Jean silently gave thanks that Starbucks was as ubiquitous on this side of the world as it was in LA as she took a thirsty sip of her raspberry green tea smoothie. Raven quirked an eyebrow at her drink, noting how Jean hungrily licked away the red berry-flavored syrup and whipped cream coating her upper lip.
“Not counting carbs this week?”
“Takes too much thought. I don’t want to think. Makes my damned head hurt,” she groused.
“Called your lawyer yet?”
“Jenn’s faxing over the paperwork tomorrow. I’m paying her air fare out here so we can meet next week.”
“She’s good. She really came through with my alimony arrangement during my divorce.” Raven had retained the firm of Walters, Whedon, and Murdock, Attorneys at Law from the moment that she and James paused long enough from shouting each other to agree that it just wouldn’t work anymore.
“I need a real ballbuster.”
“Jenn Walters’ your girl.”
“I want him to suffer.”
“Jamie’s still got rug burn from being dragged through the court. You’ll be fine. You’ll love her,” Raven assured her cheerfully, as though they were discussing a florist or electrologist.
“He sent the cook a swag bag.”
“Everyone on the crew gets them, anyway. I loved mine,” Raven reasoned, flourishing her wrist to show off the delicate little Swarovski crystal charm bracelet that was tucked into the little bag of goodies and freebies.
“She sent him a gift first. A food basket,” she scoffed. “Cookies, chocolate, you name it, wrapped up as pretty as you please. Scott doesn’t even like sweets! He acted like no one ever gave him a gift before! I bought him a platinum Rolex for Christmas last year, and he hardly batted an eyelash, and what does he do when that stupid basket shows up?”
“What did he do?” Raven inquired, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Fawned all over it. Took out this enormous sugar cookie with a little director’s camera squiggled onto it and took a huge bite, with this look on his face that was practically ORGASMIC! Then he asks me, as smug as you please, ‘Jean, why don’t YOU ever bake me anything special like this? He wants frigging June Cleaver!” she snapped bitterly.
“Only in the kitchen,” Raven pointed out.
“That’s not me. That’s NEVER been me,” she railed, chucking the cup, wrapped in its protective recycled sleeve, into the garbage even though there was still a couple of gulps left. “He acted like he didn’t give damn one way or the other about her back when Charles and Eric hired her as the caterer, and now he’s fawning all over her…”
“Fawning? Really, Jean?” Raven sounded skeptical as the two of them trekked back to their hired car from the teeming marketplace, strolling beneath the bright, multicolored silk banners flanking the corridor down each side. Jean met her disbelieving eyes before letting hers guiltily slide away.
“It just seems like it,” she corrected herself. “First my sister, then his icky shrink, now the COOK! At least I only cheated on him ONCE!”
“Four years with one guy doesn’t count as ‘once.’”
“You’re supposed to be on my side!” Then Jean had an epiphany. “Are you mad at me because of Logan?”
“I already said I wasn’t.”
“You said that. Did you mean it?”
“Jean…we’re old news. I don’t want Logan back.” Raven made herself comfortable on the left side of the roomy seat in the back of the black Suburban. The leather upholstery felt cool against their backs, even through the comfortable fleece track suits that both women wore. Raven’s makeup was impeccable as always; Jean opted to wear her sunglasses and floppy baseball cap over her hair again. Then Raven had an epiphany herself. “Jean, are you still mooning over Logan?”
“No,” Jean pouted.
“Are you sure?”
“We had fun while it lasted,” she reasoned aloud, but Raven heard the catch in her voice, the same voice that convinced audiences worldwide that she was the girl next door for nearly a decade.
“Fun? Pfftt!”
“Well, we did. At least we did for a while.” Jean’s eyes were wistful behind her dark glasses as she played with a tiny pulled thread on her sweats. “I had fun, anyway.”
“Logan’s male. He had his fun, too,” Raven snorted. “Didn’t matter to him that he was hurting anyone else in the process.”
“It mattered to him. That’s why he’s been backing away.”
“Logan finding someone available might have had a little something to do with it, kiddo,” Raven reminded her gently. Something sniffly and garbled passing for words escaped Jean’s mouth. Her balled up hand was getting in the way. “What was that, Jean?”
“No one…loves…meeeeeeee!” Her voice elevated to a creeling squeak, and Raven was glad Jean wasn’t wearing any makeup after all that would end up ruined from yet another sobfest.
“Come here, Jean,” Raven beckoned imperiously but with no dearth of warmth.
“Why.Don’t.They.Love.Me.Why?” Each word was punctuated with a breathy hiccup. Jean curled up into a ball, as though she wanted to shrink into the corner of the car. Raven was insistent; she tugged on her arm, jerking her across the seat until she collapsed head-first onto her lap. The driver met Raven’s scowl back at him in the rearview mirror before she pushed the lever, raising the privacy glass to afford them some time alone.
