Over the Rainbow 9/?
Beta: Thank you jaq_of_spades and tannasan for all suggestions, corrections and fangirling!
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |
Author’s Notes: Oops! I was supposed to post this chapter yesterday, but I got distracted and totally forgot. Sorry! But here you go. First thing in the morning on a Saturday. And there's good news: from now on, no more angry Marie when it comes to her relationship with Logan. All thanks to Jubes. Yay!
Goddamn, Jubes.
I actually let her talk me into finding Logan so I can make an ass out of myself once again. How the hell did that happen? Oh, right. She convinced me he needs a friend, and I still have this unshakeable urge to tell him I didn’t lie about my name. Killing two birds with one stone and all. According to our nifty new trackers, he’s in one of the offices on the right, so here goes nothing.
I peek around the doorframe and find him sitting at a desk, skillfully typing on a computer. Okay. That’s so mundane. And teacher-y. What’s going on? The only thing missing is a bow tie. And glasses. This *is* Logan, right? Could it be Mystique’s Cure wore off too?
“Hey, kid,” he greets me casually, but he’s scowling at the screen and clicking the mouse to save something.
Since I’m busted anyway, I cautiously step in. “Busy?”
“No.”
He looks up now, the scowl changing into - well, something less annoyed, I suppose, and he’s so available all of a sudden, I don’t really know how to start. It’s odd to see him in an office like this. He’s actually sitting on a chair instead of hovering somewhere. It’s all quite shocking.
I make a vague gesture towards the room and quip lamely, “So, Professor Logan, this yours?”
He snorts mockingly, leaning back and running his hands through his hair. The gesture makes his shirt fall open to reveal a tank top clinging tightly to a very unprofessor-like torso. “How the hell did I end up here,” he grumbles, and even though it’s rhetorical, I answer anyway, just to keep me from ogling in retarded silence.
“You got mixed up in the business of some mutant stowaway, a megalomaniac with kidnapping tendencies, and superheroes running around in black leather.”
“Right.”
“Hey, you decided to stay,” I add, keen to make sure he doesn’t blame *me* for being so caged all of a sudden.
He gives in easily enough, folding his hands behind his head and stretching denim-clad legs under the desk. “True.”
It sounds a bit resigned, and he seems so out of place sitting here, taking up so much space somehow, a sudden pang of guilt makes me want to smooth it over anyway.
“But I’m glad you did.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just sorta narrows his eyes at me while I’m trying not to squirm under his stare.
Why the hell do I feel the need to comfort him for living a normal life? He can go any time he wants. I just hope he knows I usually don’t go out on a stroll to declare my undying love to just about everyone. Well, not that I did just now, but it was a close call. If you squint.
“So,” I say, pointedly looking at the computer to distract those damn senses from scanning me, “watching porn?”
I’m rewarded with a chuckle while his elbows drop down onto the armrests. “Creating an account for the teacher’s exam.”
I try to inconspicuously lean over to read the screen, but then I blurt out, “*James* Logan? Your name is *James*?”
“Even a fake ID needs a name. The first one that came to mind is as good as any.”
“Oh. Well, maybe it really works that way and you were right?” I try, but he isn’t as optimistic.
“Maybe.” He tiredly scrubs his face. “Threw a dart at the calendar to get a date for my birthday. How about that?”
It landed on June 28, apparently. That was almost two months ago. There was no cake, no present, and no party. I don’t even know what to say to that. His sorrows are simply too big for the size of me. Too mature. I can cheer up a friend who failed an exam, but what you do you say to a man like him? Who’s been through so much? I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is that something’s tugging at my heartstrings and I have no idea what to do to make him feel better.
And that reminds me it’s one of the reasons I’m here. Jubes said he needs someone to lean on, so I guess it’s time to test the theory. I’m really tired of stewing over all these emotions all the time.
“You remember when you said we were friends?” I ask, and the abrupt change of topics seems to throw him for a loop.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure you want that?”
He doesn’t seem to get it, so I try to make him see the implications of his answer.
“I’m asking, because friends *do* stuff together. They crash in each other’s rooms, or hang out, or - whatever.” I check to see if he’s still on board, and he seems to be listening alright, so I continue, “And they’re supposed to have this give and take relationship, but you’ve done so much for me, there’s no way I can return all that. All I have to offer is - I don’t know, something like, ‘You know what? You don’t deserve all the crap you’ve been going through. It really, really *sucks*’. But that’s - so little. You know?”
Again, I look at him and he’s still looking back, but I think I’m done talking now. Of course it’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough. But I’d rather hear it now than keep on flopping around like some freshly caught fish.
