More pointless fic
With a little bit of cheesecake for Lisa.
In response to prompt 36 / ‘mad’ from
aurlco’s nekkid40 challenge
Warning: No shirtless Logan (Hey, Shy;-)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything DA.
Stranded
Max never would have thought that someday she would almost enjoy sitting in the back of an overloaded farmer’s truck, its gloominess and earthy smells reminding her of those tiny, damp basement cells that had been one of Lydecker’s favorite penalties. It was far from her idea of a perfect Friday evening and normally the person responsible for her spoiled plans would be on the receiving end of a full blast of barely suppressed superpowers.
Unfortunately Logan wasn’t normal. He hadn’t been like the average guy when she first broke into his apartment, had not been in the time since and probably never would be. While everybody else would have suffered from her crankiness for the next couple of days, the sight of his wrinkled nose and slight disorientation at their rocky mode of transportation almost made her forget that it all was his fault.
Max had really tried to maintain her earlier irritation, keeping her mouth shut tightly as she observed Logan and his wary staring contest with the chicken in its cage only inches from his face. She remained quiet as he took in the boxes of fresh fruit and vegetables and the trays with mini-cheesecakes with that familiar, pondering smirk that made her bet Cindy’s colorful collection of nail polish on the assumption that he was mentally arranging one of his amazing dinners.
And still, as she tried to shift around a bit to loose her tense muscles, Max lamented why a day going so well had to end like this…
Their long-planned mission in the countryside had gone as smoothly as a spin in the park, made easy by the additional comfort of Logan expertly disabling the complicated alarm system and just generally watching her back.
Everything had been fine, Max in her after-mission giddiness entertaining Logan with the details of the Jamaican party Herbal planned for the evening, when the sudden appearance of an especially nasty pothole made him grip the wheel with full force.
At least Logan’s impressive quick-wittedness kept them from landing in the ditch but the damage to the tire was done, forcing them to stop at the characteristic, flapping bumping.
There they were, in the middle of nowhere on one of these days when the rain only seemed to stop for furious gusts of wind bringing more clouds.
Unbuckling her seatbelt, Max caught Logan’s sheepish look, his thumb guiltily tapping the wheel. “That.. uh…won’t work. I lent the spare tire to Bling last week, so he could get to his patients…”
Max sighed as she flopped back onto her seat, contenting herself with exaggerated eye-rolling even though she felt much more like giving him a long, furious tirade of how stupid it was to leave town without proper equipment.
Sometimes she wished that Logan had at least a tiny bit of Sketchy’s immature irresponsibility that made him and his repeated displays of stupidity such an easy victim for her famous ire. But how was she supposed to be angry with someone who always did the right thing, who was constantly in the middle of saving the world even if that meant that he forgot to feed her?
For some minutes they considered their options, neither particularly fond of Max searching for help in the next little town, she hating to leave Logan in the cold car and with whomever might come along, Logan’s stubbornly old-fashioned gentleman instincts squirming at the thought of her walking all the way in such ugly weather.
Just when they started another round of weighing the pros and cons, Max hushed him with an abrupt jerk of her arm, her ears detecting the faint humming a moment before they both noticed the approaching car in the rear mirror.
Getting out into the light drizzle, Max positioned herself in a way that would distract even the most chaste driver, highly conscious that she was providing Logan an excellent view of her backside. Yet, as soon as she recognized the nearing vehicle to be a green van with a middle-aged couple in the front seat, she changed into that innocent, helpless young girl mode that had even weakened Normal on the hapless day he’d hired her.
Five minutes later they had been on the road. The farmer family’s initial mistrust, so typical now even in the most good-natured faces, had softened somewhat at their seemingly harmless appearance, and even had shifted into offering a seat in the front at seeing Logan’s chair.
Of course, at the sight the pregnant woman on the passenger’s seat squeezed next to a little boy, Logan had politely declined and so they’d both ended up in between the poles and musty canvas of a market booth.
Folded together in the narrow bit of empty floor at his feet, Max was overly aware of how the tips of his shoes touched her shins, was even more aware how his hand, bracing himself against the occasional bump, would rest on her shoulder if it moved just a little bit.
It seemed as if the narrow, stuffed space echoed the sound of his stifled breathing, of his slightly elevated heart beat, as if it intensified the faint scent of plain soap and something more genuinely Logan she would have recognized under a million people.
Later on she would blame car sickness, the lack of oxygen and all the other things against which her revved up body was immune for that short moment of weakness when her head tipped sideways, her hair brushing his hand, her cheek so close to that the soft, fuzzy hair on his forearm tickled her.
Later on she would be glad that in just this second the car bumped over another pothole, the unexpected rocking jerking her head back into a safe, upright, posture….keeping her from crossing that border which she tried so hard to maintain.