“You’re asking the wrong person. I gave up on love a long time ago,” Raven admitted, removing Jean’s cap and glasses to they wouldn’t dig into her face. Her creamy skin was blotchy and pink from the cool air outside and the salty trails of tears. “It just didn’t work out. I have a daughter I adore, a house that finally feels like a home instead of a prison, and a career that feels like I found my calling. Making people beautiful and feel good about themselves.”
“You’re a genius at it,” Jean sniffled into her lap. Raven tsked to herself; Jean felt too light and limp across her lap. “I don’t even love Logan like I love Scott,” Jean confessed at last. “But I’m so angry right now. I hate him, I want to hate him,” she insisted. “But…I can’t.”
“Hating makes wrinkles. Wrinkles are bad,” Raven declared matter-of-factly. She stroked Jean’s luxurious cascade of red hair, untying the hair elastic that bound it into its sloppy ponytail. Bit by bit, by slow degrees, the tension ebbed out of Jean’s body at Raven’s almost motherly caress. She stroked the errant locks of red hair back from her cheeks where they were plastered down by her tears, creeping into the corner of her mouth. “You’re too good for both of them, y’know.”
“Tell them that,” Jean carped, then settled herself comfortably, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging her shoulders. Raven’s slim, cool hand covered hers before she laced her fingers through Jean’s in a gesture of solidarity, coupled with something else that neither could name. “I feel ugly inside.”
“Get out of here. You have a lot to give. You’ve just been giving to the wrong person. The wrong people,” she amended. “Scott loved you when he married you. He still does, if his fling with your sister is anything to go by. It’s not like he picked someone who was your exact opposite?”
“Not on the outside,” Jean snorted this time, and Raven suppressed a laugh. “Everyone thinks she’s Miss Merry Sunshine. It’s such an act,” she sneered. “When we were growing up it was always ‘Maddie’s such a great artist, Maddie’s not wild like Jeannie, Maddie’s so smart in school.’ She was such a priss. When I brought Scott home to meet my family, she acted like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”
“She sounds perfectly boring,” Raven declared.
“You got the ‘perfect’ part right. And now she has everything. She already had a good husband. She already had a beautiful little boy. Now she has MY husband!”
“Not yet. Only if you give up the fight.” Raven knew it sounded clichéd. “How much does Alex know?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him about it. You’d think Scott would have a little reservation about messing around with this brother’s wife.”
“Didn’t stop Maddie,” Raven quipped. Raven’s lap made an excellent pillow, Jean sighed to herself. Her thighs were toned without feeling like boulders beneath her cheek. More than anything, she needed her ears to bend in the middle of this mess. “There’s more here than deciding if you love Scott enough to try to make it work. My first thought about all of this is that Scott’t not in love with Ororo. He’s no doubt flirting with her to piss you off. Maybe even piss Jamie off. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. My second thought is that you might be lionizing what you have with Logan, because he was yours, and he wants to belong to someone else.” Jean glared up at her, but Raven was nonplussed. “I recognize ‘if I can’t have him, no one else can,’ Jean, I’ve been there. My third thought is that your sister stands to lose a lot if she breaks up with Alex for Scott. She’s famous in her own right. Her reputation, and Scott’s, won’t look too great if they hook up. She’s your sister, and she cheated on her husband to snag yours.”
“Won’t hurt the sales of her line any. Fashionistas love a scandal.”
“She’ll end up in the tabloids,” Raven pointed out. “Being on the cover of Enquirer is a far cry from being on the cover of Vogue.”
“I hate landing on Enquirer’s cover. They always make me look fat,” Jean complained. “Bastards.”
“About that, Jean…your clothes are hanging on you lately. Are you all right?” Raven reserved the same tone for the question that she would have used if she were trying to nudge Anna Marie away from inch-thick black eyeliner, blood-red lipstick, and those ratty looking clothes from Hot Topic that she loved.
“M’not hungry,” Jean murmured. Not for food, a little voice in the back of her mind nagged. She was itching for her Valium.
“Then later we can order in,” Raven clucked, tugging a lock of Jean’s hair. “And that’s that. Don’t make me handcuff you to the dinner table, young lady!”
“Yes, Mom!” Jean sniffed, exhaling a giggle as she rubbed her cheek into the soft velour of Raven’s sweats. She took small comfort in the fact that at least Ororo’s sous chef, Kurt Wagner, had flown out to fill in for her while she was out sick. At least she wouldn’t have to swallow the sight of her and Logan in the cafeteria. Rumor around the set was that Ororo had developed walking pneumonia, and wouldn’t be anywhere near the kitchens for three weeks. She pushed down her sympathy for the hot little cook; at least Scott wouldn’t be making time with her, in the meantime: He hated germs.
Back at the bungalow:
Logan came running from the bathroom, wastebasket and Kleenex box in hand as Ororo’s spate of ragged, choking coughs interrupted him from making the bed and tidying the place up. Ororo was normally a fastidious housekeeper, but things had a way of piling up when you were sick.
“Ya all right, ‘Ro? Ya sound like hell!”
“Only hurts when I laugh,” she squinted at him, nose bright red and chafed.
