FIC: Complicated, Part I: The Best Defense (X-Men, Logan, Laura, Lester/Noh-Varr, PG-13)
Summary: Crap, the older brat is missing. Again.
Warnings: Vaguely inappropriate dancing, gay clubs
Author's notes: So, I should never contemplate AUs. Ever. because they spawn things like this, which is basically an all-human, Logan-raising-Laura-and-Daken!AU. Yeah. I really don't have much of a story arc plotted - I'm just letting the characters do whatever the hell they feel like.
Word count: 787
---
Logan slumps over the bar, running an absent finger over the edge of his beer glass. He should probably be getting home. Daken’s home from college for the summer, and Logan doesn’t trust him and Laura home alone together. It’s a lesson he learned early on - while Laura’s a pretty good kid, she’s stubborn as Hell, and when she gets ticked off, she just keeps at it. Daken, on the other hand, is mostly just a little bitch who’s enjoyed pushing his sister’s buttons since the day she showed up on their doorstep.
Sighing, he boosts himself up off his bar stool and heads out the door.
---
Well, at least the house is still standing. That’s always a good sign. And there’s no screaming or police cars, another good sign. Logan double-checks that he’s locked his car and cautiously approaches the front door. His boots crunch in the thin layer of late autumn snow on the ground, and the lock on the door sticks for a second. He steps inside and glances around, senses on full alert.
Quiet scratching sounds are coming from the kitchen, so that’s where Logan goes. He finds Laura there, sitting cross-legged on the counter with her homework in her lap. She looks up when Logan enters, her dark hair falling in her face. It’s gotten longer, Logan thinks absently. Her fists - bandaged, like they usually are when she comes home from karate class - clench around her pencil, and she gives him a heavy look. “He’s not here.”
Logan drops his coat over the back of a chair, and then sits down into it. “Figured. It’s quiet.” Laura squints in his direction.
“It’s loud when he’s here,” she agrees.
“So. If he’s not here, then where is he?” Logan asks. He really, really doesn’t trust that kid out on his own. Laura shrugs.
“Out. Don’t know where. Don’t care.” She leans back over her homework. Logan sighs, and grabs his jacket up again. He presses a kiss to his daughter’s temple, and swings the coat back over his shoulders.
“Good girl. I’m gonna look for him. Bed by eleven, finish your homework, you know my number if you need me. See you.” Laura nods.
---
Logan checks every local dive he can think of for Daken, but no one’s seen him all night. He slumps against the outside wall of the last one, growling in irritation. Where the hell is his kid? Daken was never particularly fond of Logan, having spent his first six years with his mom, Itsu, until she died and Logan got custody. The kid had always blamed Logan for her death, somehow, and the addition of a two-year-old little sister a couple of years had done nothing but cement Logan’s position in Daken’s mind as the bad guy.
A group of teenagers in tattered, black clothing and ridiculous amounts of metal shoved through their bodies walk past, and Logan growls again. He can think of one more place where Daken might be - a sleazy club he frequents far on the other side of town. Logan really, really doesn’t want to go there, but he’s running out of options.
He catches a bus that drops him off outside the front door and flashes his driver’s license to the bouncer. The beat inside the club is loud and steady, and the lighting is almost painfully dim, with sporadic strobe bursts that Logan is sure will leave lasting damage on his retinas.
He muscles his way through the crowd of men grinding and dancing, until he reaches a better vantage point at the bar. Logan scans the masses as he goes, looking for any sign of a tattooed, mohawked young man, but he can’t see Daken. He does, however, spot a kid he recognizes - the shortish guy with the facial tattoos, Leroy? Lester? Lester, that’s it. Daken’s friend, currently rubbing up against a muscular man with platinum-blonde hair. Both of them are pretty hammered, if their jubilant, offbeat grinding is any indication.
Logan shoulders through the crowd to them, grabbing Lester by the bicep and yanking him away from Blondie. “Have you seen my son?” He has to shout to be heard over the thumping music. Lester stares at him, dumbfounded, for a couple of seconds.
“Wha - ? Oh. You’re Daken’s dad.” Logan scowls and nods. Lester’s dance partner tries to pull him back, but Logan swats him off.
“Have you seen him?” Lester shakes his head and twists out of Logan’s grip, falling gleefully upon Blondie - who, judging from the wicked grin on his face, doesn’t much mind.
