*OOC -- The setup for this thread is based on the X-men: Endangered Species one-shot by Mike Carey.The Professor was sitting behind them
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Funerals made Logan wiggy. That was the only way to describe it. He felt itchy, and restless; his claws came out unintentionally as his hands balled into fists. Logan had seen Laura, sitting across the church, scratching the back of the pew in front of her with one of her claws, and he wished he could do the same. If he'd been anywhere else, he probably would have, but he'd always figured funerals deserved his respect - even if, like on this occasion, the funeral was for someone he'd never met
( ... )
Logan's legs were shorter, of course, but he could take off fast, which left Scott scrambling behind him.
"Hellfire?" he repeated, talking to Logan's back. They were only a short drive from the city, and Scott had considered, himself, suggesting that the two of them go for a driink. (Nowhere special, not a date, just in the city where they could slip into a crowd unnoticed). But Hellfire?
"Last time we went to Hellfire, you kept buying me drinks until I was unconscious, and the next thing I knew we were breaking into a secure weapons facility, with a crazy French ninja."
He caught up with Logan at the car, a small SUV that belonged to the school. Scott went to the left-hand door, and held up the key. "You explain; I'll drive."
"You're never gonna stop bitching about that mission, are you?" Logan said, as he slid into the passenger seat. "Though I'll admit that Fantomex was irritating as all hell."
Scott revved the engine, and Logan resisted the urge to grumble about the driving arrangements. "You see that old guy with the scarf, kept looking over at Chuck?" Logan assumed he had; Scott was always vigilant, and very good with details. It was one of the many things that made him a good leader, though Logan would never say that to his face. "That was Sebastian Shaw."
"It wasn't a mission. You kidnapped me. My marriage was ending and I was determined to be depressed, and you just had to pick me of all people --" Scott stopped, and felt some color rise to his face; this was just one of many events that he was being forced to reinterpret in light of recent events. "I don't even think Fantomex is French," he mumbled.
In response to Logan's more troubling bit of information, Scott didn't bother to ask how he knew. "Why?" he said simply, and then, "Do you think the Professor knew?"
Logan didn't bother to argue the point about the Fantomex mission any further. Yeah, Scott's marriage had been ending. And Logan had tried to get him out of his depression by getting him drunk, and then making him do the kind of work he was so goddamn good at. He'd thought that Scott might appreciate the effort - or at least want to try to help Logan like Logan had tried to help him. Logan had gone to that facility in search of his identity, after all. He'd needed backup. But Scott hadn't stopped bitching the whole time.
If there was one thing Logan should have learned at this point, it was that trying to help Scott Summers out of depression was a thankless, frustrating, and ultimately futile task.
Though at least this last time he'd gotten some kissing out of the deal. That wasn't likely to happen again, so maybe it was worth it
( ... )
"There's really no point in asking the Professor," Scott agreed. He pulled the car onto the highway, glad that Logan was agreeing with him. "I don't know what we'll get out of Shaw, but it can't hurt to let him know we're paying attention. Plus, you know, a little brawling might be good for the soul right now."
Reaching over to turn up the radio, he flashed a grin at Logan and got eyeful of the soul of his mud-covered shoe, not to mention -- well, he was glad that Logan wouldn't be able to trace the path of his eyes behind his glasses. This new awareness of the other man's body wasn't a bad thing, but it did feel odd. So did wondering exactly when would be the right time to say, By the way, I told Emma what happened, and she said it's all right if you and I fool around a little. It wasn't just the kind of thing you could drop into a conversation. At times like this, Scott wished he had more experience dating people who didn't read minds
( ... )
Logan grinned peevishly and spread his legs a little wider, smearing more mud on the dashboard in the process. "Yeah, you think so."
***
It didn't take long to get to the city, and before long they'd parked the car in a cheap lot and were approaching the Upper West Side entrance of the Hellfire Club.