“This was only supposed ta be a cold.”
“Someone flipped the script,” she shrugged, trying to make her voice sound light. She only succeeded in making herself cough again, and Logan handed her a handful of Kleenex. She groaned before tossing the sodden tissues into the wastebasket, and she fell back against the couch cushions.
“I’m worried about ya.”
“I’m okay,” she assured him feebly.
“I’m makin’ ya some soup,” he grumbled.
“M’not hungry,” she complained, echoing Jean’s reply made only minutes ago and mere miles away.
“Yer eatin’, woman, don’t make me hafta sit on ya!”
“Oooo. Yessir!” she saluted weakly. Logan caught the gleam in her watery blue eyes. At least she had her sense of humor back. Logan stalked into the kitchen, on a mission of mercy as he yanked open cabinets and fished out dishes. He unwrapped the Styrofoam bowl of dried broth, noodles and freeze-dried vegetables and vented it, filling it with water up to the line before zapping it in the microwave.
“Ya don’t sound all that convinced. I ain’t lettin’ ya outta my sight, darlin’.”
“I know.”
“Yer not supposed ta be so agreeable.” Now he was really convinced she didn’t feel well. The first couple of days, she’d balked at him barring her from walking out the door. She conceded to him tucking her back into bed when a dizzy spell made her fall back against him while she was arguing that she was all right.
“Ya don’t look too hot, darlin’.”
“I don’t feel too hot. Actually, I feel kinda cold,” she wondered, hugging herself. Logan laid his thick palm tenderly over her forehead, which was gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat.
“Shit. Yer burnin’ up. Not good.” He stomped off to the bathroom to fetch a cool compress. “Yer scarin’ me.”
“It’s just a cold.” She hunched further down under the covers, shivering slightly. Logan’s dark eyes flooded with worry.
“Like hell it is!” A frantic trip to a prompt care center and two prescriptions later, Logan and Ororo made their bleary way back to the bungalow. Ororo loathed the trip back up to their floor, ten stories up as she sagged against him, grateful for his strength and the masculine scent of him. A whiff of his aftershave, mingled with the residue of his cigars tickled her nostrils, what little she could smell through them. Her sinuses were hopelessly clogged and she felt like she was breathing pea soup.
The past few days yielded foot rubs, shoulder rubs, fumbling yet endearing attempts to help her with her thick hair, and equally amusing attempts at cooking for her. Within her nest of scattered blankets and pillows, Ororo discovered one new reason after another to nudge aside her misgivings about the rugged helicopter pilot.
He was funny.
He was tender.
He was caring.
He hummed a great assortment of drinking songs when he thought she wasn’t listening and let her commandeer the remote once in a while, as long as she didn’t turn it to “chick crap.” They both had a common love of the Discovery Channel and the Food Network, and they laughed until they cried at episodes of “Orange County Chopper” shown with subtitles.
He whispered things when he thought she was asleep. That had been enlightening. He also talked in his sleep. She never heard Jean’s name on his lips, for which she was eternally grateful.
He brought her green tea, even though it was the bitter kind. He remembered that she liked honey in it.
He let her bundle up in his shirts, which were enormous on her and smelled like Tide. She was wearing her favorite of all of them now, a royal blue and black plaid flannel missing the top button. She made a mental note to sew on a new one for him when they were stateside.
He kept her on a rigid schedule for her medicine and inhaler.
He brought back gossip from the set and gave Kurt a report on her progress everyday so he wouldn’t worry. He had grown grudgingly fond of the sous chef once it became clear to him that 1) he was crazy about Allison Blaire, and posed no threat to Logan’s budding relationship with Ororo, and 2) he was full of great stories about when he used to be a stunt man in the business before he got bitten by the culinary bug.
He was jealous…Ororo wasn’t sure about how she felt about that. It was pretty recently that Jean was staring daggers at her every time she breezed into the cafeteria to sneer at the offerings before calling in her Zone delivery. On the one hand, she hadn’t caught Logan with his pants down. On the other hand, didn’t catching him holding her in the hall still count?
And with that in mind, why was he getting up in arms about Scott sending her a gift? Her swag bag was still left unopened on the kitchen counter; Ororo wanted to wait til she saw Ali again to peek at the goodies and compare notes with Betsy, who got stuff like that all the time. All she remembered before drifting off that night was Logan glaring at the phone before he tossed it back onto the cradle. All she did was send Scott some sweets, she mused. It wasn’t like she gave him some sugar. She didn’t take anything away from Scott’s talk with Logan above and beyond him being happy about receiving her basket. She’s good. It’s a small way for me to say ‘thank you and get well.’ Just let her know for me, ok. Ro’s a sweet heart. Logan had been up in arms ever since, shrugging it off whenever she mentioned the Summerses. She was trying not to, but it was hard not to talk shop without mentioning the moody director or mercurial leading actress. They shouldn’t be so damned taboo, she told herself. Ororo wasn’t the one caught with her pants down, fer cryin’ out loud.
