cute little chalet with a big fireplahce for a couple of weeks or-or a French fahrmhouse rental in the upper foothills, with horses and several big fireplahces. Buffy told me she likes to ihce skate..."
He could actually see Buffy in a little black fur-trimmed parka, tiny snowflakes clinging to her bangs and eyelashes, her nose and cheeks pink from exposure to the cold. He imagined the two of them walking, holding hands and kissing under softly falling snow, dining with candles on an old rustic kitchen table, and then making love until sunrise. Suddenly, this didn't feel like a joke to Logan any longer.
Marie was taken aback for a few seconds. He didn't seem to be listening. His face had softened, and if she didn't know him better, she'd swear that he was lost in a prolonged daydream.
"Lohgan, you're serious aren't you? You're in love with her."
"I'm not really sure I know what that means, and it's been a year since I've seen her... But I think... I think I am."
Later that day, Marie walked into her room and closed the door behind her. Picking up the telephone, she dialed Sunnydale.
"Hi Willow," she said, nervously running her hands over her midnight Versace jeans, "It's Marie LaVeau. Do you hahve a minute?"
Kennedy Airport, New York City
May 29, 2000 5 PM
Buffy was happy to be going to Westchester, even though it meant being near Logan, if only to escape Willow for a little while. Willow had developed a new obsession. For the last three weeks, every other word from the red- headed witch had been 'Logan'. Didn't she think Logan would be a good boyfriend, and wouldn't Logan love the new Italian restaurant near campus, and what would Logan think about that blue dress in the store window? If it were up to Willow lately, Buffy would do nothing but moon over Logan all day every day, as if Buffy hadn't been thinking and dreaming about him enough already. Even Oz had mentioned in passing a few days before that he thought Logan was an alright guy. What in the weird world was that about?
The plane had landed and nearly everyone was off, but the flight attendants were kind enough to let Buffy stop in the plane's lavatory to quickly check her makeup before seeing her 'fiancé' in the terminal. Ok, so it was a very cheesy lie, but Buffy wasn't quite ready to be in the same state a Logan yet. As long as she was still on the plane, technically she wasn't in the airport, she rationalized. She was so thankful that Scott and Marie were picking her up this year. She was too agitated to deal with the now firmly- established traditional ride back to Xavier's with Logan.
Looking herself over carefully, Buffy noticed that she had a little pretzel salt on her new cashmere-silk viridian mini-dress, and brushed it off. Willow had picked it out of her closet and paired it with white calf boots. Her fashion sense sure had come a long way. Willow must be channeling Cordy long-distance these days, she mused, as she twirled her hair up and slipped a tortoise shell hair stick through it.
"Oh well," Buffy told her reflection, "Time to deal."
Just outside the gate, Logan was growing increasingly flustered. The flight crews were changing and Buffy had yet to come out. Maybe she decided not to come, or maybe she took another flight. Maybe I've missed her, he worried.
He pulled at the collar of his chocolate button down. Marie had insisted that he dress up if he were going to take Buffy out to dinner. But he was a simple man. He really wasn't concerned about material things. Consequently, he didn't have very much in his wardrobe to choose from, and so Marie had dragged him to the local mall. They had decided on black jeans and black boots, but nearly came to blows in the next store. She had wanted him to wear a light sage silk shirt from Banana Republic, saying that it was a good contrast and brought out the color of his amber eyes. All he could do was groan at her mothering.
He hated shopping. It gave him a headache after about twenty minutes. Luckily, a kid who worked at the store suggested the brown shirt he now wore. Brown was good. Solid. Earthy. He could do brown.
"Logan?" Buffy asked, as she gently laid a hand on his arm. "Are you ok?"
Breathing deeply, he pulled her to him. Buffy was here. She was in his arms. She wore a new perfume. He could pick out fresh peach, tangy orange, and also sandalwood, cedar, and oakmoss, all lightly woven around her natural scent. It was a near perfect moment. If only she loved him, too.
Stepping back she started, "I thought Scott and Marie..."
Nodding, he looked at her lips, too afraid that if he looked into her eyes he'd give himself away. To distract her, he smiled broadly, scooped up her bags, and started walking quickly toward the garage entrance right off the gate.
"They were planning to come but something came up with Xavier," Logan explained. "I offered to pick you up in their place. They accepted. To answer your first question, I'm fine. I was just thinking that we'll probably have trouble with traffic on the way back."
Appreciatively, he digested the fact that she hadn't protested this time when he picked up her bags. Does this mean she's somehow acknowledging that it's ok for me to take care of her, he wondered. Am I projecting what I know about the nature of our relationship on to her too early?
His inner voice mocked him scathingly. No doubt about it. Slow down, Speed Racer.
Buffy was rushing to keep up, still four paces behind as they arrived at the garage. She tried to step a little lighter, as the sound of her boots smacking against the pavement echoed through the levels of the car park. Self-criticism plagued her. Very feminine, Buff. Real stealthy, Slayer.
