Marie wasn't surprised to find that Logan had gone without saying anything—she honestly hadn't expected anything else. The fact that he ate all of the chili and drank all of the coffee was thanks enough. She wasn't sure why it mattered—she could have lost her job for stashing him in the storage room like that. But while she wasn't up for saving the world on a daily basis anymore, it seemed like the least she could do was help one guy avoid the hazardous effects of inclement weather.
Her shift was finally over, and though it may have been more eventful than most of her days as of late, it was still just another day where she had to bundle up, trudge down the street and up to her only moderately well-heated apartment to spend an evening alone. Well, alone save the long haired black cat she had taken in that her contrary nature had demanded she name Snowflake.
She was still fastening the clasp of her cloak as she stepped into the snow, absently looking around as she began her hike. She couldn't help but notice the larger than usual crowd at On Tap—but then, Tuesdays were fight night, so she supposed it wasn't that much larger than normal. Certainly drew one's eye, though. She briefly considered going in and watching her neighbors beat the shit out of each other for awhile before dismissing the idea—she had been known to enjoy herself there after hours on occasion, but tonight, she just wanted a good meal and some sleep.
Shivering as the wind hit her, she continued on her way, absently hoping that Logan was all right—he had seemed nice enough, in his own gruff, unwashed, half-frozen kind of way. And if she remembered the way the light had reflected in his hazel eyes more vividly than most, well, that would surely fade away quickly enough.
Her apartment was pretty sparse, and only two sounds greeted her when she swung open the door—the meow of Snowflake's greeting and the nearly incessant beeping of the X-phone stashed in the back of her dresser.
Over the last months, she had learned to talk back to the first and completely tune out the second.
This was a bad idea. Logan knew it was a bad idea. There was absolutely no reason to go into that restaurant. He had money now, after a night of cleaning up at the fights. Not enough money to buy even a shitty truck and leave, but enough to hole up in the ratty-assed motel and eat crap from the general store until the next fight. Spending the extra money on a restaurant meal was not in the budget.
But that didn't seem to be stopping him, he noted as he pulled open the door to Joe's and strolled right in.
The place was simple, some sort of cross between sports bar and roadside diner that instantly appealed to him. Small, but then it didn't really need to be that big, not all the way out here. Really, even if it was a bit run down around the edges, it was a decent place. It fit more with the Marie who had pulled him out of the alley yesterday than the rest of this two-bit town did, at least in Logan's mind.
And speaking of Marie… "Hey kid," he said a little awkwardly.
Her head snapped up and her eyes got real wide, but she didn't smell nervous or afraid or anything. Just… surprised. And maybe even… happy? "Logan," she said unnecessarily. "I didn't figure on seeing you ever again."
He shifted his weight a little awkwardly. This really had been a stupid idea. "Yeah, well… I figured… I don't know. I'll go."
"What? No! Nono, it's fine. I was just surprised is all. I mean, you're walking through the front door and everything. You can see why I'd be confused."
He wasn't really sure whether he wanted to laugh or growl at her teasing. "Hey, I got money today and everything. What's a guy got to do to get seated 'round here?"
She smiled, a sight unlike anything Logan could ever remember seeing before. "Follow me then," she said, grabbing a menu and automatically leading him to the perfect table—furthest away from all the noise, but with just the right vantage point to keep an eye on everything going on in the whole damn place. He wondered if it was just luck or if she had somehow known that he'd want to—no, that was a dumbass thing to think. Things like that didn't just happen.
"The specials today are chicken pasta with—"
"Awe, don't worry 'bout that. I'll just have a steak. A big one. Rare." He hesitated, then added, "And whatever you want."
"Me?"
Logan couldn't quite seem to look at her, so he sort of glared at a spot on the table. "Figure I owe you a meal."
"Logan, I told you I didn't want—" she stopped mid-sentence which caught his attention, so he ended up looking at her after all, catching the thoughtful expression that passed across her face as she studied him right back. " …You're sure you don't mind?" she asked finally.
"Wouldn'ta asked if I did, darlin'." Where did that come from? Well, she didn't seem to mind the endearment too much… it might have even made her smile a little.
"Well then I guess I'll tell Joe I'm going on break."
Logan nodded, feeling oddly… relieved.
Okay, let's see. Two steaks? Check. Surly but astoundingly attractive in a rugged flannel-wearing kind of way lunch companion? Check. Conversation topics? …Sadly lacking.
This could be a problem, Marie admitted to herself as she began to cut into her steak. She hadn't had to make a whole lot of small talk the last couple of months, her main forms of socialization revolving around what sides people wanted with their entrees and reciting the specials list in under thirty seconds. And Logan... well, Logan didn't exactly seem like the small talk kind of guy. But then, he didn't really seem like the kind of guy to suggest this whole lunch thing in the first place, and it sure as hell hadn't been her idea. Though it was sort of nice—over the past two days she had spent more time with him than she had with anyone but Joe in ages. And Joe, while he had his charms, was really only concerned with getting the orders out right and keeping the food from getting burnt, which didn't exactly make for scintillating conversation.
All of which left them here, sitting at a table chewing their meat in silence.