Logan let the bowl of soup steep as he rummaged through the cabinets again, retrieving a box of rice crackers. He poured Ororo a glass of apple juice, knowing she was sick to death of green tea, and carried it out to her, setting the offerings within fingertip’s reach on the coffee table.
“You shouldn’t be here, doing all of this. You have to get back to work. Shit, I’m supposed to be at work!”
“That’s what Kurt’s for.”
“I hate taking him away from the restaurant,” she grumbled miserably.
“Ain’t no help for it, babe. Have a cracker.”
“Do I have to?” she whined plaintively. Her stomach lurched in complaint at the scent of the soup. Even the safe-looking little crackers made her taste buds rebel as she considered one, then barely nibbled the edge. It tasted like paste in her mouth, so she washed it down with a sip of juice. That didn’t help much; her saliva glands went into overtime in response to the acidic liquid, and Ororo closed her eyes and exhaled deeply through her nose to the extent that she could.
“That didn’t sound good,” Logan tsked.
“Bucket,” she hissed.
“Eh? What was that, ‘Ro?”
“BUCKET.” Her voice rose. Logan’s brows beetled together as it slowly dawned on him what she was “
“WWHOUOUGGGLMMPPPHH!” Blankets were flung aside as Ororo scrambled off the couch, and this time Logan stumbled aside, grasping her arm and hauling her along with him to the bathroom. They almost made it…Logan stood aside at the sink, sighing over the sight of Ororo leaning over the edge of the commode.
“That was sudden,” he murmured gently, wetting a washcloth with warm water and skimming it over the bar of complimentary soap stuck to the dish. He swabbed the back of her neck and forehead, rinsed and wrung the cloth again, then worked on her sticky hands and mouth.
“Told you…wasn’t hungry,” she whimpered on a rasp he could barely hear. She backed away from the back splash as Logan flushed the commode and helped her up. “Could use a shower, though.”
“You got it, sweetness,” he rumbled. “I’ll run the water for ya…”
“Stay,” she implored, turning tired eyes on him that were at once beautiful and heartbreaking. His gut clenched as her now clean fingers found his pants leg and tugged it to keep him close. She saw his eyes dilate with a need of his own, to protect her. Maybe even care for her. Her mouth went even drier, and she swallowed as she searched for more words to make him stay.
“Er, Ororo, I don’t wanna intrude…”
“Getting into the tub isn’t the problem. Getting out’s another story. I need you.” She sealed his doom with the last three words. He nodded, then bent into the tub to turn the water dials to a comfortable temperature. While the shower ran, Logan filled her a capful of Listerine, and she did what she could with it to remove the carpet of grunge from her tongue.
“Need any help?”
“A little,” she admitted. Logan bent down to strip off her socks. His hands were gentle and didn’t move her too quickly. He set her tootsies into his lap as he completed that task, then looked expectantly up at her as he settled his hands at her waist.
“It’s okay,” she nodded. She leaned back on her hands and lifted her hips, letting him tug down the flannel pajama bottoms, revealing the expanse of supple brown leg. He failed miserably when he tried not to stare. He darted his eyes away from the tiny little triangle of dark violet satin at the apex of her thighs, instead taking the hem of her top in his hands.
“Ready?”
“Uh-huh.” She offered him a faint smile, just enough to bring out a tiny dimple and warm his stomach. He pulled the top up, waiting for her to raise her arms, and she complied, this time knocking the breath out of Logan. He thought he’d need a snort of Ororo’s inhaler in a moment. She was beautiful, even sick, and the past few days of not eating enough to nourish a small child had made her ribs stand out starkly, but didn’t diminish her ripe curves or luminous skin. He laid the shirt down in the growing pile of clothes and looked at a loss.
“If ya don’t want me ta see…”
“I don’t mind,” she assured him. On the one hand, neither did he. He’d dreamed about her often enough, and clothes didn’t enter into the scenario most of the time, or at least not for long. On the other hand, this was Ororo. He wasn’t having a no-strings fling with her and looking to scratch his own itch like he was with Jean. She wasn’t just a gorgeous knockout in a karaoke bar anymore, or a pretty face staring out at him from her book cover. Over the past few weeks, she’d become real to him, and more vital to him than air.
She was a good listener.
She didn’t play games.
She was giving.
She was affectionate.
She was willing to try new things. The skiing incident nudged him over the edge; he’d just been “infatuated” until he saw her spitting out flecks of snow and peering up at him sheepishly, looking good enough to eat. He still wasn’t sure of what to call it now. He was too chicken shit to give it a name.
And now…he was at an impasse. She needed a shower. She needed his help. And he needed to not fuck this up.
Minutes later, Ororo was leaning back into him, letting the warm spray hit them both as he washed her hair. “Those can’t be comfortable,” she mused.
“Hm?”
“Your boxers.” She was right. They were sodden, and they felt absolutely awkward and unnecessary, but he needed some barrier between himself and her slick, soft flesh or he’d lose his cool. His fingers feathered down her arms, distributing the shower gel over her skin. The shampoo foam ran down them both in runnels, tickling their senses. Ororo was glad her stomach was empty, because it was quivering at his touch.
