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Author's Chapter Notes:
Summary: Games. Ugly, dirty games.

Author’s Note: I know where this story is supposed to go, but I just can’t push myself to finish it. I’ve been away from writing for a bit in favor of listening to my art muses instead. Feel free to check out my DeviantArt portfolio, which is chock-full of Ororo sketches and paintings
I Call Bullshit

Summary: Games. Ugly, dirty games.

Author’s Note: I know where this story is supposed to go, but I just can’t push myself to finish it. I’ve been away from writing for a bit in favor of listening to my art muses instead. Feel free to check out my DeviantArt portfolio, which is chock-full of Ororo sketches and paintings.

I’ve spoken with a few of you about this story. I tried to keep the feedback in mind as I came up with this, but it’s been hard to put words to screen. I hope it’s enjoyable, or at least relatable.

Ororo couldn’t put her finger on why she felt so much like crap. She could mark it up to the aggravations of moving. She sat back on her haunches and mopped the sweat from her cheeks after tearing off another brown strip of heavy duty tape. Her apartment was still a mess of unassembled boxes and newspaper-wrapped knickknacks, and the task in front of her seemed monumental. It was always difficult making a big change.

This one felt like it was swallowing her up.

Anna was a better friend than Ororo felt she deserved. She agreed to let Ororo stay with her for a few weeks in her old apartment once she took over the lease, renewing it in her own name. Ororo already paid for a storage space for two months to buy herself some time to find a place back in New York that wouldn’t charge her more than a deposit, first month, last month, an arm and a leg, and her future firstborn.

She felt wistful yet resigned now as she made her trip to work. Her feet had worn a groove in the pavement from riding the same bus or red line, stopping at the same Greek café for spanakopita, and getting her nails filled at the salon on the corner. She’d miss the playbills and posters for upcoming shows plastered around scaffolds and theaters and the smell of Chinese food wafting through vents as she walked past Andy’s Joke Shop. There would be no more window shopping at Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market on her lunch breaks or strolling past Boston Harbor on sunny, windy days. Boston was never truly home, but it grew on her, having its own flavors, personality and history. Some of the cosmetic similarities were still there; people didn’t make eye contact in the street, everyone walked fast, and women wore their purses under their coats. The odors of the subway tunnels still mingled with the aromas of vendor stand hot dogs and bus exhaust, and the noise from the street warred with the cacophony of voices in her head screaming that she was making a grave mistake.

She still avoided Logan, and that dratted man was heeding her unspoken wishes too well, giving her space she didn’t want. Her body craved the feel of him and the low, soothing rumble of his voice. Her blue eyes searched him out wherever she went, darting toward random short, broad silhouettes and dark profiles in the street; it was instinctive and automatic. She paused in tearing off a sheet of bubble wrap, feeling mentally and physically exhausted.

“Why am I doing this?” she muttered. “Why?” The packing material had no answers for her. She tossed it aside and rose stiffly, kneading her neck. She felt cramped and knotted up and craved a glass of iced tea. Her body’s internal clock also told her that it was dinner time even before she glanced out the window, noticing how far west the sun shifted across the shy. Long shadows darkened the pavement, and her Saturday suddenly became too short.

He could call. His fingers weren’t broken. There was that wheedling voice again. Ororo filled a plastic pink tumbler with coarse ice chips, listening to her freezer rattle as she leaned her palm against the lever on the door. She wouldn’t miss her crappy appliances, but with her luck, her next apartment’s would be just as bad, and her current rent would afford her a place with the square footage of a shoebox. Moving back to her old office and her old position came with a pay cut, something she knew Selene gloated over when she sent the memo to her Outlook distribution list on the day before. The posting and transfer request for Ororo’s job went online the same morning, making the last traces of Ororo’s regret evaporate. It was definitely time for a change of scenery. Goodbye, OptforWellth, Cambridge site. She was done.

She pulled some chicken legs out of the freezer and had them sizzling in the frying pan within minutes, but her stomach lurched slightly at the sight of the pink meat.

Weird.

Getting sick was the last thing Ororo could afford. She rummaged in her cupboards for some Airborne and collapsed onto her sofa shortly, tea in hand, where she clicked the remote to a Firefly rerun marathon.

*

What the hell was wrong with that woman? Logan slammed his wrapped fist into the heavy bag, feeling slightly satisfied at the clink and squeal of the chains suspending it from the ceiling. She was doing it again.

Tory was deserting him, without giving him any notice or even discussing it with him. She’d yanked the rug out from under him. Again. It made no sense. Logan reran the events in his mind like a timeout replay.

He unlocked his office door and set his briefcase on his desk. Hung up his charcoal gray blazer. Checked his phone messages. Stepped out to get some coffee and refilled the empty pot. Stopped by Scott’s desk and made him pay up on the bet they made on the outcome of the Paquiao fight. It was an unremarkable day.

Except that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. There was still a trace of her scent in his bed linens. He buried his nose in the pillows, wishing he could stay wrapped in her essence. He still heard her husky chuckle in his ear and felt her caress, and it drove him nuts. She seldom left her office; Logan chanced asking Yukio if she noticed Ororo leaving the building for lunch and received a shrug for his troubles. His feet always paused in her corridor, but he always turned away. It was too tempting to invade her space.

