He was in Spain, in the airport, flipping through his English/Spanish dictionary that he was just about ready to hurl across the damn counter. At least, he was there. That was all that counted. He thought back to that day he decided to come. It had taken some choice words from Victor to make him move his ass.
He’d been at home, telling himself that he had to get out of this funk. He hadn’t been out of his house since Ororo left”two weeks and counting. He hadn’t done much of anything since she left. He rarely slept, didn’t eat. It was a scene straight out one of those movies they made for women, which he would never laugh at again. He really didn’t want to go on.
Victor bust through his door, literally. He took one look at the door, one look at Victor, and turned his eyes back to the television. “You’re payin’ for that.” Logan said without looking at Victor.
“Fuck that. The hell’s wrong with you? Jean’s been callin’ and shit, worryin’ your stupid ass was dead or somethin’.” Victor asked at him. Logan calmly picked up the remote and turned the television. Victor was yelling like a madman. He always knew that bastard was completely gone in the head.
“Well, I ain’t dead.” Yet, a mundane part of him added silently. “So, just go back and tell her that I’m okay.”
“Tell her your goddamn self.” Victor said. Logan didn’t respond. Instead, he gazed at the television intently. Victor turned his eyes toward the television. “Oprah? You’re watchin’ Oprah? What kinda sick shit…?” Victor moved his huge bulk in front of the television.
“If you don’t move your ass…” Logan growled.
“It’s ‘bout time you showed some kind of life. The Logan I know wouldn’t sit here and mope while watchin’ motherfuckin’ Oprah. Oprah! Have some dignity, will ya. The Logan I know would stop being a pussy and get his goddamn woman.”
But he liked Oprah. And he would’ve had bon-bons and a house robe on, too, if he had either of those in his possession. He was just about to tell Victor as much until he realized what the asshole had said to him. What was even funnier was the fact that he was right. He wouldn’t tell him that, though. Why was he sitting there moping around? He said he was going to make it right, and he damn well was.
What was worse than moping around? Giving up, that’s what. So what if she was about a billion miles away. What was stopping him from being a billion miles away with her?
“This don’t mean I like you.” Victor said before leaving Logan’s apartment that day. “And if you hurt her, I swear to God I’ll kill you, so don’t fuck this up, runt.”
And that’s how he ended up in Spain, looking up words he couldn’t really pronounce. He’d actually taken some advice from Victor Creed of all damn people, but it made sense. Well, he hadn’t leave for Spain immediately after he Creed’s visit. He had needed a little time to get himself together. Whether Ororo came back or not, he had to get his life on the right path.
His first stop before Spain was the club. When he walked through the doors, he saw relief wash over Jean’s face. Maybe, she did care about him a little. He let her fawn over him for a little while. He listened to all the “I missed you, Logan,” and “Where have you been?” with little emotion. Then, he told her in no uncertain terms that if she didn’t tell Scott about them by the time he got back, he would tell him his damn self.
Damn what Scott thought about him. She wasn’t going to do this to him. He was going to be part of that baby’s life whether she liked it or not. Her face went about ten shades red. He told her exactly how he felt about Ororo, and then her face went ten shades white. Finally, he told her that he would continue to work for her when he returned, if she wanted, but that’s all there would be”work”no matter what happened.
He felt better after his talk with Jean. It was so much easier to just say the things that needed to be said instead of keeping them all inside. Then, he left for Spain. Then, he went to Spain. Now, he was trying to figure out how to say “car” in Spanish. It wasn’t going so well. Finally, the woman informed him that she spoke English.
Joaquin’s condo had been easy enough to find once he figured out what he was doing. He swallowed hard when he knocked on the door, expecting Joaquín to answer, but instead, the woman that he’d seen Ororo with that day in the airport. She invited him in, but he refused. It wasn’t fair to come there confessing your love for another man’s woman and drink all his alcohol, too. It was either one or the other, but both would just be bad taste.
They weren’t around, but her friend, Yukio, told him where she was. She was at some club with some name he still couldn’t pronounce, even after she said it, but he found it, nonetheless.
He walked into the club, heart thumping loudly in his ears, and there she was. Looking at her now, he felt like she’d been away a lifetime. She was dancing. She wore a dress so dangerously low that he feared any moment her breasts would release themselves, a split ran high up the front her dressed, revealing a just hint of black lace every time her legs moved.
Joaquín spun her out across the floor with one hand. She was a blur of brown skin, red dress, and white hair, then he spun her back toward him pulling her too his chest. She leaned into him, raising one leg against his thigh, which he placed a hand securely under, raised her hand in the air, her castanets keeping rhythm as her hips undulated in unison with Joaquín’s.
She snapped her castanets keeping time with the frenzied guitar riffs. She looked happy. What he had expected? That she would be just as miserable as he was. Right. He was just going to turn around. He was going to hop on the first plane back to New York. Fuck all that “this is new your life” bullshit. He was buying some bon-bons and a robe. He turned around, asking himself how he could be so stupid.
Hope springs eternal. Bullshit.
“Logan?” he heard her say behind him. She’d seen him. He couldn’t do this. He should keep going like she kept going when he called to her, but he turned to face her, anyway.
Fin
Author’s Notes: I wrote and rewrote this one million times because I didn’t know exactly how I wanted it to go. Don’t much like it either, and it turned out longer than I expected (still not very long, though). Maybe because I couldn’t decide what I really wanted to happen. Maybe because Sparkle kept making me laugh. I don’t know. I didn’t want anything that sounded too hopeful. I didn’t want anything that sounded too disparaging, either. I left it open-ended.
After doing a little thinking, I have decided to write thanks to a little prodding by your wonderful words, a song called “Space Dementia” by my newest muses (a group called Muse, go figure), and the fact that I wouldn’t really be happy if I didn’t. Besides, there is still much I have to put on the plate. And I can think of a million different ways I could still spread the drama. I don’t know if I’ll be starting it immediately. I need time to sort out some things, first.
Once again, thanks for all your encouragement and especially your patience. This story really just started on whim, the fact that my SO worked EARLY in the mornings, and an interesting word, “Odalisque.” I wrote down some things I wanted to happen in the story, but it never really had set path. Some did happen. Some didn’t. Over time, your reviews and emails sort of influenced how this all would go, and of course, sometimes, the muses decided they’d dictate how this would go. Thanks again. :)