“Can’t be any less comfortable than this thing,” he replied, nuzzling her shoulder as he ran a finger down the strap of her Victoria’s Secret underwire demi bra. His voice held a yummy note of mischief in it, and his intent was clear: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. She shook against his chest as she gave in to a much needed laugh. Their legs were languorously tangled, and her toes stroked the arch of his foot as she settled back into the nook afforded by his body. His flesh was supple and drawn tautly over compact, curving muscles. The fine mat of hair curling over his chest tickled her shoulder blades. He felt just right. The steam of the shower and the hissing spray filled her ears and drowned her senses with satisfaction. “Ya feelin’ any better, darlin’?”
“Mm-hmm,” she sighed. “Much. Thank you.”
“Fer what? It’s my fault ya got sick in the first place.”
“It is not,” she argued. “Getting a chill doesn’t cause colds. Viruses do.”
“Rolling around in the snow didn’t help things much.”
“Eh.” She eyed the bottle of conditioner in the corner of the tub. “Could you do the honors?”
“Yep.” He reached for the bottle and opened it, squirting some of the cool, slippery goo into his large palm. He set the bottle down on the edge of the tub and slowly, meaningfully rubbed his hands together, coating his palms with the conditioner. Ororo’s stomach shuddered again, watching him attend to the task and feeling a sensual little thrill before he stroked his fingers through her ropes of tangled wet hair. She was struck by the rightness of it, feeling him massage her scalp and shivering as he pulled her hair aside, baring her neck. She felt his breath on her damp skin, and it quickened as he twisted and kneaded her hair into a coil around his hand. The gesture felt possessive and full of want.
She nearly came out of her skin when she felt his lips nibble her throat. She arched against him, grasping his knees snugly. His thighs clamped around her like a vise, and his voice sounded tortured and full of the yearning she felt herself.
“We’d better head on outta here, darlin’, if ya wanna get any rest. Gonna turn into prunes pretty soon,” he rumbled.
“Yeah. Sure. Right,” she rasped, tilting her neck to give those firm lips better access. They traveled up and claimed the tiny spot behind her ear. His brawny forearm locked itself around her narrow ribs, holding her nearly immobile “ squirming, mind you “ as his tongue danced along the shell of her ear. Her lobe was sucked into the heat of his mouth and laved like an all-day sucker. Suddenly, Ororo was wet. The slowly cooling spray had nothing to do with it, and if anything she just felt hotter as Logan stroked her flesh and tasted her.
“Yer supposed ta be the voice of reason here, ‘Ro.” He was tracing the line of her jaw with his lips, making it difficult for her to think, let alone reason. Let alone talk…
“Mmmmmmm.”
“That didn’t sound much like reason.” She was slowly tilting her face for more of his kisses, and her fingers twined through his as he splayed his palm over her flat belly.
“Don’t stop,” she moaned. Damn it. He was nearing the end of his tether.
“Don’t want to.” His own voice of reason nagged him to come up for air, and he was dying to ignore it. He craved the sweet heat of her pliant body and wanted to drown in it, but he remembered that she was sick, and that it wasn’t long ago that she caught him with Jeannie. The hurt, confused look in her eyes from that night sobered him now.
“Towels.” Ororo felt his body stiffen against her back, right before he released her, and she felt herself being tugged unceremoniously to her feet. “Gotta get some towels. There’s one right here,” he announced crisply. He couldn’t think straight with her so close…and so delectably bare.
“Logan -?”
“Sit tight, Ororo.” Well. The use of her full name caught her attention as he scrambled out of the shower, leaving a drippy trail all the way to the linen pantry. Ororo leaned against the shower wall a moment, drinking in the last of the warm water and closing her eyes in defeat.
Shit. She loved him. There was no way around it. What the hell was she supposed to do NOW? Ororo bent to turn off the shower dials, and was frustrated at how limp her legs felt. Logan caught her just as she began to stumble free from the tub.
“Easy, darlin’!” He’d half-heartedly tugged on dry boxers and sweats and his arms were laden with fresh, thick towels. Her face was strained as she hung onto the shower curtain for balance. He hauled her from the tub, and she stepped cautiously into the towel he held open for her.
“Logan…”
“Lemme get ya somethin’ ta wear,” he growled, urging her to sit on the commode lid. She complied, then smiled gratefully for the towel that he laid over her lap. He hurried out and dug through his duffle for another of his shirts. He’d all but moved in to her bungalow, not giving a damn how it looked to anyone on the set. He was living out of his suitcase, so to speak, but he’d settled into a routine that was beginning to feel too cozy and addictive. Waking up with Ororo’s hair tickling his lips and watching her slowly moan and fidget her way out of sleep, peering up at him through sleepy blue eyes was his favorite ritual. He dug out his last clean flannel and made a mental note to do laundry as he settled on a gray tee for himself.