He booted up his Outlook and sorted his inbox according to sender. All of Selene’s messages were red-flagged, which didn’t surprise him.

He choked on his second gulp of coffee when he saw “Underwriter leaving AMT” in the subject line. “Damn it.” Logan opened it and felt his gut sink. This was it, that “off” feeling he’d had all week. It had culminated in this, dashing him in the face. Logan never wanted to wake up to this kind of rejection before they even got off the ground.

It’s with regret that I announce that the Cambridge site’s senior underwriter, Ororo Munroe, is now transferring to the New York office in her former capacity. I’ve enjoyed having her on my account management team, and we’ve shared a successful working relationship. Her last day is on June fifteenth. Please join me in congratulating her on her new opportunity. Logan ignored the rest of the message and the remaining nonsense about how her replacement was pending.

It took him a few minutes to digest the news and make sure he’d read it correctly. Logan reeled and sat back in his seat, shaking his head. “I can’t fucking believe this,” he muttered. “It’s like that?” He closed his eyes and felt gravity seize him for a moment, tightening his chest. She’s leaving.

That left him here, slugging it out at the gym in some attempt to sort out his head.
Logan didn’t feel like chasing her or calling out the dogs. The ball needed to stay in her court. He was tired of wondering what he did wrong. He uppercut the bag again and breathed in the scent of his own sweat.

The hell with it. Logan called bullshit. When was she going to tell him? Where did his opinion figure into all this? Better yet, where did she get the balls to leave him again without so much as a by-your-leave?

That was it. She was leaving him again. That was what rubbed him raw and left his heart feeling like someone scraped it out of his chest. Didn’t she feel what he felt? Didn’t she know how he felt? Did she give a damn? Logan knew he didn’t imagine her passion and how hard it rocked him from the moment they’d crossed paths again at the conference. Those weeks between their first encounter at the beach and that boring meeting fell away in an instant. The noise around them faded away and he drowned in her blue eyes, hearing nothing but her voice, remembering how husky and rich it sounded in the dark.

Logan growled and sent the chains squealing again, feeling his muscles burn with the impact. “Why?” he muttered. BANG. WHAM. BANG. The bag didn’t answer him.

Being polite and giving her room wasn’t helping him any, was it? Logan was resigned. It was time to quit waiting for an invitation and just barge his way in.

*


“Do ya want me to come up and help ya pack?” Ororo toyed with the phone cord, untwisting the knotted, stiff coil idly.

“No. I’m fine. I got rid of a lot of stuff in my last move. I don’t have too much besides my furniture.”

“That’s a relief, at least.”

“Yeah. I guess. I just never really felt at home out here, anyway. I miss New York. I miss my friends. I miss my dad.”

“Guess it’s time ta come back then, baby girl. Speakin’ of which… how does short, dark an’ handsome feel about all this?”

“Please, Anna. I don’t know. I didn’t run it by him for permission.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t have been a bad idea, Tory. Dontcha think he might feel a little hurt?”

“It wasn’t like that between us.” Ororo felt a pang of guilt at the lie. What was it like between like them, really? How was Tory supposed to measure what they had?

“Ah call bullshit. The heck it wasn’t, Tory. Anyone could take one look at ya an’ tell you have it bad for that man. Bad. Ah’m talkin’ full-on doodlin’ his name in yer notebook with little hearts, watchin’ him walk out of a room, droppin’ his name into random conversation, bad.”

“I don’t need this right now, Anna.”

“Yeah, ya do. Better ya listen t’me bitch now and actually take somethin’ useful from it, then come cryin’ back t’me that ya made a mistake after you’ve crossed the state line and unpacked yer boxes. It’s not too late to change yer mind, Tory.”

“I just can’t, Anna. I can’t just go back and beg for my job back. Everything’s already arranged.”

“So unarrange it. Rearrange it. Nothin’s set in stone, yet.”

“I already terminated my lease. They prorated me the last week’s rent.”

“Sheesh… sometimes, yer too damn efficient and organized, Tory.”

“I don’t like wasting time.” Ororo sighed and sat back on her kitchen stool. “Anna?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it still okay with you that I’m staying with you? This isn’t just about me and Logan, is it?”

“Girl, Ah already said it was fine. C’mon back. Only thing I’m sacrificin’ at my end is a little closet space. It’d be nice not ta hafta go to the movies alone fer a change. Ali misses ya, she said ta tell ya ‘What’s up?’ the next time Ah heard from ya. Said she wants ya t’come ta her housewarming.”

“Housewarming? Why? She moved?”

“Girl, she moved in with Cain.”

“The fuck…?” Ororo grinned and moved to her dinette’s chair for a better listen. “Say it isn’t so!”

“Ah’d be lyin’,” Anna chuckled, tsking. “They shacked up. Only took a month.”

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t.”

“Ah’m kinda happy for her,” Anna mused.

“I’m happy. I’m just… wow. I can’t believe it. Ali and Cain. They have nothing in common.”

“Shoot, that doesn’t matter, nowadays. He holds doors, pulls out her chair, rubs her feet and cooks dinner. Boy’s gainfully employed and doesn’t have a criminal record, and he worships the ground she walks on. Figure if he can put up with her PMS and drama, he’s gotta be Mr. Right.”

“Okay. There’s that. And the teddy bear collection.”

“And the pink bathroom.”

“And the shoe collection.” Which took up two closets.

