Claire was beginning to question the sanity of convincing Logan to let her ride with him to the Port Authority. Of course, if she hadn't pitched a fit and demanded he bring her along, she'd still be at the Institute, pacing the hall and glaring at her watch, wondering what was taking him so long.
Instead, she had a death grip on Logan's waist as he wove his motorcycle through the Expressway's morning rush-hour traffic. She kept her eyes closed and tried to ignore the sounds of tires screeching and horns blaring. She was tempted to ask him to slow down, but in all honesty, she was in as much of a hurry as he seemed to be. And after all, what were the chances of them encountering any of those drivers again?
"Why didn't he just teleport to the Institute?" she shouted. ...for the third time.
Logan's grip tightened on the handlebars, and she could only imagine how irritated he was with her by now.
"I already told you, I don't know!" he yelled back. "Maybe it's too far from the Institute, or maybe he's tired, or maybe he's hurt-"
"Hurt? We need to hurry up!"
Claire barely heard his answering growl, but she was relieved when she felt the bike lurch and pick up speed. And when the next person honked at them, she laughed at Logan's explicit instructions on just where they could blow their horn.
After what seemed like forever, they finally drove through the Midtown tunnel and headed up 34th Street. Of course, they'd hit every red light by the time they reached 8th Street, and traffic was much heavier. Claire was tempted to just jump off the bike and run the final few blocks.
The place was huge, though, and she needed to be patient for just. A little. Longer. Logan managed to find probably the only parking space in the parking garage, and they finally dismounted the bike.
Claire stuck close to him as they headed toward the terminal, suddenly aware of the multitude of people in the building. She wondered how Kurt was holding up. How much time had passed in camp since she'd left? Had it been... too long? Was his inducer still working? ...and what if he was hurt?
She needed to see Kurt. Now! She grabbed Logan's arm and started running.
Every few minutes, Kurt would glance at his inducer to check the time, then scold himself for being so impatient. Logan would get there, and then he would get to see--
"--Claire!"
There was, in fact, a very familiar blonde running towards him, dragging along an even more familiar stocky figure. Kurt bounded up off the bench, bag thumping against his lower back as he ran to meet them.
Claire saw Kurt jump up from across the terminal, and she stopped; afraid her eyes were playing tricks on her. Unfortunately, she didn't warn Logan, and he plowed right over her, unable to halt his forward momentum. He grimaced when he heard the sickening crack of her forearm snapping like a twig. As he carefully helped her back up, she was already resetting the bone; a quick tug moved it back in place and just like that, she was fine again.
"Logan, there he is!"
He turned his attention away from the small scene they'd been causing and looked in the direction Claire was pointing. He couldn't help grinning just a little as he watched the boy lope through the busy concourse.
"Kurt!" She'd whispered his name, as if afraid that speaking it any louder would make him disappear. A light shove from behind snapped her out of her daze, though. She smiled briefly at Logan, then ran to her boyfriend.
"Kids..." The man shook his head and chuckled as he followed at a more sedate pace.
Instead, she had a death grip on Logan's waist as he wove his motorcycle through the Expressway's morning rush-hour traffic. She kept her eyes closed and tried to ignore the sounds of tires screeching and horns blaring. She was tempted to ask him to slow down, but in all honesty, she was in as much of a hurry as he seemed to be. And after all, what were the chances of them encountering any of those drivers again?
"Why didn't he just teleport to the Institute?" she shouted. ...for the third time.
Logan's grip tightened on the handlebars, and she could only imagine how irritated he was with her by now.
"I already told you, I don't know!" he yelled back. "Maybe it's too far from the Institute, or maybe he's tired, or maybe he's hurt-"
"Hurt? We need to hurry up!"
Claire barely heard his answering growl, but she was relieved when she felt the bike lurch and pick up speed. And when the next person honked at them, she laughed at Logan's explicit instructions on just where they could blow their horn.
After what seemed like forever, they finally drove through the Midtown tunnel and headed up 34th Street. Of course, they'd hit every red light by the time they reached 8th Street, and traffic was much heavier. Claire was tempted to just jump off the bike and run the final few blocks.
The place was huge, though, and she needed to be patient for just. A little. Longer. Logan managed to find probably the only parking space in the parking garage, and they finally dismounted the bike.
Claire stuck close to him as they headed toward the terminal, suddenly aware of the multitude of people in the building. She wondered how Kurt was holding up. How much time had passed in camp since she'd left? Had it been... too long? Was his inducer still working? ...and what if he was hurt?
She needed to see Kurt. Now! She grabbed Logan's arm and started running.
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"--Claire!"
There was, in fact, a very familiar blonde running towards him, dragging along an even more familiar stocky figure. Kurt bounded up off the bench, bag thumping against his lower back as he ran to meet them.
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"Logan, there he is!"
He turned his attention away from the small scene they'd been causing and looked in the direction Claire was pointing. He couldn't help grinning just a little as he watched the boy lope through the busy concourse.
"Kurt!" She'd whispered his name, as if afraid that speaking it any louder would make him disappear. A light shove from behind snapped her out of her daze, though. She smiled briefly at Logan, then ran to her boyfriend.
"Kids..." The man shook his head and chuckled as he followed at a more sedate pace.
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