If nothing else, it gave her a chance to really look at him now that he was clean and not tinged with blue around the edges. He was exactly the kind of person your parents always warned you about, the sort of guy you avoided when passing on the street—and she wasn't the slightest bit afraid of him. Maybe it was that she knew that she could kick his ass in two and a half seconds despite their obvious size disparities, or maybe it was because he could have tried something all day yesterday and hadn't. Really, she thought that it was just something about him—with him, she felt… comfortable. Easy. Even… safe?
That was ridiculous. And stupid, because after this one obligation meal, you could bet your ass that he was gone. No use in getting attached.
Randomly, she noticed something. "Logan?"
He grunted. Well, there were worse ways of communication.
"Logan… why are you glaring at that stuffed moose head on the wall?"
Yes, she was pretty sure that he had growled. That was… surprisingly hot. "I don't like moose," he grumbled.
She blinked. "That moose in particular or moose as a species in general?" When he stared right back at her, she shrugged. "I was just wondering if that specific moose head had done something to warrant your wrath."
"… A moose was standing in the middle of the road. I hit it with my truck. It blew up."
She was pretty sure that he meant the truck had blown up and not the moose, though neither option was particularly appealing. It certainly explained a lot though. "Are you okay?" He looked fine, but car crashes were nasty things. You never knew.
He actually looked amused at the question. "Fine."
She just smiled back at him. Beamed really, an expression that should have felt out of place on her too long solemn face. Strangely, it didn't. "Good."
Two days later, Logan was sitting in his motel room, trying to convince himself that three days in the same place and three shared meals with the same person did not. Mean. ANYTHING.
And the fact that Marie hadn't bored him yet, that she was unlike anything or anyone he had ever come across, and that he couldn't really figure her out but didn't mind that little detail, none of THAT meant anything either.
Neither did the fact that he laughed at her joke this afternoon. He couldn't help it if her impression of country singers was so woefully bad that it was actually good.
He was still here because he was still a little short on ready cash. The beautiful brunette who had pulled him out of the snow when she had no reason to and could eat a rare steak as big as his own and made him laugh had nothing to do with it.
Really.
Marie hadn't been into The Tap in a few weeks, but tonight she felt like company, and the fight bar was the only place still open. Besides the strip club, that is, and she had no desire to spend time at a place called "Bare Necessities". So she fought her way through the crowd and claimed a barstool, ordered a double shot of bourbon, and began to actually enjoy the smoky, rowdy atmosphere that surrounded her.
It wasn't until she had her drink in hand that she really noticed the fever in the crowd, eyes swinging to the cage in the center of the room. Normally, cage fighting wasn't really her style—she had seen enough real violence to long since wear off the shine of novelty—but judging from the enthusiastic crowd, this was no ordinary cage fighter.
Catching sight of what had to be dubbed the most perfect back she had ever laid eyes on, Marie had to agree. This guy was anything but ordinary.
When his head rose and she saw that it none other than Logan, she knew that her initial assessment had been dead on.
Hazel eyes caught her own through the crowd and she couldn't stop the corner of her mouth from turning up in a smile, and though he didn't return the expression, she thought that something about him shifted slightly, though she couldn't have specified what it was, exactly. She supposed it didn't really matter, so she just downed the rest of her bourbon without so much as a grimace and joined in the cheering for the Wolverine.
Watching Logan go head to head against a guy twice his size made her strangely nervous, but as soon as the bell was sounded, Marie stopped being nervous and started feeling a tad suspicious. It wasn't that Logan—or maybe she should say the Wolverine—was winning with any great ease or too quickly. In fact, he took a good number of shots before even so much as swinging back. She couldn't really put her finger on what was wrong with the picture. But in what seemed like another life, a young girl named Rogue had spent endless hours training for real battles, the kind of life and death situations that everyone fantasizes about and no one ever really wants to be in. She knew what fighting looked like.
She wasn't sure what was going on in that cage, but it wasn't fighting. Not even close.
When it was over and Logan's opponent was face down on the floor, he spoke to the referee and jumped out of the cage, heading straight for her. Somehow, Marie wasn't surprised. He invaded her space almost right away, the heat radiating off of his particularly amazing shirtless chest making her nervous. Whether it was because of her skin or because of the way he gazed at her, she couldn't really say.
"Bourbon, kid? Isn't that a bit strong for a little thing like you?" he asked finally.
She snorted. "Yeah well, you can take the girl out of the South, but..." she trailed off with a shrug and a gesture to the bartender for another. "You need anything in particular, sugar?"
He shuffled a little closer, another thrill of lust and panic running down her spine as his bare hands reached for her new glass. "Could use a bit of this."
She relinquished the glass easily, trying to stay calm as she gazed up at him. "Feel free."
He slugged it down as easily as she had hers and put the tumbler back on the counter behind her. Drawing back, he ran one finger down the inside seam of her opera length glove, loving the silk as no one had ever bothered to do before. For one terrifying moment she thought he would ask about them, about why a girl crammed in an over-crowded bar filled with body heat and sweat, would insist on wearing something so binding. She wondered briefly if she would actually tell him.
Instead, he just said, "Thanks."
And so without a word, the decision was reached—she would never ask him why he bothered with the show of fighting a battle he couldn't lose and he would never ask why a girl of only twenty insisted on covering every spare inch of skin she could. It was somehow recognized that they both had secrets and accepted without qualms—the silent understanding was that whatever they were or had between them wouldn't be about what they didn't say, but about what they did.
It was the easiest deal Marie had ever made.