“She stopped talking shit about Arthur, too.” Ororo’s jaw dropped.

“It’s a miracle.”

“It’s true love.”

“Thank the good Lord.”

“All right. What time do I hafta expect ya?” Ororo sighed again, then swallowed back a sour little taste in her mouth.

“Late, I guess. Depends on traffic. I told the movers to come at eight. Depends on where they manage to park.”

“How far have ya gotten with yer packin’?”

“I have just enough clean clothes left out and my perishable food still in the fridge. Most of my pictures are already off the walls.”

“Sounds dismal.”

“Moving sucks.”

“Yeah. Well, kiddo, I miss ya. Don’t think I don’t wanna have ya back here. Ah miss mah homegirl. Just seemed like Boston was gonna work out. Ah still think ya need ta rethink things with Logan. He seems like a good man, unless ya left out pertinent details, Tory, but it just seems like ya care about him.”

“It’s not worth it to ponder that now, when I already made up my mind.”

“Yer always allowed ta change yer mind. Right. Ah’ll shut mah yap. Love you, girl.”

“Love you, too, Anna.”

“See ya in two weeks.”


*

“Yeah,” Logan barked at the sound of a rap on his office door.

“That how you greet company?”

“Yer not company. Yer just here ta put more work on my desk,” Logan reminded Scott as he sauntered into his office, hands stuffed into his dress slacks’ pockets.

“What? Maybe I just wanna see what time my bro’s closing up shop for lunch. You wound me!”

“I haven’t even checked my inbox yet, but I’ve had the little alert envelope flyin’ across my screen all morning, Summers. I know half that shit’s from you.”

“Well… so what if it is,” Scott admitted, smirking. “C’mon. Open it later.”

“What’d ya send me?”

“Nothing interesting, except for the AMT attachments for the Westchester County implementation. You’re the one who sold ‘em the six preferred plans, buddy.”

“If I already made the sale, why do I need the attachments?” Logan’s brows knitted together. Scott shrugged.

“I dunno. Maybe because they sent along some new hire demographics that they didn’t show us before you met with them.”

“Shit.” Logan felt the headache creeping up the back of his skull, threatening to ruin the rest of his afternoon. “What kind of demographics are we talkin,’ here?”

“Cobra retirees and more preexisting conditions than you can shake a stick at. It shouldn’t change much. They just want some language written into their policy riders.”

“Run it by Legal,” Logan growled.

“They bought preferred plans. Legal won’t wanna review it.”

“They’ll have to, depending on where they want the language in the shell. They aren’t self-funded.” Logan leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. “Better yet, kick it back to Selene. She’s the account manager.”

“She kicked it back to you.” Logan threw up his hands.

“Battle ax.”

“Soon to be Mrs. Battle Ax. Did you hear the news? Pierce popped the question.” Logan rocked back in his chair.

“Yer shittin’ me.”

“Nope.” Scott shook his head.

“Talk about Hitler and Eva Braun.”

“What? They seem happy together.”

“They’re just… smarmy. Pierce has something stuck up his ass, and ya need a tractor ta pull a needle outta hers.”

“Eh. Yeah. Well, whatever. They seem happy,” Scott repeated. “Leave it at that.”

“Hope their wedding registry includes a tractor.” Scott snorted.

“Don’t leave that image in my head. I have to meet with her about our next trip.”

“Nevada?”

“Yup. Gotta meet the group’s benefits coordinator and work with the Vegas Client Services team to go over their state mandates.”

“Don’t lose too much money playing the slots at the airport.”

“I could never get into gambling. Betting on a fight is one thing, but at least I can take a crack at which guy has the best chance of getting the knockout. Everything else is a waste. I’d rather spend my money on drinks at a good sports bar or pay for it on Pay-per-View.”

“Ya live a safe life, Summers.”

“At least I’ll live long enough to regret it.” Scott sighed. “C’mon. Clock out. Where do you want to eat?”

“Eh. I dunno… nah. I’m good. I’ll work through.”

“You’re flaking on me?” Scott threw up his hands and shook his head. Logan’s stomach agreed with Scott, snarling up at him for a pastrami on marbled rye. “Take a break. It’ll all still be here when you get back.”

“See all these?” Logan gestured to his stacked inboxes. He’d given up on trying to organize any of it; binder clips, sticky notes and red post-it arrows that said “Sign HERE” mocked him. “These are going to start having babies any minute. My email’s about to blow up, and the tech support guys keep naggin’ me that I’m hogging up all the bandwidth on the server.”

“So quit hoarding old emails.”

“Every time I delete one, I need it the next day. I don’t like to throw anything out.”

“You’re your own worst enemy, man.”

“G’wan. I’m good.” Logan waved him off as Scott started backing toward the door, tapping his watch.

“Last chance.”

“Tomorrow.”

“All right.” Scott turned to leave, then doubled back at the doorway. “Logan.” He looked over his shoulder into the hall, then lowered his voice. “Have you talked to Tory?” Logan blanched. He punctuated his long-suffering sigh by flicking his pen across his desk.

“Talk to Tory about what?”

“The fact that she’s putting a handful of states between you right when things were getting interesting?”

“’Interesting,’ he says. Shit.” Logan groaned and rubbed his face. “It’s bullshit. What the hell am I even gonna say to her? She’s an adult, Summers. It ain’t like she has to ask my permission to leave.”