Logan sighs loudly, rolls his eyes, and wades out of the club.
Warnings: Vaguely inappropriate dancing, gay clubs
Author's notes: So, I should never contemplate AUs. Ever. because they spawn things like this, which is basically an all-human, Logan-raising-Laura-and-Daken!AU. Yeah. I really don't have much of a story arc plotted - I'm just letting the characters do whatever the hell they feel like.
Word count: 787
---
Logan slumps over the bar, running an absent finger over the edge of his beer glass. He should probably be getting home. Daken’s home from college for the summer, and Logan doesn’t trust him and Laura home alone together. It’s a lesson he learned early on - while Laura’s a pretty good kid, she’s stubborn as Hell, and when she gets ticked off, she just keeps at it. Daken, on the other hand, is mostly just a little bitch who’s enjoyed pushing his sister’s buttons since the day she showed up on their doorstep.
Sighing, he boosts himself up off his bar stool and heads out the door.
---
Well, at least the house is still standing. That’s always a good sign. And there’s no screaming or police cars, another good sign. Logan double-checks that he’s locked his car and cautiously approaches the front door. His boots crunch in the thin layer of late autumn snow on the ground, and the lock on the door sticks for a second. He steps inside and glances around, senses on full alert.
Quiet scratching sounds are coming from the kitchen, so that’s where Logan goes. He finds Laura there, sitting cross-legged on the counter with her homework in her lap. She looks up when Logan enters, her dark hair falling in her face. It’s gotten longer, Logan thinks absently. Her fists - bandaged, like they usually are when she comes home from karate class - clench around her pencil, and she gives him a heavy look. “He’s not here.”
Logan drops his coat over the back of a chair, and then sits down into it. “Figured. It’s quiet.” Laura squints in his direction.
“It’s loud when he’s here,” she agrees.
“So. If he’s not here, then where is he?” Logan asks. He really, really doesn’t trust that kid out on his own. Laura shrugs.
“Out. Don’t know where. Don’t care.” She leans back over her homework. Logan sighs, and grabs his jacket up again. He presses a kiss to his daughter’s temple, and swings the coat back over his shoulders.
“Good girl. I’m gonna look for him. Bed by eleven, finish your homework, you know my number if you need me. See you.” Laura nods.
---
Logan checks every local dive he can think of for Daken, but no one’s seen him all night. He slumps against the outside wall of the last one, growling in irritation. Where the hell is his kid? Daken was never particularly fond of Logan, having spent his first six years with his mom, Itsu, until she died and Logan got custody. The kid had always blamed Logan for her death, somehow, and the addition of a two-year-old little sister a couple of years had done nothing but cement Logan’s position in Daken’s mind as the bad guy.
A group of teenagers in tattered, black clothing and ridiculous amounts of metal shoved through their bodies walk past, and Logan growls again. He can think of one more place where Daken might be - a sleazy club he frequents far on the other side of town. Logan really, really doesn’t want to go there, but he’s running out of options.
He catches a bus that drops him off outside the front door and flashes his driver’s license to the bouncer. The beat inside the club is loud and steady, and the lighting is almost painfully dim, with sporadic strobe bursts that Logan is sure will leave lasting damage on his retinas.
He muscles his way through the crowd of men grinding and dancing, until he reaches a better vantage point at the bar. Logan scans the masses as he goes, looking for any sign of a tattooed, mohawked young man, but he can’t see Daken. He does, however, spot a kid he recognizes - the shortish guy with the facial tattoos, Leroy? Lester? Lester, that’s it. Daken’s friend, currently rubbing up against a muscular man with platinum-blonde hair. Both of them are pretty hammered, if their jubilant, offbeat grinding is any indication.
Logan shoulders through the crowd to them, grabbing Lester by the bicep and yanking him away from Blondie. “Have you seen my son?” He has to shout to be heard over the thumping music. Lester stares at him, dumbfounded, for a couple of seconds.
“Wha - ? Oh. You’re Daken’s dad.” Logan scowls and nods. Lester’s dance partner tries to pull him back, but Logan swats him off.
“Have you seen him?” Lester shakes his head and twists out of Logan’s grip, falling gleefully upon Blondie - who, judging from the wicked grin on his face, doesn’t much mind.
Logan sighs loudly, rolls his eyes, and wades out of the club.