“Can ya manage yer hair, ‘Ro?”
“Sure,” she lied cheerfully, letting him off the hook. A funny little wall had sprung up within those few heartbeats that he’d been gone. He didn’t know what to make of it. She craved his touch. She liked it when he combed her hair. But watching him tuck tail and run “ dripping the whole way “ sobered her.
Once she was back on the couch, Logan urged her to try the soup. This time, she succeeded in finishing half the bowl and a couple of crackers. Logan kissed her chastely on the forehead before clearing the dishes away. Ororo turned on the TV and tried to distract herself with the local news, but she frowned when she saw Logan emerge from the bedroom in his jacket, shoes and hat, looking like he was heading out.
“Where are you going?”
“Gotta head to the set. Gonna work with Hank on some editing. Take care of a few things.” He was escaping.
“Sure. Tell Kurt to ring me.” She was pretending not to care. It chafed her.
“I’ll be back in a little while, darlin’.”
“Later, gator.” She gave him a limp wave that felt lame before she turned back to the TV. Logan mentally kicked his own ass out the door and secured the deadbolts after him.
Ororo gave the news her attention, and was surprised at the report that the aftershocks of an earthquake registered in Sapporo’s hillside a few nights ago, and that more seismic activity was likely over the next week. Residents were warned to prepare themselves for the contingency.
Back in Los Angeles:
“So I really can’t change your mind? You’re going to Japan?”
“I already bought my tickets, Alex. I’m not losing my money.” Madelyne shot him an impatient glare that reminded Alex sorely of the look that his brother’s wife always had pasted onto her own face whenever they came over to visit. She saved her smiles for Nate, playing the doting aunt to the hilt, but fuck anyone else.
“It’s not the money. I don’t see why you have to take off in the middle of everything and fly across the friggin’ world. And why you have to take Nate.”
“He hasn’t seen his uncle Scott in a long time,” Madelyne trilled, zipping up her wheeled suitcase before she checked her long red hair one last time in the mirror, raking her fingers through it to let the layered waves tumble into place. “And it’ll be good for him to travel and see some place new.”
“Sure,” he agreed. “Six-year-olds need a dose of culture. Can’t deprive the poor kid of that.” She ignored his sour tone and fought back a little wave of guilt.
She knew Scott would be happy to see her. She could practically smell his cologne and feel his lips.
Alex was practically thrumming with anxiety. The air between them was thick with questions and answers he didn’t want. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “Got your cell? Your ID? Some money?” He dug into his pocket and tugged out his wallet, counting out a handful of crumpled bills. “Your Amex?”
“I’m fine, sweetie.”
“Did you pack Nate’s toys?”
“He’s glued to his Pixter. His comics and action figures are in that bag over there. I brought his Veggie Tales disc for the DVD player. We’re fine,” she added.
I’m not fine, he railed to himself. Can’t you see that, damn it? She wouldn’t see. She never did. She just took refuge in her business and their son, and in that mess of an affair she was having with his brother, and ignored the fact that she was slowly killing him.
Jean’s visits were rare but painful. He never knew what kind of mood she’d be in when she swept in through the door. Scott wasn’t much better in recent months. Conversations between them were full of football scores and new stuff that Scott had bought for his cars. If Alex had to name the one thing he hated most, it was seeing his wife’s disrespect for him in stereo whenever Jean came over. Jean never looked at him with anything but disdain; Madelyne only seemed to offer him pity.
His knuckles itched with the urge to paste Scott across the chops. It only grew whenever he kissed Nate goodnight. Alex had taken biology. He knew a red-haired, green-eyed mother and blond, blue-eyed father didn’t give birth to a dark-haired son with black eyes. The Punnett squares just didn’t add up. Scott gave himself away the moment he’d held his nephew in his arms at the hospital, looking like someone punched him in the gut. He was trembling as he leaned down and kissed the baby on his translucent, plump cheek. “Hey, little guy,” he whispered. Prickles of unease had swept over Alex’s skin as the scene unfolded. Madelyne gazed with bleary affection at the two of them, revealing what Alex didn’t want to see. He felt like an outsider in his own family, as though something precious had been stolen from him.
Alex struggled to figure out what he had done wrong. A house with a picket fence? Check. A minivan and a sportly little car for weekends? Check. Pledging his undying devotion and changing his fair share of diapers? Check. Treating his wife’s friends with respect? Check. Loving her so much that he couldn’t tell where she ended and he began? Check. Guess you just weren’t enough of a bastard, sport, chided that little version of himself perched on his shoulders, scratching his horned head.
A tiny grain of an idea so desperate that it had to work exploded in his brain. Alex grabbed his cell phone as Madelyne resumed packing her bags. She threw a tiny smile over her shoulder at him as he wandered into the den.
“Hello, Final Destinations Travel? I’d like to book a reservation, if you have one, on the Air Japan flight to Sapporo?” He dug into his wallet again and fished out his Visa platinum card. His voice trembled as he read the numbers and the expiration date. His palms were sweating by the time he replaced them in his pocket. He ran his hands through his hair before heading back to their master bedroom to pack his own duffle. He chucked it into the trunk while Maddie was in their room, putting the finishing touches on her hair.