“Nope. Sure would be nice if she mapped out her exit strategy with you a little, though.”

“Exit strategy. Nah.” Logan leaned back in his chair and folded his burly arms across his chest. “Don’t even go there, Summers.”

“People keep in touch when they relocate.”

“I don’t want a pen pal.”

“You do want her.”

“I don’t want to waste my time. Life’s short.”

“And it’s lonely. And you don’t meet a woman like Ororo Munroe every day. Logan, she’s good for you.”

“Sure. Sure, she is.” Logan shoved himself back from his desk and tucked his hands behind his head. “Scott, from the moment we met, that woman’s turned my life friggin’ upside down. She blows hot and cold. She’s anal and a control freak. She’s… friggin’ bossy. And here’s the thing, Scott, she’s already walked out on me once. She just tiptoed out the door. No business card, no instant messenger handle… nothing.”

“Maybe she thought she was doing you a favor the first time around. And it doesn’t matter. We were leaving Mexico, anyway.”

“It’s just bad form!”

“Men do it all the time.”

“Not this man. Don’t give me that shit. A favor. That wasn’t any damned favor, Summers. You don’t show a man the night of his life, and… mark him, practically, like she did me, and then just tiptoe out the door.”

“You snore. I doubt she had to tiptoe all that quietly,” Scott scoffed.

“Fuck off.”

“What did you expect back then, Logan? If she had stayed, it wouldn’t have made a difference. She still would have potentially been a ‘pen pal.’”

“This is different. Scott, she’s under my skin. It would’ve been better if I’d never met her.” Scott frowned and shook his head. “It was easier when I couldn’t put a job title to her face. She was just a name in my inbox. There wasn’t all this drama.”

“Bullshit.”

“You don’t… you don’t do what she did, and then just walk away. Twice.”

“What did she do?” Logan leaned forward in his chair and sighed, giving Scott a hard look.

“She owned me from the word go.”

*

Logan came home from work in a black mood. He kicked his door shut behind him and slapped his sack of take-out onto the counter, glad to have the rest of the world out of his face for the next ten hours. He despised working so late that he didn’t have enough time to unwind and empty his thoughts before crawling into bed, setting the alarm, and doing it all again. He was the same hamster running around in the same wheel…

Logan crammed an egg roll into his mouth, tearing off half of it as he checked his messages. His stomach graduated from growling to snarling and pacing its cage; Logan cavalierly ignored it and tackled his inboxes, wrangling with the regulatory staff and legal department for the better part of the afternoon. Logan heard their suggestions with a jaundiced ear; it all sounded like nagging after a while, and like they were telling him how to do his job.

It would’ve been better if I’d never met her. His own words echoed in his head.

She was leaving again. Logan knew the drill from being alone too long; that keen of a loss was raw, but familiar. He dug in the bag for the tiny packets of soy sauce and tore one open with this teeth while his machine told him he had three new messages.

“…received at three-fourteen… PM…” Logan wondered who was calling him at that hour of the day; all of his friends knew what times he worked, and they could reach him on his cell.

“Logan, it’s Gayle. Hey. Just wanted to see how you were doing. The kids asked about Uncle Logan again, and I figured they were right, that I might as well touch base.” There was a slight pause. Her voice sounded sheepish. “We miss you. Guess I was just wondering how you’ve been doing, like with your personal life. I know you’re a workaholic.”

“Pffffttt… yeah. TODAY,” Logan told the machine. He anointed the rest of the egg roll with the sauce, practically coloring the filling black.

“I know it might be hard for you since you lost Jean to even think about meeting someone new. I guess… I just hope you’re not holed up in your apartment. Don’t spend too much time alone. And the thing is… Logan, if you could come out to see us this weekend, I’m having a little get-together at the house, and I have this friend who would love to meet you-“

“Nooooooooo,” Logan protested as he punched the fast forward button. “Sorry, Gayle.” His life was complicated enough, and Logan loathed blind dates. There was a reason why they were “blind.” With everything that was going on in his life “ and what was wrong with it “ Logan didn’t have the patience to make small talk over salad and tiramisu.

Logan and Ororo had never done the “small talk” dance, with all the awkward silences and safe topics. They clicked. The chemistry was instant, and her heat consumed him. She knew him, how he liked to be kissed, or where on his body her touch would most drive him wild. They could enjoy companionable silences, speaking with looks, able to read each other’s eyes… souls.

Beep…

“It’s Scott. Hey, I know I already talked to you earlier, but I wanted to leave you a message, more to remind myself. My kid brother Alex is planning a camping trip next month when it warms up a little. Let me know if you’re interested.”

“I’m game,” Logan muttered. He could stand the change of scenery, if anything. Logan hit delete and opened up his carton of beef lo mein.

Beep…

“Jimmy, it’s John. Just wanted to tell you you’re an uncle again. Eight pounds, ten ounces, and the kid’s a redhead. We named him Jamie. We can already tell he’s going to be trouble.” Logan grinned. “Let me know when you can come out. We’re leaving the hospital tomorrow.”

“Jamie!” He chuckled. Bastard. Sure, name the kid after him and blame Logan when he turned out to be a little terror. John always loved blaming Logan for everything, after all. It still gave him a warm glow. Another little nephew to spoil was good news, something Logan needed.