While I’m bracing myself for his change of heart, Logan actually seems to be thinking it over. His eyes dart away for a moment, but then he locks them onto mine again and says calmly, “It’s more than I have now.”
And then I’m moving without giving it a second thought.
I’m suddenly standing behind his chair, leaning over to wrap my arms around his neck. If he’s surprised about my sudden urge to go all mushy all on him, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t pull away either. In fact, I think he’s actually leaning into my touch a bit, his hands closing around my forearms to keep them locked against his chest.
I forgot how blatantly honest he can be when I have the guts to start a confrontation. I don’t think he minds the hugging-stuff too much, but I have to make sure not to start crying into his hair. It’s embarrassing enough I’ve blubbered against his chest once already. Let’s not repeat that performance.
While I’m forcing down all emotional tendencies, I slowly realize I’ve got myself into a tricky situation. His facial hair feels way too enjoyable against my cheek, and would it be weird if I flatten my palm to feel his heartbeat?
He probably senses me fretting again, because he offers me an easy way out by asking all casual, “So, what’s this? A bonus?”
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Relieved, I try to untangle myself before I’ll do something embarrassing.
“Not really. I’m still trying to crank up the score; three hugs by now.”
He pulls me in front of him and - oh, crap. I know that expression. It’s his ‘we’re going to have a serious talk’ face.
I lean against the desk but he rolls the chair up close, keeping my hands in a solid grip.
“Listen.” He looks up at me, but I don’t think I want to hear this and resentfully glare at our joined hands. “You can crash in my room any time you want, okay? Just don’t wake me up when I’m asleep.”
Oh. Well, that’s unexpected. And - rational.
Now I do meet his eyes and we exchange a look of silent agreement, both sorta smirking even though it’s not funny at all.
“And if you want to hang out somewhere,” he goes on, “use the tracker and come find me. Deal?”
And - I didn’t expect this either. I didn’t expect any of this, but - “Yeah.” I nod for good measure and hope he’s going to let go of me soon. My palms are getting all sweaty. It’s so not sexy.
“Okay.” He plants a light kiss on top of my knuckles before releasing me, elucidating the gesture as, “Half a kiss and half a handshake,” but I think I just lost count.
Oh, God, please don’t let me swoon right in front of him.
I will my legs not to give up on me, but I think it’s best to plant my backside firmly on the desk, just to be safe. Still, somehow it feels like the world suddenly snapped into place and I know exactly where I belong. I just have to steer all attention away from me so I can recover from all this rapture.
“So, does this mean I can call you ‘Jimmy’ now?”
He swirls back to the computer and moves the mouse to wake it up. “You can call me anything you want, except ‘Professor’. Or ‘Dad’.”
I giggle at that. I can’t help myself. It’s always fun to get a rise out of him as long as he’s still mildly amused by it, too. And it’s also kind of entertaining to watch him do such ordinary things. I think I can sit here all day. Too bad I’m supposed to go the mall with Jubes.
He rummages through a drawer, finds a pen and a post-it, and when he writes something down, I notice he’s writing with his left hand. Since his watch is always on his right, I’d already assumed he was left-handed, but it’s nice to - well, not that I have actually put much thought into these things or anything. You know. It was just a fleeting guess. Very insignificant and momentary. When I was bored in class or something. Yeah. So.
Maybe I should find Jubes now?
I’m about to test if my legs still work, when he asks, “What about *your* name?”
“Oh, yeah. About that.” I shrug a bit and feel the muscles ache in my shoulders from all the tension yesterday. “I didn’t lie to you or anything.”
“I know.”
He does? How? Oh, wait. Scent again. Ugh. I might as well sit here butt-naked, because nothing protects me from those senses. I don’t even know why I’m still trying.
Um…
On second thought, let’s just stay dressed and ignore certain ideas involving nakedness, Logan, and his desk. Yeah. Good plan. Now, where was I? Watches? Writing? Oh, right. Names.
“It’s actually Anna-Marie,” I say, dragging my mind out of the gutter. “But everyone called me ‘Marie’ back home. I figured, with a second new life and all, I’d switch to Anna this time.”
He doesn’t really respond to that; he’s putting together a list of all the books he has to read for the exam. I’m pretty sure he’s listening though.
“But I’d like you to keep calling me Marie.”
He turns around just in time to watch me flush a nice shade of red again - goddamnit, and after a moment of silent observance, he simply says, “Okay” before returning to his task.
Somehow, he made that sound like a ‘thank you’ in disguise.