"Sorry about arriving so late," Buffy said. "Willow booked the ticket for me on her handy laptop. She said it was the only flight available today, which is strange because the plane was only half-full..."
As he stopped and pressed the remote control to unlock the black Hummer H2 SUT, she asked, "Scott's latest toy?"
Is she questioning my ability to provide for her? Frowning, he replied, "No, mine."
Still anxious and fidgety, he caught her gaze for the first time and rushed, "How would you feel about stopping for dinner on the way home? I know a great little place."
Silently, Logan wished he could confess to her that over the last few weeks, he had dragged her cousin to every decent-looking restaurant on the route between New York and Westchester, sampling the menus and convincing Scott to let him take her out. I'm deeply, insanely in love with you, Buffy, he brooded. And not telling you feels like deceit.
"Sure," she shrugged, as they sat down and clicked their seat belts.
Trying not to let him see how edgy he made her feel, she leaned back into the leather and closed her eyes.
"Tired?" he asked.
"Yes," Buffy replied, as she tensely fisted the leather on the sides of her seat. And you smell so good that it's all I can do not to squirm in my seat or jump into your lap. When did you start wearing Emporio Armani? And by the way, did you know that on you, it's so sexy I can't see straight?
Driving to the restaurant was excruciating for Logan, and now that he had turned off of the highway onto the feeder road, he shifted tensely in his seat. Buffy had been and still was pretending to sleep. But as he listened closely in the crushing silence between them, he could hear her agitato heartbeat, restlessly rushing blood through her veins.
She's upset, he'd grasped that much at least. I've upset her. She wanted Scott and Marie to pick her up. Damn! I've got to recover from this somehow.
Once they were inside the restaurant and seated, Buffy wasn't sure what to say. She had fired off a round of trivial subjects, but he remained distant and aloof. She was looking in every direction but his, scouring her fragmented mind for another, less idiotic topic.
"It's really a lovely restaurant," she affirmed, without realizing that she was speaking aloud.
The tablecloths were cream linen with an underskirt of sophisticated red and cream floral raw silk. Scanning the other tables, she noted that the napkins matched the table skirts, beautifully framing the heavy silver flatware. Buffy glanced down for a moment, admiring the waves of reflected candle flame in her silver charger and along the silver rim of the otherwise white china place setting.
In the dimly lit room, a sense of privacy was created by the flickering candles spreading light just over the tables, and the couples seated at them. There were only twelve tables. On each table the candles were a different warm shade from the softest yellow to the earthiest terra cotta. The pillar and two tapers at their table happened to be Buffy's favorite color, snapdragon, and they were set into an abstract silver heart candle holder.
But the candle holder at their table was different than everyone else's. All the other tables had crystal ones. Looking closer, she read a tiny inscription along the side of the base that was closest to her, it read, 'Logan and Buffy – May 29, 2000.
Buffy inhaled quickly. A keepsake? But why?
A sudden realization dawned. Couples? She double-checked. There were no parties larger than two anywhere in the intimate restaurant, and all of the chairs had been set so that the couples were sitting close together, rather than facing each other across the table. Why didn't I notice before? This is the most romantic place of all time, she thought. Was this deliberate? It must have been. Can't be a coincidence... This is a set up. He's trying to... to date me.
She wanted to laugh as joy raced through her entire body. Willow and Oz had to have been in on this.
"Come here often?" she teased.
"What? Oh, not often. I like the food though," he stammered, completely taken aback by her tone. Buffy had been chatting about nothing, almost to herself, and up to that moment he had thought that perhaps he shouldn't intrude on her thoughts.
Buffy nodded and grinned openly, as if she wanted him to keep talking.
"So I heard from Oz that you ended it with Riley," Logan said. "How are you holding up?" Supremely dumb... Dumb thing to ask, he admonished himself. She's probably still hurt.
"Are you sure that you want to talk about this?" she asked.
No, he admitted to himself, because the idea of you in his bed makes me want to tear out his throat and punch my claws through his heart.
Logan was a little shaken by his internal admission, as the dark, dangerous part of him pushed at his conscious mind. What I want to do is to drag you out into the forest, conquer, consume, devour, and possess every inch of you for a solid week.
Buffy lifted and lowered her shoulders once and then sighed. "Not much to tell really. I was on the rebound and he was in every way wrong for me. It didn't work out."
Before he could respond, Buffy grinned slyly. "So... anyone new in your life?"
What? What does she mean? "Not new exactly, but there is someone I'd like to get closer to."
"Hmm..." she nodded, smiling as if she were reining in her laughter, "and have you told her how you feel?"
"I'm getting there." Is she opening the door, he hoped, or just being a caring friend? Please, please just be a little bit open to this.
Buffy's laughter broke free. It was the most delightfully flirtatious, infectious sound. "You should hurry. I won't be available for long."
Shock stole across his face. Then, reaching over, he gently brushed his hand over the back of her neck and pulled her toward him. "Buffy," he sighed with relief, pressing his lips against hers in a chaste kiss.
"Buffy, I'm crazy about you."
(end chapter)