He grew wistful. It was so damned hard, every time he visited his kid brother, when Logan would see his kids and wonder what having them with Jeannie would have been like. Once in a while, Laura would look up at him, feeling his stare, and the puzzled, bashful smile and mischievous look in her eyes would pull at him, tightening his throat. Gailyn and Joey had the same effect on him, and Logan felt like a heel for not visiting more often. It hurt so much, still so badly after all this time. Jean still haunted him, left him aching and bleeding from an unstitched wound. Logan’s view of the horizon disappeared behind a black fog. The future of his life with her, of the family they would have had lost its focus, forever blurred and unreadable. The dream still yet breathed, but its pulse was faint, barely a murmur. In sleep, he still reached for her, still heard a feminine voice teasing him, but the reality enveloped him brusquely, coldly at daybreak when he rolled over and felt the empty pillow beside him.

Ororo lent that faint pulse new breath. The clouds obscuring his vision of the future parted slightly, and the sunlight teased him but threatened to disappear every time he dared to hope… Logan didn’t want sun-kissed, constantly shifting clouds. He wanted to step fully into the light, hand in hand with his own ever after. Ororo’s fleeting scent in his pillows belonged there, but it was fading too quickly. She was leaving before they could explore what they had, leaving him with too many questions and what-ifs.

Logan resisted the urge to open his work laptop, deciding on leisure instead of after hours catch-up on his inbox. A cold Molson called to him, and he propped his stocking feet on the coffee table as he read his mail and that day’s Globe. His solitude felt too quiet; he remedied it with his iPhone, plugging it into his speaker dock. Oldies rock filled his apartment as he tidied his kitchen. Mundane chores took their turn nagging him one at a time. Logan bagged up trash, collected his discarded clothing where it lay in corners or draped over furniture, emptied the kitchen sink and dishwasher and threw out old junk mail. He mused that his home couldn’t be considered anything more than a bachelor pad. Despite framed family photos occupying side tables and his corridor walls, the homey touches just weren’t there. Logan couldn’t think straight amidst the clutter, and his fingers itched to tackle bigger tasks.

He confronted his closets next, rearranging the racks, bringing forward his short-sleeved polos and guayaberas. He reconsidered them a moment, then moved them back, pushing away the memory of salty air and balmy heat, and long, slender fingers unbuttoning his collar. Logan extracted his sweaters, contemplating whether it was warm enough to pack them away in the lidded Rubbermaid boxes Jean had bought for that purpose; nothing worse than getting another month of rain once he had his coat dry cleaned.

He went through his shoes, arranging them back into pairs, deciding to discard a pair of flip-flops that had seen better days, when he noticed the large cardboard box. He peered inside the top flap and hesitantly pulled it into direct light. He sighed at the familiar contents and torn remnants of packing tape. Jean’s things, the box that Gayle mailed him. That familiar darkness welcomed him back, enveloping him as he slowly began to empty it, reverently setting each item on the floor. It still hurt, a stinging cut rather than a gaping wound. The novels, dog-eared to her favorite parts. Three pristine skeins of yarn, still neatly speared with her blue crochet hooks. Issues of Redbook, Women’s Health and Marie Claire, stamped with her name and address, mocking him that she still lived there. Her favorite, comfy chenille slippers; he stroked them wistfully. The travel case of makeup that she didn’t really need. Logan emptied it completely, noticing the faint scent of Chanel, unburying treasures he’d forgotten about. Jean’s wedding set was already tucked in a metal storage box under his dresser where it wouldn’t haunt him. He contemplated the perfume, at a loss; he could send it back to Gayle, if she was interested in it. He lifted out two filmy scarves that he vaguely remembered Jean wearing, wondering why Gayle hadn’t kept those, too.

A small, flat object unwound itself from the sapphire blue scarf and hit the floor. Logan frowned at the small, sealed, lumpy white envelope. His own name peered back up at him, scrawled in Jeannie’s handwriting. He turned it over and tore open the flap, and his fingers found the small, white plastic stick, one end capped with a clear protector. The blood drained from his face as he saw the two fine blue lines in the tiny window.

He dropped it. His world spun as disbelief clogged his throat. Logan shuddered and rocked back onto his ass, and his shaking hand reached up to cradle his too-heavy head.

He couldn’t stop the hot, futile tears when they came. Months tumbled over like falling cards, burying him with grief that was too fresh. Jean’s words came back to him, a too-brief encounter at the breakfast table the day before she left.

What would you think about starting a family?

It’s on my to-do list.

What if we moved it to the top of the list?

He’d shrugged over the edge of his coffee cup, making too-short work of his scrambled eggs.

We’ll see, baby.

His graveside sobs echoed forward in time, burning their way up from his throat in the silence of his room. Her scent was gone. Her laughter was gone. All that remained of her were photos, barely tangible reminders of her, and the contents of that box.

*

There it was again… Ororo exhaled through her nose, long and slow, but nothing was helping that weird little bubble of nausea that plagued her since she woke up. “Ugh,” she muttered, wondering why she needed this new problem, perched atop the mountain she already had. She took a cautious sip of her herbal tea infused with ginger, hoping it would calm her gut. Dry toast for breakfast was as big a risk as she was willing to take, and she brought her bottle of Tums tablets to work with her, munching a couple while she teleconferenced with the Phoenix office, placing her phone on mute.