Logan turned to Scott, expectant. "So what's the plan, bub? I'd suggest one of my own, but I'd be willing to bet you spent that whole ride thinking up some strategy. Wouldn't want to hurt your feelings or nothin'."
"Of course I have a plan," said Scott. "I always have a plan. "
He led the way up the tall marble steps to the club's main entrance, hearing Logan behind him and just a little to the left. They approached the doorman, a small unassuming type with an old-fashioned livery jacket, and glasses that looked like antiques. He appeared completely harmless, which meant he either had hidden powers, or that the real guard was elsewhere. Still, sometimes a direct approach was best.
"Hello, Michael," said Scott, reading the nametag. "I'm Mr. Summers, and this is Mr. Logan. We're going to see Sebastian Shaw, and if you try to stop us, my friend will kill you."
If a person could raise an eyebrow inwardly, Logan would have done it. This was Cyke's great plan?
Well, to be honest, Logan's wouldn't have been much different. So he might as well go along with the flow.
Logan stepped forward, grabbing the doorman by his bow tie and sliding his claws about an inch out of his knuckles. "I can give you six reasons why that ain't an idle threat."
The doorman quailed. "Bruno?" he called, voice quivering. "A little help here?"
Almost instantly, a much larger man with a squashed, mean-looking face, rolled-up sleeves, and inexplicably pink suspenders stepped into the doorway, hands hanging in fists at his sides. "What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?"
"We're here to see Sebastian," said Scott. He gestured toward Logan and the doorman. "Michael here seems to be under the mistaken impression we needed an appointment. I'm letting Wolverine handle this --" Scott tapped his glasses, "Because I don't want to bring out the heavy artillery. SHIELD's getting pretty tetchy about civilian property damage."
He could have changed into a visor before he got here -- he had one in his jacket, like always -- but he'd been up late watching Cary Grant movies and had a vague idea that getting by on charm instead of muscle was more impressive.
Bruno rolled his eyes. "Let 'em in, Mikey," he said. Logan dropped the doorman, and nobody really listened to the strangled protests that he had never actually tried to stop them. Scott figured anybody who took a job here ought to expect that kind of thing
( ... )
"Don't you know?" Logan said, retracting his barely-protruding claws with a short snakt. "Cute's my middle name." And he punched the guy across the jaw.
His jaw felt... hard. Too hard. Hard like Logan's own, with its metal-covered bones. As he watched, the skin moved over Bruno's face, shifting like putty back into position over what, if Logan wasn't mistaken, was definitely a set of gears.
The guard was a robot. Fantastic.
Scott was still recovering from Bruno's first punch, and Logan knew he had to keep the guard distracted for a little longer while Scott got his bearings. He decided to put his theory to the test and released his claws again, raising them up to slash across the man's arm. If he was really a robot, he could get himself repaired; if he wasn't, well, he had attacked first.
Bruno's arm fell off cleanly, emitting sparks as it went. Logan could see wires and circuitry poking out from where his elbow used to be.
As Shaw stepped into the hallway, all bows and ruffles as usual Logan found himself completely unsurprised, both by his appearance and by the revelation of his contact with Emma. Emma knew Shaw's thought patterns like the back of her hand; she would have known he was there just as well as Logan did. And of course she wouldn't want to get her hands dirty; that was, after all, Logan's job description.
The fact that she'd known Logan would take Scott with him to track down Shaw was slightly more surprising, but not overly so. It just meant that she thought Logan was predictable - which, on this particular front, he knew he was.
"Yeah, I'm sure my buddy here really appreciates how you went easy on his ribs," Logan muttered, crossing his arms. They couldn't fight Shaw, of course. A fleet of robots would appear before Logan could ever get close enough to cut him, and Scott's blasts would only power him up. This was a time for diplomacy - something that Logan, for his part, had never been all that good at.