She didn’t bother to hide her shock when Alex stood in line with her at the check-in counter an hour later, having his own ticket stamped before their bags were loaded onto the conveyor.
“This was so…sudden, Alex.”
“We haven’t been on a family trip together like this since Nate was born,” Alex sang cheerfully. “Whaddya think, Slugger? Are ya happy that Dad’s coming along for the trip?”
“Yeaaaaahhhhh!” Nate grinned, tackling his father’s legs and looking up at him adoringly. Alex felt another pang as he ruffled his hair.
“I can’t wait, buddy.” His gaze was measured and careful as he stared at Madelyne over his son’s head. “I just can’t wait.” There was little exchange between them as they perused the airline gift store for magazines and treats. Nate chattered a mile a minute as they made their way to the gate.
Xavier Productions Studio, conference room:
“You should have seen this coming, Charles,” Cassandra purred sweetly.
“This wasn’t the vision I thought we shared when we started this company,” Charles admitted sadly, laying down the contracts and smoothing them with shaking hands. “Eric,” he murmured. “How long have you known?”
“A week or two,” he replied, almost too quickly. He met Charles’ icy blue eyes, full of pain at the betrayal of a friendship that had spanned over thirty years.
“So this is how it ends,” Charles announced, forcing cheer into his tone that he didn’t feel.
“This isn’t the end, brother. It’s a new beginning!” Cassandra’s smile was venomous. Charles longed for the ability to walk. He wanted to stride out of the chamber, his back ramrod straight, leaving this nest of vipers with his dust in their mouths. He skimmed his palm over his smooth scalp in defeat, but defiance burned in his heart. He looked up when he heard the loud click of the door. En Sabah Nur’s large frame took up the doorway and seemed to block out the light streaming inside. His lips twisted themselves into a parody of a smile. Charles stared the obliteration of his dream and a lifetime of hard work in the eye.
“This is a momentous occasion, Charles. Tessa, bring in the champagne. We have about five minutes for a toast before the press conference.” Nur turned to Charles and nodded at the contracts in front of him. “Have you contacted Summers yet?”
“No. I intend to call him after the conference.” He stifled the urge to remind Nur that it was being televised live. Telling Scott over the phone before the axe fell was redundant and spared little cruelty to the exuberant young director who he’d always regarded as a son.
“Fine. That’s fine.” Tessa carefully uncorked the champagne and poured for the assembled company before taking her leave. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. She had to update her resume on Monster, knowing full well that they always eliminated the clerical and office management staff first. She’d been self-medicating herself with M&Ms out of the vending machine before their meeting even began, dreading the memo she knew she would have to write.
Sapporo, on-set, several hours later:
“Don’t be such a wuss, Logan. If you want her, grab her with both hands.” Kitty took a pencil tucked into her bun and made an adjustment to the design for one of her animatronic robots’ schematic. “She’s the best thing that’s happened to you since…I don’t know when.”
“Hey, my life wasn’t always this messed up, Pryde. Cut me some slack, will ya?”
“Not in my job description. Should’t have been playing hide the sausage with a certain Julia Roberts wannabe.”
“Errrrgghh.” Logan scrubbed his palm over his face. “The shit sounds so tawdry when ya word it like that, Half-Pint.”
“Hey, it IS tawdry. That ain’t my fault,” she clucked.
“Kid’s got a point,” Hank agreed.
“Fuck off,” Logan warned, stomping off to his folding chair. He sipped at the wooden-tasting coffee, wishing it were Ororo’s special cocoa. His body still remembered the feel of hers draped against him, squirming and slippery, responding to his touch…aw, dammit, there was the redwood again. Great.
“Anyone saw the news today? There were some aftershocks a few days ago. Word is, we might end up in a quake.”
“We can’t afford a quake. We’re not budgeted for a quake,” Kitty jibed.
“Thought I felt things go a little off-kilter a few nights ago,” Logan muttered. He’d marked it up to indigestion and wanting to rip Summers’ guts out through his chest cavity.
“Logan? I need to speak with you.” A nasty little chill ran up his nape at the sound of Jean’s voice. He turned to face her. She had her game face on, thanks for Raven’s makeup brushes, and she looked ready to pounce.
“Look, I’m just getting ready to head back, ‘Ro’s still not feelin’ all that great ““
“She can manage a few more minutes, Logan, she’s not a baby,” Jean snapped. She grabbed his sleeve and yanked him half out of his chair.
“Don’t pull this shit, Jeannie!” Logan growled.
“I’m not pulling anything. C’mon,” she ordered. “Let’s go.” She glared at Hank, Kitty and Peter, and they each went back to their respective tasks without so much as a whimper.
“Thanks a heap, guys,” Logan muttered under his breath. “Yer real pals.”
“I don’t want any of that,” Kitty piped up in passing.