“…that should wrap up the implementation of the new flex plan in the western market. I’m pretty excited to introduce it to the white space states once the shells are approved. See what you’re missing out on, Ororo?” Ororo shook herself from her daydreams and turned her speaker back on.

“Pardon? Oh. Sure. All the fun’s passing me by. All the more for you, Donald.” She heard his snarky smile as he spoke.

“We know where you live,” he teased. “Might send a few implementation packages back to New York with you to price out in case you get bored.” She heard Selene’s hollow laughter in the background, and her stomach roiled again. Damn.

“Don’t want you getting bored,” Scott chimed in dryly. Him, Ororo would miss.

“I’m shopping on Amazon as we speak.” Scott chortled, but Donald and Selene’s laughter sounded more strained. Good. Bite me. “What time is the meeting over again?”

“We will miss you,” Donald offered.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you, sir.”

“All packed?”

“Still need a few more boxes. I’m almost ready to go. It’ll be hard to leave Boston.”

“Will it?”

Ororo rubbed her temples and restrained herself from sighing out loud. His voice sounded coarse and gruff; she’d nearly forgotten that Logan was on the call.

“It’s always difficult to say goodbye and start a new chapter,” she offered blandly.

“Guess it depends on what you thought you missed when you wrote the last one, Tory.” Ororo blanched. Damn it, there was her pet name. He always had to bait her when they weren’t alone.

The mere thought of being alone with him again made her hunt for her running shoes. She couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t…

…go one more minute of this damn meeting with her stomach acting so disagreeable. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she told them, voice husky and uneven as she excused herself. She hit the mute button on her phone and darted out of her office. Her heart fluttered and she broke out in a cold sweat, dodging two guys from accounting and the third floor receptionist as she beelined to the rest room.

A quick scan of the four stalls found feet in only one of them, to her relief. She hoped it wasn’t anyone she knew as she angled her way into the second one and kicked the door shut behind her. She braced her hands on the seat, paused a moment, and retched violently into the bowl, no doubt everything she’d eaten for the past twelve hours. Ororo sank to her knees and reached for a handful of toilet paper, swabbing at her clammy forehead. A few moments later, her stomach decided she wasn’t finished, and she jerked back up for a second round.

When her head stopped spinning, she flushed and hobbled to the sink, no easy feat on stiletto pumps. Her reflection wasn’t her friend. Her skin had a slight green cast to it and her eyes were watery and red-rimmed. “What is wrong with me?” she muttered aloud. The occupied stall swung open after a second flush, and Ororo remembered she wasn’t alone.

“You okay, Ro-Chan?” Ororo splashed a little cool water on her face as Yukio approached. She handed Ororo a handful of the coarse recycled paper towels in an attempt to help. “You look rough, sweetie, and that didn’t sound too good. You headed home?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Hope it’s not a bug.”

“It’s just my stomach. Might just be stress belly. I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“Stress makes you puke? Isn’t changing jobs supposed to fix that? I swear, Ro-Chan, I thought for a moment you might be preggers. My cousin used to just barf her guts up like that when she found out she had a baby on the way.” Ororo paled. “Better get an EPT,” she suggested.

“Shit…” Yukio’s eyes widened.

“What? I was joking. Ohmigod. Shoot. Are you pregnant?”

“Shit.”

“You said that already.”

“Oh, God, Yukio. Oh, God. This is just… oh, God.” Mind-numbing shock and bewilderment rooted her to the spot, and her skin broke out in a clammy flush. Pregnant. Yukio took her hand and squeezed it, giving her a calm look and pragmatic nod.

“Right. Let me go get the EPT. I have an extra one in my bag. Just had a close call this month. We won’t talk about it,” she decided as Ororo gave her a side-eye and some neck sass. “Seriously. We won’t talk about it.”

“Giiirrrrll…”

“I’ll be back in a second.”

“Just bring it to my office. I’m not doing it now.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense!” Yukio swatted her.

“Don’t smack someone who just threw up. I might not be finished.”

“Nah. You’re finished. Trust me. There’s nothing left in that stomach of yours. That was foul. Go. Fix yourself up. Put your makeup on. I’ll bring up the stick in a few minutes.”

“I’ve got to finish my conference call.”

“That’s rough.” Yukio gave her shoulder a squeeze before they separated. Ororo tried to walk more sedately toward her office than she’d left it. She dove into her purse as the meeting wrapped up, digging for breath mints and makeup.

“…think we lost Ororo,” Scott hedged. “I’ll make sure to include her in the minutes.”

“I’m here, Scott,” she chimed in as she found her Bare Escentuals compact and brush. She took a pitifully shallow sip of tea and popped in a breath mint, feeling slightly more human. “Go ahead and send them to me, that’s fine. Was there anything else? Is the group adding any more lives or a retiree tier?”

“We already covered that,” Selene mentioned on a sigh. “Retirees over sixty-five with COBRA. It’s in the policy language already.”

“I’ll price it out. Effective in July, correct?”

“Correct.” Ororo squelched another bubble of nausea. She damn well wouldn’t miss her snippy, tight-assed boss.

“Works for me.”

“Logan, I’m sending you the updated shell in a minute, so you’ll have it in case they want to add on that plan.” There was a pregnant pause on the line. “Logan? Yo?” Scott’s voice sounded bewildered and amused. Ororo frowned as she dusted a little powder over her pallid cheeks. “Is he still on the call?”