In response to prompt 36 / ‘mad’ from
aurlco’s nekkid40 challenge
Warning: No shirtless Logan (Hey, Shy;-)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything DA.
Stranded
Max never would have thought that someday she would almost enjoy sitting in the back of an overloaded farmer’s truck, its gloominess and earthy smells reminding her of those tiny, damp basement cells that had been one of Lydecker’s favorite penalties. It was far from her idea of a perfect Friday evening and normally the person responsible for her spoiled plans would be on the receiving end of a full blast of barely suppressed superpowers.
Unfortunately Logan wasn’t normal. He hadn’t been like the average guy when she first broke into his apartment, had not been in the time since and probably never would be. While everybody else would have suffered from her crankiness for the next couple of days, the sight of his wrinkled nose and slight disorientation at their rocky mode of transportation almost made her forget that it all was his fault.
Max had really tried to maintain her earlier irritation, keeping her mouth shut tightly as she observed Logan and his wary staring contest with the chicken in its cage only inches from his face. She remained quiet as he took in the boxes of fresh fruit and vegetables and the trays with mini-cheesecakes with that familiar, pondering smirk that made her bet Cindy’s colorful collection of nail polish on the assumption that he was mentally arranging one of his amazing dinners.
And still, as she tried to shift around a bit to loose her tense muscles, Max lamented why a day going so well had to end like this…
Their long-planned mission in the countryside had gone as smoothly as a spin in the park, made easy by the additional comfort of Logan expertly disabling the complicated alarm system and just generally watching her back.
Everything had been fine, Max in her after-mission giddiness entertaining Logan with the details of the Jamaican party Herbal planned for the evening, when the sudden appearance of an especially nasty pothole made him grip the wheel with full force.
At least Logan’s impressive quick-wittedness kept them from landing in the ditch but the damage to the tire was done, forcing them to stop at the characteristic, flapping bumping.
There they were, in the middle of nowhere on one of these days when the rain only seemed to stop for furious gusts of wind bringing more clouds.
Unbuckling her seatbelt, Max caught Logan’s sheepish look, his thumb guiltily tapping the wheel. “That.. uh…won’t work. I lent the spare tire to Bling last week, so he could get to his patients…”
Max sighed as she flopped back onto her seat, contenting herself with exaggerated eye-rolling even though she felt much more like giving him a long, furious tirade of how stupid it was to leave town without proper equipment.
Sometimes she wished that Logan had at least a tiny bit of Sketchy’s immature irresponsibility that made him and his repeated displays of stupidity such an easy victim for her famous ire. But how was she supposed to be angry with someone who always did the right thing, who was constantly in the middle of saving the world even if that meant that he forgot to feed her?
For some minutes they considered their options, neither particularly fond of Max searching for help in the next little town, she hating to leave Logan in the cold car and with whomever might come along, Logan’s stubbornly old-fashioned gentleman instincts squirming at the thought of her walking all the way in such ugly weather.
Just when they started another round of weighing the pros and cons, Max hushed him with an abrupt jerk of her arm, her ears detecting the faint humming a moment before they both noticed the approaching car in the rear mirror.
Getting out into the light drizzle, Max positioned herself in a way that would distract even the most chaste driver, highly conscious that she was providing Logan an excellent view of her backside. Yet, as soon as she recognized the nearing vehicle to be a green van with a middle-aged couple in the front seat, she changed into that innocent, helpless young girl mode that had even weakened Normal on the hapless day he’d hired her.
Five minutes later they had been on the road. The farmer family’s initial mistrust, so typical now even in the most good-natured faces, had softened somewhat at their seemingly harmless appearance, and even had shifted into offering a seat in the front at seeing Logan’s chair.
Of course, at the sight the pregnant woman on the passenger’s seat squeezed next to a little boy, Logan had politely declined and so they’d both ended up in between the poles and musty canvas of a market booth.
Folded together in the narrow bit of empty floor at his feet, Max was overly aware of how the tips of his shoes touched her shins, was even more aware how his hand, bracing himself against the occasional bump, would rest on her shoulder if it moved just a little bit.
It seemed as if the narrow, stuffed space echoed the sound of his stifled breathing, of his slightly elevated heart beat, as if it intensified the faint scent of plain soap and something more genuinely Logan she would have recognized under a million people.
Later on she would blame car sickness, the lack of oxygen and all the other things against which her revved up body was immune for that short moment of weakness when her head tipped sideways, her hair brushing his hand, her cheek so close to that the soft, fuzzy hair on his forearm tickled her.
Later on she would be glad that in just this second the car bumped over another pothole, the unexpected rocking jerking her head back into a safe, upright, posture….keeping her from crossing that border which she tried so hard to maintain.