"My ribs are fine," Scott gasped, mostly because he wanted it to be true. Last time he had done something to a rib had been in the raid on Benetech. He had refused to get it looked at until Emma had pointed out -- or rather demonstrated -- that certain activities were more or less impossible. After that, he'd taken a session with one of the institute's healers. Those weren't exactly wandering the streets of New York, and -- he now admitted to himself -- he'd been thinking about staying somewhere with Logan tonight. Summers, you're such a slut, he thought -- though it did take a moment to convince himself the voice in his head wasn't Emma's
( ... )
Scott's weight was heavy on Logan's shoulder, but he found he didn't really mind. He'd carried heavier things, after all. For a second, he worried that this meant Scott was more seriously injured than he appeared, but Logan could smell something on him, something that smelled a little like... affection, mixed with lust. Like maybe his leaning was purposeful.
Well, that was interesting.
But Logan didn't have time to think about that, as, seconds later, they reached the top of the staircase and entered the room Shaw had mentioned. Shaw made a flippy gesturing motion with one hand, and they all sat down on velvet-covered chairs arranged around a polished wooden table.
"Let's cut to the chase," Logan said, leaning over the table, unwilling to wait for Shaw, or Scott, to speak. "What the flamin' hell were you doing at that kid's funeral?"
Sebastian raised his eyebrows, all innocence. "To pay my respects, naturally. As members of a dwindling species -- if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less -- et cetera, et cetera" He raised his hand, and gestured. A short man in a velvet coat emerged from the shadows. "Claude," said Shaw. "Do bring out some of the twenty-year armagnac that just came in? Nothing too good for our guests."
Claude approached, with a bottle, but pointedly avoided Logan's side of the table. "Ahh, yes," said Shaw. "Claude would like to make sure that you know he is not a robot. He seems to assume that this would buy him mercy at your hands -- or, rather, claws -- Mr. Logan, as he seems to believe you are a gentleman
( ... )
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"Hellfire?" he repeated, talking to Logan's back. They were only a short drive from the city, and Scott had considered, himself, suggesting that the two of them go for a driink. (Nowhere special, not a date, just in the city where they could slip into a crowd unnoticed). But Hellfire?
"Last time we went to Hellfire, you kept buying me drinks until I was unconscious, and the next thing I knew we were breaking into a secure weapons facility, with a crazy French ninja."
He caught up with Logan at the car, a small SUV that belonged to the school. Scott went to the left-hand door, and held up the key. "You explain; I'll drive."
Reply
Scott revved the engine, and Logan resisted the urge to grumble about the driving arrangements. "You see that old guy with the scarf, kept looking over at Chuck?" Logan assumed he had; Scott was always vigilant, and very good with details. It was one of the many things that made him a good leader, though Logan would never say that to his face. "That was Sebastian Shaw."
Reply
"It wasn't a mission. You kidnapped me. My marriage was ending and I was determined to be depressed, and you just had to pick me of all people --" Scott stopped, and felt some color rise to his face; this was just one of many events that he was being forced to reinterpret in light of recent events. "I don't even think Fantomex is French," he mumbled.
In response to Logan's more troubling bit of information, Scott didn't bother to ask how he knew. "Why?" he said simply, and then, "Do you think the Professor knew?"
Reply
If there was one thing Logan should have learned at this point, it was that trying to help Scott Summers out of depression was a thankless, frustrating, and ultimately futile task.
Though at least this last time he'd gotten some kissing out of the deal. That wasn't likely to happen again, so maybe it was worth it ( ... )
Reply
Reaching over to turn up the radio, he flashed a grin at Logan and got eyeful of the soul of his mud-covered shoe, not to mention -- well, he was glad that Logan wouldn't be able to trace the path of his eyes behind his glasses. This new awareness of the other man's body wasn't a bad thing, but it did feel odd. So did wondering exactly when would be the right time to say, By the way, I told Emma what happened, and she said it's all right if you and I fool around a little. It wasn't just the kind of thing you could drop into a conversation. At times like this, Scott wished he had more experience dating people who didn't read minds ( ... )
Reply
***
It didn't take long to get to the city, and before long they'd parked the car in a cheap lot and were approaching the Upper West Side entrance of the Hellfire Club.