“I think we can wrap it up,” Donald announced cheerfully. “Strong work. Have a great weekend, everyone!”

“You too,” Ororo replied politely. She hung up the call and turned off her speaker, sighing in relief. If she never had to participate in another phone conference, it would be too soon. She turned away and continued fixing her makeup; behind her, the door clicked and swished open. She smiled and blurted out, “Oh, thank God, Yukio. You came here just in time, did you bring-“

“Did I bring what?” Logan grumbled. Ororo fumbled with her lipstick, scrambling not to drop it, but it hit the floor anyway. She whirled in her wheeled chair, and there he was, staring her down. Her adrenaline spiked and her fingers suddenly felt ice-cold.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she told him.

“Oh. Great. Am I intruding, darlin’?” His expression was bland, but his eyes bore into hers, searching for her secrets.

“Uh… no. Not… really.”

“This a bad time?” He wandered into the room anyway, and leaned against the edge of her desk, folding his burly arms across his chest. Ororo’s mouth went dry.

Damn him for looking so good, and for making him miss him so much with one look. He smelled the way she remembered “ and the way she liked “ and he skipped his blazer, settling for a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her fingers itched to loosen his silk tie and to stroke him, but she straightened up, crossing her leg neatly and keeping her hands folded in her lap.

She exhaled through her nose. “No. It’s fine. What’s on your mind?”

“I was gonna ask you, Tory.” She didn’t correct him, even though it was tempting. Letting him get too close wasn’t a good idea when she was planning to leave, but it was so damned hard. The closer he came, the stronger the current between them came, drawing her in.

“Nothing much. Nothing new.”

“Ya know I hate this, right?”

“Do you?” she asked casually, nodding slightly and giving him a brief shrug. He smirked and shook his head, and he ducked his face for a moment. He scrubbed at his nape before he stared at her again.

“That’s it? We weren’t gonna talk about this?”

“I didn’t know how much of a discussion we needed to have. I’m moving out of the state. I don’t know how much notice I should have given you, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“Us. Our situation. This.”

“Our situation. Ah. That’s what we’re calling it.” Ororo winced. “Can’t even call it a fling? At least that makes it sound fun.”

“Sorry. That sounded bad.”

“It sounded shitty,” he corrected her. “Tory…”

“It’s hard when you call me that,” she told him. “It’s almost too personal.”

“We got past the whole ‘too personal’ thing a while ago, I thought, when ya came to my place. Ya didn’t mind a little familiarity then.” Her cheeks warmed with the memory of how his skin felt against hers, tangled in his smooth sheets.

“I’m not sure where it fits in now. I’m moving, Logan.”

“I know that. I just don’t know why.”

“Boston might not be the right fit.”

“Ya haven’t given it much of a chance.”

“Its winters are too cold.”

“And you’re going back to New York. Try again.”

“I haven’t made that many friends here.”

“Scooter. Yukio. Me. And, hmmm… me. And me. Don’t forget about me.”

“You count once.” Her lips twitched.

“That’s where you come in, darlin’. Do I count at all?” Her shoulders slumped and her brows drew together. She was weakening, and his eyes were probing her, making it harder for her to make excuses.

“We had a little fun.” They had a lot of fun. “We get in trouble whenever we try to mix that with business.”

“Who said we were mixing it with business?”

“Things always have a way of getting a little carried away whenever you visit me in my office,” she pointed out. “That gets in the way of work a little, don’t you think?”

“We get work done,” Logan said slyly. A wolfish smirk curled his lips, and his eyes began undressing her. Ororo felt dangerous tingles run up and down her nerve endings, and the room suddenly felt too hot.

“Things haven’t been the same since I came here, Logan. It’s not you.” His eyes narrowed tellingly.

“Don’t say it’s you, either.”

“I’m not. But it is. I’m different. I used to be able to handle the hustle and ballbreaking stress of this job just fine before in my old office. I’m floundering in this one. Selene sees it, and that’s why she’d treating me differently than she did before.”

“Selene’s a battle ax,” Logan pointed out. “There are other account managers ya can work under at this site. Why didn’t ya look for other positions here?”

“Underwriters don’t just get up and quit everyday.”

“That’s how ya got here, if memory serves, Tory.” He took up all of her space, coming all the way around to her side of the desk, forcing her to look up at him. She could feel the heat radiating from him, and damn him, smell his cologne and natural, masculine tang of his skin.

“I already took the offer.”

“So it’s set in stone, then.”

“That’s how it works.”

“That’s not how we work.” Ororo saw something red from the corner of her eye, and she glanced quickly at her doorway, seeing Yukio arriving with the EPT. Ororo’s eyes widened in panic. Yukio, to her credit, froze, mouthed Oh, shit! and backed away from the door, darting back down the hall before Logan noticed anything was amiss. “You okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Ya seem a little off, darlin’.”

“Logan… sorry. I’m just tired. I’m stressed. And y’know, Logan… I just don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know how to describe where we’re at. If it were you, and you’d gotten an offer, a great offer at another site, would we be having this discussion?”