Or - maybe that’s my imagination. Maybe I’m getting a bit too carried away here, thinking he suddenly knows and understands me inside and out, just because we’re officially friends. I mean, the actual friending still has to start, right? Although, I am currently sorta hanging out with him, so isn’t that friending in progress already?
Okay. Stop. Now.
No stupid questions allowed today. If I want to know something, I have to ask it out loud otherwise my brain has to shut up and just enjoy the view.
I direct my attention back to Logan again, and he’s still being all skillful on the computer. I notice he’s got the mouse on the right, and he doesn’t seem to have any problems with it. It’s kinda handy to mouse with one hand and take notes with the other. I should try that sometime.
“Where did you learn that?” I ask, scooting a bit closer to check out his handwriting.
It’s kinda small and manly, but it’s readable.
“What?” he mumbles, reading some huge-ass PDF file with all kinds of instructions.
“Using both hands at the same time.”
“Don’t know. Jean said I’m maybe naturally ambidextrous.”
Um - what?
“Is that contagious or something?” I ask, and he smirks at me, holding up both hands, the pen between his long fingers.
“I don’t have a dominant left or right.”
“Cool.” I’m trying very hard not to come across as too lovey dovey despite the fact Prince Charming’s got such interesting qualities. “So you can use left *and* right for just about anything?”
“Yeah, but I usually write with left and throw stuff with right.”
He grabs a piece of paper and another pen, and then he scribbles something with both hands at the same time. I’m trying to read that too, but he shoves it my way and turns back to the screen, obviously having other stuff on his mind.
I see ‘Anna’ on one side and ‘Marie’ on the other, and - fine. I’m allowed to go all girly and giddy now.
“Wow,” I gush, grabbing the paper and racking my brain over how to sneak this accidental love poem with me to my room. He’s not paying attention to me. He’s still scrolling through the document. Maybe, if tell him I have to go now, I can nonchalantly wander away.
I hop off the desk and shuffle stealthily to towards the door. “Hey, since you’re busy and all, I think I should go. I promised to buy a bikini with Jubes.”
“Okay, kid,” he answers distractedly, clicking to another document and growling when it’s another ginormous amount of text.
It’s actually kind of cute.
And I really have to stop this ridiculous adoration. Jeez, what’s gotten into me today?
“Well, alright. See you later, okay?”
I hastily slip away and grin my widest grin.
The paper’s safely in my mitts.
TBC
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |
Author’s Notes: Oops! I was supposed to post this chapter yesterday, but I got distracted and totally forgot. Sorry! But here you go. First thing in the morning on a Saturday. And there's good news: from now on, no more angry Marie when it comes to her relationship with Logan. All thanks to Jubes. Yay!
Goddamn, Jubes.
I actually let her talk me into finding Logan so I can make an ass out of myself once again. How the hell did that happen? Oh, right. She convinced me he needs a friend, and I still have this unshakeable urge to tell him I didn’t lie about my name. Killing two birds with one stone and all. According to our nifty new trackers, he’s in one of the offices on the right, so here goes nothing.
I peek around the doorframe and find him sitting at a desk, skillfully typing on a computer. Okay. That’s so mundane. And teacher-y. What’s going on? The only thing missing is a bow tie. And glasses. This *is* Logan, right? Could it be Mystique’s Cure wore off too?
“Hey, kid,” he greets me casually, but he’s scowling at the screen and clicking the mouse to save something.
Since I’m busted anyway, I cautiously step in. “Busy?”
“No.”
He looks up now, the scowl changing into - well, something less annoyed, I suppose, and he’s so available all of a sudden, I don’t really know how to start. It’s odd to see him in an office like this. He’s actually sitting on a chair instead of hovering somewhere. It’s all quite shocking.
I make a vague gesture towards the room and quip lamely, “So, Professor Logan, this yours?”
He snorts mockingly, leaning back and running his hands through his hair. The gesture makes his shirt fall open to reveal a tank top clinging tightly to a very unprofessor-like torso. “How the hell did I end up here,” he grumbles, and even though it’s rhetorical, I answer anyway, just to keep me from ogling in retarded silence.
“You got mixed up in the business of some mutant stowaway, a megalomaniac with kidnapping tendencies, and superheroes running around in black leather.”
“Right.”
“Hey, you decided to stay,” I add, keen to make sure he doesn’t blame *me* for being so caged all of a sudden.
He gives in easily enough, folding his hands behind his head and stretching denim-clad legs under the desk. “True.”
It sounds a bit resigned, and he seems so out of place sitting here, taking up so much space somehow, a sudden pang of guilt makes me want to smooth it over anyway.