Logan turned to Scott, expectant. "So what's the plan, bub? I'd suggest one of my own, but I'd be willing to bet you spent that whole ride thinking up some strategy. Wouldn't want to hurt your feelings or nothin'."
Reply
He led the way up the tall marble steps to the club's main entrance, hearing Logan behind him and just a little to the left. They approached the doorman, a small unassuming type with an old-fashioned livery jacket, and glasses that looked like antiques. He appeared completely harmless, which meant he either had hidden powers, or that the real guard was elsewhere. Still, sometimes a direct approach was best.
"Hello, Michael," said Scott, reading the nametag. "I'm Mr. Summers, and this is Mr. Logan. We're going to see Sebastian Shaw, and if you try to stop us, my friend will kill you."
Reply
Well, to be honest, Logan's wouldn't have been much different. So he might as well go along with the flow.
Logan stepped forward, grabbing the doorman by his bow tie and sliding his claws about an inch out of his knuckles. "I can give you six reasons why that ain't an idle threat."
The doorman quailed. "Bruno?" he called, voice quivering. "A little help here?"
Almost instantly, a much larger man with a squashed, mean-looking face, rolled-up sleeves, and inexplicably pink suspenders stepped into the doorway, hands hanging in fists at his sides. "What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?"
Reply
He could have changed into a visor before he got here -- he had one in his jacket, like always -- but he'd been up late watching Cary Grant movies and had a vague idea that getting by on charm instead of muscle was more impressive.
Bruno rolled his eyes. "Let 'em in, Mikey," he said. Logan dropped the doorman, and nobody really listened to the strangled protests that he had never actually tried to stop them. Scott figured anybody who took a job here ought to expect that kind of thing ( ... )
Reply
His jaw felt... hard. Too hard. Hard like Logan's own, with its metal-covered bones. As he watched, the skin moved over Bruno's face, shifting like putty back into position over what, if Logan wasn't mistaken, was definitely a set of gears.
The guard was a robot. Fantastic.
Scott was still recovering from Bruno's first punch, and Logan knew he had to keep the guard distracted for a little longer while Scott got his bearings. He decided to put his theory to the test and released his claws again, raising them up to slash across the man's arm. If he was really a robot, he could get himself repaired; if he wasn't, well, he had attacked first.
Bruno's arm fell off cleanly, emitting sparks as it went. Logan could see wires and circuitry poking out from where his elbow used to be.
Yep. Definitely a robot.
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The fact that she'd known Logan would take Scott with him to track down Shaw was slightly more surprising, but not overly so. It just meant that she thought Logan was predictable - which, on this particular front, he knew he was.
"Yeah, I'm sure my buddy here really appreciates how you went easy on his ribs," Logan muttered, crossing his arms. They couldn't fight Shaw, of course. A fleet of robots would appear before Logan could ever get close enough to cut him, and Scott's blasts would only power him up. This was a time for diplomacy - something that Logan, for his part, had never been all that good at.
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Well, that was interesting.
But Logan didn't have time to think about that, as, seconds later, they reached the top of the staircase and entered the room Shaw had mentioned. Shaw made a flippy gesturing motion with one hand, and they all sat down on velvet-covered chairs arranged around a polished wooden table.
"Let's cut to the chase," Logan said, leaning over the table, unwilling to wait for Shaw, or Scott, to speak. "What the flamin' hell were you doing at that kid's funeral?"
Reply
Claude approached, with a bottle, but pointedly avoided Logan's side of the table. "Ahh, yes," said Shaw. "Claude would like to make sure that you know he is not a robot. He seems to assume that this would buy him mercy at your hands -- or, rather, claws -- Mr. Logan, as he seems to believe you are a gentleman ( ... )
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