“You tell me. Truth, darlin’, if ya wanna know, is I’d have known where I stood if ya came to my office in that scenario and wanted to know how we would make this work. I’da been flattered as hell. I’d know ya cared. Ororo’s eyes flitted away guiltily. “I’d want ya to be honest with me and tell me how you felt.”

“If you were the one leaving, and if I said I didn’t want you to go, would you still go?” She wanted to turn away, knew the question was cowardly, but she stared him down.

“I’m not the one leaving.”

“Doesn’t matter. Answer the question.” She folded her arms and raised her brows. “You can’t expect one thing from me and then not let me expect the same thing from you.”

“If it were me, Tory, I couldn’t leave you.”

The air between them was charged with tension. Ororo opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t. She shook her head, but he nodded.

“It’s not up to me to change your mind.”

“But you could. You could, Tory, because ya’ve got that hold on me, and I’d want to know how we could make things work.”

“Is… is that what you’re asking me, James?” Her voice was quiet and slightly unsteady.

“Ya really wanna know what I’m asking you, Tory?” His eyes had a dangerous glint, and he straightened up from her desk, turning on his heel. Ororo panicked, thinking he was leaving her, but he briskly shut her door, just shy of slamming it, and she heard the lock click with a little dip in the pit of her stomach. Oh, boy.

She stood, even though her knees felt slightly weak. “Think about how this will look,” she urged him.

“It’ll look like we’re having a meeting. We have meetings,” he reminded her. She swallowed roughly. He eliminated the space between them and pulled her to him; his large hands felt warm and strong, and his arm was wrapped snugly around her waist. It was so tempting to just envelop him fully and give in to the need to touch him. She ducked her face away and her hand settled over his wrist firmly with the intent to free herself, but she felt his gentle fingers caress her cheek. She leaned into his touch instinctively. “I’m asking you if you think what we have is worth staying for, Ororo Munroe.”

“It’s not that easy, not as easy as you’re trying to make it sound.”

“It’s only hard because you’re makin’ it hard, sweetheart.” She felt the faint sting of tears threatening to undo her, but she shut her eyes and shook her head, turning from him. “I want ya to quit running away from me. I want ya to take a look at what we have between us and tell me it isn’t right, that we aren’t great together before ya leave me.”

“I’ve never run away from you!”

“Like hell. I could smell yer perfume in my sheets when I woke up in that hotel room, alone.”

“What would you have done? Gotten my number? Skype? Email? Added me to your Facebook? I never thought we would see each other again, Logan, and it was so hard to be with you like that, and to want you so much. You felt too good and too right, and I was never going to see you! You were just a memory of something amazing that I could never have, and I couldn’t stay and try to make excuses or promises to you. I’d only just met you. I didn’t expect you to be Prince Charming after one night. Having continental breakfast together or driving each other to the airport wouldn’t have made one bit of difference. It would have hurt even more.”

“It would’ve made all the difference in the world, darlin’! Ya wanted a clean break? Would’ve made all the difference in the world if you just said which company ya worked for, and we could have picked up where we left off.”

“You don’t know that.” His hand caressed the dip of her lower back, and she toyed with his tie. Keeping her hands off of him was proving impossible. He was touchable, and infuriating.

“I would have looked for you. I wanted to see you. You marked me, darlin’.”

“I was just a one-night stand. That’s all I would’ve been to you.”

“Never.” He shook his head solemnly and kissed her cheek, a sweet brush of his lips that made her shiver. She laid her fingers over his mouth to stop him from continuing; her control hung on by a thread. “I’m not him. I’m not your ex. I won’t waste your time, I’ll never take ya for granted, and I won’t break your heart if ya let me in.”

“I know you won’t.”

“Then stay.” There it was, that word again, which recalled his embrace and a lazy morning of getting to know him over old movies and omelettes. Logan stroked her hair, held back in its tidy French braid. He longed to mess her up, which was nothing new. She looked buttoned up and uncomfortable, but her blue eyes evoked the memory of white beach sand and brilliant sunsets. Ororo had been his escape and his refuge, and she was planning to run away from him.

Her words dashed his hopes. “I can’t.”

“Ya mean you won’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I ain’t got time for sorry, Ororo.” He released her, and her body cried out in protest, wanting his warmth and strength back. He turned his back on her, and she felt resigned when the door closed after him.

That was that.

It was a relief. It was done. And it felt all wrong.

*

That afternoon found her floundering through the rest of the day, and her stomach wasn’t any more cooperative after a meager lunch. By three, she was half-running to the rest room for round three, dodging two clerks and one intern to get to the third stall.

“That didn’t sound good,” one of them remarked from the sink.

“That’s rough.”

Ororo ignored them. Dizzying waves of nausea found her hugging the bowl; she leaned her forehead against her hand, catching her breath. After what felt like a minute, something slid into the stall under the door. She peered down at a small brown paper bag.

“Use it now,” Yukio called to her from outside the door. “Put your mind to rest, kiddo.” Ororo sighed. It had been a lousy day, and it wasn’t getting any better.

Five minutes later, she left the stall and set the bag down on the counter as she washed up and rinsed out her mouth. Yukio watched her with sober, expectant brown eyes.

“What’d it say?” Ororo glanced at her hollowly and passed her the bag, hand shaking. Her friend took out the little white tester stick and read the window. One faint blue line was slowly darkening beside the other solid one in the pane. Yukio’s eyes widened.

“Oh, shit.”





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