“But I’m glad you did.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just sorta narrows his eyes at me while I’m trying not to squirm under his stare.
Why the hell do I feel the need to comfort him for living a normal life? He can go any time he wants. I just hope he knows I usually don’t go out on a stroll to declare my undying love to just about everyone. Well, not that I did just now, but it was a close call. If you squint.
“So,” I say, pointedly looking at the computer to distract those damn senses from scanning me, “watching porn?”
I’m rewarded with a chuckle while his elbows drop down onto the armrests. “Creating an account for the teacher’s exam.”
I try to inconspicuously lean over to read the screen, but then I blurt out, “*James* Logan? Your name is *James*?”
“Even a fake ID needs a name. The first one that came to mind is as good as any.”
“Oh. Well, maybe it really works that way and you were right?” I try, but he isn’t as optimistic.
“Maybe.” He tiredly scrubs his face. “Threw a dart at the calendar to get a date for my birthday. How about that?”
It landed on June 28, apparently. That was almost two months ago. There was no cake, no present, and no party. I don’t even know what to say to that. His sorrows are simply too big for the size of me. Too mature. I can cheer up a friend who failed an exam, but what you do you say to a man like him? Who’s been through so much? I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is that something’s tugging at my heartstrings and I have no idea what to do to make him feel better.
And that reminds me it’s one of the reasons I’m here. Jubes said he needs someone to lean on, so I guess it’s time to test the theory. I’m really tired of stewing over all these emotions all the time.
“You remember when you said we were friends?” I ask, and the abrupt change of topics seems to throw him for a loop.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure you want that?”
He doesn’t seem to get it, so I try to make him see the implications of his answer.
“I’m asking, because friends *do* stuff together. They crash in each other’s rooms, or hang out, or - whatever.” I check to see if he’s still on board, and he seems to be listening alright, so I continue, “And they’re supposed to have this give and take relationship, but you’ve done so much for me, there’s no way I can return all that. All I have to offer is - I don’t know, something like, ‘You know what? You don’t deserve all the crap you’ve been going through. It really, really *sucks*’. But that’s - so little. You know?”
Again, I look at him and he’s still looking back, but I think I’m done talking now. Of course it’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough. But I’d rather hear it now than keep on flopping around like some freshly caught fish.
While I’m bracing myself for his change of heart, Logan actually seems to be thinking it over. His eyes dart away for a moment, but then he locks them onto mine again and says calmly, “It’s more than I have now.”
And then I’m moving without giving it a second thought.
I’m suddenly standing behind his chair, leaning over to wrap my arms around his neck. If he’s surprised about my sudden urge to go all mushy all on him, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t pull away either. In fact, I think he’s actually leaning into my touch a bit, his hands closing around my forearms to keep them locked against his chest.
I forgot how blatantly honest he can be when I have the guts to start a confrontation. I don’t think he minds the hugging-stuff too much, but I have to make sure not to start crying into his hair. It’s embarrassing enough I’ve blubbered against his chest once already. Let’s not repeat that performance.
While I’m forcing down all emotional tendencies, I slowly realize I’ve got myself into a tricky situation. His facial hair feels way too enjoyable against my cheek, and would it be weird if I flatten my palm to feel his heartbeat?
He probably senses me fretting again, because he offers me an easy way out by asking all casual, “So, what’s this? A bonus?”
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Relieved, I try to untangle myself before I’ll do something embarrassing.
“Not really. I’m still trying to crank up the score; three hugs by now.”
He pulls me in front of him and - oh, crap. I know that expression. It’s his ‘we’re going to have a serious talk’ face.
I lean against the desk but he rolls the chair up close, keeping my hands in a solid grip.
“Listen.” He looks up at me, but I don’t think I want to hear this and resentfully glare at our joined hands. “You can crash in my room any time you want, okay? Just don’t wake me up when I’m asleep.”
Oh. Well, that’s unexpected. And - rational.
Now I do meet his eyes and we exchange a look of silent agreement, both sorta smirking even though it’s not funny at all.
“And if you want to hang out somewhere,” he goes on, “use the tracker and come find me. Deal?”
And - I didn’t expect this either. I didn’t expect any of this, but - “Yeah.” I nod for good measure and hope he’s going to let go of me soon. My palms are getting all sweaty. It’s so not sexy.
“Okay.” He plants a light kiss on top of my knuckles before releasing me, elucidating the gesture as, “Half a kiss and half a handshake,” but I think I just lost count.
Oh, God, please don’t let me swoon right in front of him.