“You’re on your own, buddy,” Hank shrugged.
Jean tugged him into her cluttered trailer. Logan practically stumbled over a case of Fiji water, banking his shin against it and cursing impatiently. “And ya used ta complain about my place bein’ a dump.”
“Whatever. Logan, what was that little thing about with Scott the other night? Why are you two having this little contest over Ororo?”
“At least ya remembered her name this time,” he grumbled. “Ain’t a contest, as far as I’m concerned. Better question is, why are ya lettin’ Scott sniff around Ororo?” She was glad to have struck a nerve; Logan was jealous, too.
“I’m not ‘letting’ him do anything. He can do what he wants. And he has,” she griped. “Scott’s filed for divorce.”
“Shit. Jeannie, I’m sor-“
“Fuck off, Logan. That’s not why I brought you back here. It’s not like I want you to feel guilty for breaking up my marriage…”
“Last I remembered, ya had a hand in that yerself.”
“Ohhhhh, there he goes, passing the buck!”
“Hey, if the shoe fits,” he snarled, looking meaningfully at her Manolo pumps. She wanted to smack him. “If I feel guilty about anything, Jeannie, it was screwing over Scott, when he’s done a helluva lot for me over the years with this gig. I love my work, Jeannie. And we had something special for a while, but it’s cost too many people too damned much.”
“So that’s it? You don’t feel sorry for what we had? For letting it go down the toilet?”
“Flush, flush.”
Jean let out a little shriek and began to pummel Logan with her fists. Logan struggled with her, wanting to only hold her back from doing him damage. Her spindly heeled pumps came down on his unprotected toes, and he howled in outrage and pain. She surprised him by head-butting the bridge of his nose.
“GARRGGGH! SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK DID YA DO THAT FOR?!?!”
“Hate you. Hate you!” Jean rasped.
“Shit! Didntcha take yer pill, Red?”
“DON’T ASK ME IF I TOOK MY PILL! YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? IT’S ALL A BIG JOKE TO YOU? YOU DON’T LOVE ME, AND IT’S ALL A JOKE???” Her voice kept rising, and Logan didn’t want to be anywhere near her if, and when, anyone came running to see what the ruckus was about. Logan didn’t do ruckuses well.
“Shhhh, Jeannie, shut the fuck up! Yer makin’ a scene,” he hissed. He held up his arms to protect himself from her tiny, bony fists. She was panting in her zeal to hurt him by any degree possible.
“Sonofabitch. You. Didn’t. Love. Me. Hate you. So. Much.” She was losing steam.
“Ya didn’t want me ta love ya. Ya wanted Scott ta love ya, and God knows what else. Ya don’t hafta have everyone wrapped around yer little finger, darlin’. I can’t be anymore. This ain’t a game. I can’t play it anymore with ya. Let it go.”
“No,” she shook her head at him, letting her waves of red hair rattle with the motion. “I won’t.”
“Ya hafta let me go. We can’t do this anymore. I won’t. Scott doesn’t deserve it. If ya still love him, fight for him. I can’t do it for ya.”
“You sound like Raven,” she grated out. She pulled away from him and straightened her top. “Get out, Logan.”
“Get out?” he barked. “Fine. I didn’t wanna come in here, anyway.” He turned to leave, then paused. “This ain’t gonna get any better if ya keep throwin’ me between you and Scott. I don’t do this anymore. Just stay away from me, Jeannie. I mean it. Yer not gonna come between me and ‘Ro.”
“That’s it, isn’t it? She’s all you care about.”
“Yeah. She is. I’m sorry if that rubs ya the wrong way, but that’s life.”
“Do you love her?”
“That ain’t any of yer business, Red.” He was letting his mouth get him into trouble.
“Do you love her, Logan?” she pressed. “It’s the least you can tell me, don’t you think?”
“Back off, Red?” He grabbed his hat, which had been knocked off in the skirmish. “I’m outta here.”
Naturally, he ran smack dab into Scott as he exited the trailer. His nose was still smarting and bleeding slightly as he dabbed at it with a Kleenex from his jacket pocket. He’d been keeping spare tissues for Ororo everywhere in the bungalow, including a few on himself for emergencies.
“Are you done?” Scott asked, eyeing Logan up and down with more than a little resentment.
“Yeah. I’m done.”
“Good. Tell ‘Ro I said get well. We miss her.” Then Scott had another thought. “And Logan? It is the least you can tell her. And Ororo. Don’t play these dumb ass games with Ororo that you have with everyone else. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Sure. I’ll let her know.” Logan stomped off. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered to himself when Scott was out of earshot. Great. Red made a scene, Scott was preaching to him, and ‘Ro was acting like she didn’t know what to make of him. It just got better and better. He longed for a handful of Tums.
The weather overhead was strangely placid and gray, the fabled “calm before the storm.” The air felt heavy, warm and moist. It made his hackles go up and put him on full alert. The urge to run for cover nagged him and quickened his steps as me made his way to the Navigator. He had to get back to Ororo.
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