I will my legs not to give up on me, but I think it’s best to plant my backside firmly on the desk, just to be safe. Still, somehow it feels like the world suddenly snapped into place and I know exactly where I belong. I just have to steer all attention away from me so I can recover from all this rapture.
“So, does this mean I can call you ‘Jimmy’ now?”
He swirls back to the computer and moves the mouse to wake it up. “You can call me anything you want, except ‘Professor’. Or ‘Dad’.”
I giggle at that. I can’t help myself. It’s always fun to get a rise out of him as long as he’s still mildly amused by it, too. And it’s also kind of entertaining to watch him do such ordinary things. I think I can sit here all day. Too bad I’m supposed to go the mall with Jubes.
He rummages through a drawer, finds a pen and a post-it, and when he writes something down, I notice he’s writing with his left hand. Since his watch is always on his right, I’d already assumed he was left-handed, but it’s nice to - well, not that I have actually put much thought into these things or anything. You know. It was just a fleeting guess. Very insignificant and momentary. When I was bored in class or something. Yeah. So.
Maybe I should find Jubes now?
I’m about to test if my legs still work, when he asks, “What about *your* name?”
“Oh, yeah. About that.” I shrug a bit and feel the muscles ache in my shoulders from all the tension yesterday. “I didn’t lie to you or anything.”
“I know.”
He does? How? Oh, wait. Scent again. Ugh. I might as well sit here butt-naked, because nothing protects me from those senses. I don’t even know why I’m still trying.
Um…
On second thought, let’s just stay dressed and ignore certain ideas involving nakedness, Logan, and his desk. Yeah. Good plan. Now, where was I? Watches? Writing? Oh, right. Names.
“It’s actually Anna-Marie,” I say, dragging my mind out of the gutter. “But everyone called me ‘Marie’ back home. I figured, with a second new life and all, I’d switch to Anna this time.”
He doesn’t really respond to that; he’s putting together a list of all the books he has to read for the exam. I’m pretty sure he’s listening though.
“But I’d like you to keep calling me Marie.”
He turns around just in time to watch me flush a nice shade of red again - goddamnit, and after a moment of silent observance, he simply says, “Okay” before returning to his task.
Somehow, he made that sound like a ‘thank you’ in disguise.
Or - maybe that’s my imagination. Maybe I’m getting a bit too carried away here, thinking he suddenly knows and understands me inside and out, just because we’re officially friends. I mean, the actual friending still has to start, right? Although, I am currently sorta hanging out with him, so isn’t that friending in progress already?
Okay. Stop. Now.
No stupid questions allowed today. If I want to know something, I have to ask it out loud otherwise my brain has to shut up and just enjoy the view.
I direct my attention back to Logan again, and he’s still being all skillful on the computer. I notice he’s got the mouse on the right, and he doesn’t seem to have any problems with it. It’s kinda handy to mouse with one hand and take notes with the other. I should try that sometime.
“Where did you learn that?” I ask, scooting a bit closer to check out his handwriting.
It’s kinda small and manly, but it’s readable.
“What?” he mumbles, reading some huge-ass PDF file with all kinds of instructions.
“Using both hands at the same time.”
“Don’t know. Jean said I’m maybe naturally ambidextrous.”
Um - what?
“Is that contagious or something?” I ask, and he smirks at me, holding up both hands, the pen between his long fingers.
“I don’t have a dominant left or right.”
“Cool.” I’m trying very hard not to come across as too lovey dovey despite the fact Prince Charming’s got such interesting qualities. “So you can use left *and* right for just about anything?”
“Yeah, but I usually write with left and throw stuff with right.”
He grabs a piece of paper and another pen, and then he scribbles something with both hands at the same time. I’m trying to read that too, but he shoves it my way and turns back to the screen, obviously having other stuff on his mind.
I see ‘Anna’ on one side and ‘Marie’ on the other, and - fine. I’m allowed to go all girly and giddy now.
“Wow,” I gush, grabbing the paper and racking my brain over how to sneak this accidental love poem with me to my room. He’s not paying attention to me. He’s still scrolling through the document. Maybe, if tell him I have to go now, I can nonchalantly wander away.
I hop off the desk and shuffle stealthily to towards the door. “Hey, since you’re busy and all, I think I should go. I promised to buy a bikini with Jubes.”
“Okay, kid,” he answers distractedly, clicking to another document and growling when it’s another ginormous amount of text.
It’s actually kind of cute.
And I really have to stop this ridiculous adoration. Jeez, what’s gotten into me today?
“Well, alright. See you later, okay?”
I hastily slip away and grin my widest grin.
The paper’s safely in my mitts.
TBC