Title: Grade Cache
Series: Last Call
Rating: PG 13
Verse: Post X3
Summary: Settling in and starting again…
Genre: Shipper
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-men, Marvel does.
Grande Cache isn’t a big town. It’s not a small one either. Logan took my gloves, so there I was, skin all kinds of crazy (even though I can still touch Logan, but who’s to say he’s not immune) walking though a wallyworld knockoff looking for refills on shit I know I’ll need. I’ve uncapped and recapped lots of shampoos but they all stink to high heaven. Suddenly Logan’s there and I find myself grabbing one of his arms and holding him in a death grip.
“Give me my gloves.” He ignored me, focusing instead on the selection of bottles I’d been staring at. I huffed for a few more moments, crossing my arms and tapping my toes before relenting and returning to my perusal of the soaps and hair products. Logan turned toward me.
“Don’t you got enough of this stuff?” I took a page from his book and pretended he hadn’t spoken.
“How does this smell?” I shoved an open bottle of conditioner under his nose and waited patiently for him to reply. He pulled backwards and grimaced.
“That your problem darlin’, the smell?” Taking another page from his book, I grunted. He arched an eyebrow at me and smirked before spinning around and looking at the selection. He seemed to find what he was looking for because he waved his hand around to get my attention. “These are your best bet.”
I concentrated on the selection, testing certain scents before grabbing a body wash, conditioner, and shampoo. Logan chuckled behind me and I turned to glare at him. “What? “
“Grab a few Marie, I’ll be able to plow the roads if we need to, but I wouldn’t want you to run out.” I looked at him for a moment longer before tossing 6 more bottles into my waiting basket. Fuck it.
I made a pit stop at the feminine department and loaded up there too. Tooth brushes, toothpaste, some new clothes for each of us, and lots of other necessities I assumed Logan didn’t keep in stock later we were loading a bunch of stuff into the already sparse room left in the Jeep. Mostly it was cleaning supplies. Basic stuff lemon juice, salt, baking soda, wood oil, unscented dish soap, lots of natural cleaners and products. Logan picked it all, saving my new sense of smell I guess. Next stop, food.
Mostly all we needed was dry goods, packaged and what not. By the time we finished at the grocery, the Jeep was packed to its fullest. We loaded up the last of our purchases and headed to the outskirts of town. After a 15 minute drive we turned onto a packed dirt road, the kind that if you stepped on it you’d think you were standing on concrete. Another 10 minutes up that road and we’re pulling up in front of a small cleared area, big enough for three cars.
The cabin was just like he’d described, huge. One big ‘L’ shaped wooden structure, a covered porch nestled in the bend, protected on the right by the short side of the ‘L’ and on the top. It seemed as if the cabin and the small wood shed were cut right out of the forest, but placed strategically so the high afternoon sun would shine down on the roof. I must have stood staring like a dummy long enough for Logan to get amused, because when he grabbed my hand and said “Come on girl,” there was the biggest smile I’d ever seen on his face. He’d never given me my gloves back and his skin was warm against mine, he had both of our duffels on his shoulder when he pulled me up onto the porch. A quick turn of the lock, and we were in. I was only mildly surprised when Logan punched a few quick numbers onto the security box on the wall.
I would have made some snarky comment but I was too amazed at the furnishings. Rustic, but not Spartan. Comfortable but not plush. It screamed ‘Logan!’ in every line of the mahogany and every curve of fabric. The far end of the cabin, separated from view by a large half pulled back tapestry of multi colored threads secured across the length was a bed and dresser. There was a different design on the other side, but it was obscured where the fabric was bunched and I couldn’t make it out. The bedclothes were very masculine in their colors and the mound of blankets bespoke of cold winters.
Closer and along the far wall was a sitting area with a fireplace and a worn couch and chairs. Mahogany tables dotted the entire expanse of the cabin. The walls were covered with cabinets on the bottoms and bookshelves on the top, with the exception of a 12 foot section directly in the middle of the back wall. Two large bay windows banked the fireplace offering a beautiful view of the curving and sloping mountain side. Now there was a cascade of shades of green topped with whitecaps.
I took in the area directly in front of me and noticed a small bench and a trunk. A closet and a coat rack. Logan dumped our bags on the floor, seemingly content to watch me admire the house. I sent him what I’m sure was an impressively awed smile and wandered forward. The desk and chair held paper and an old fashioned writing table, a CD player and stack of CD’s, and a picture of me in a frame laughing. A picture of me. I risked a look over my shoulder and my brown eyes clashed with his golden ones for a moment before I looked away and moved further into the cabin.
I was at the crook of the ‘L’ now coming out of the long end. A wooden table, same shade and design as the rest of the furniture, was surrounded by chairs and rested near another set of windows. These windows were shorter (not reaching from hip to rafters like the others) and longer, with hinges at each end to allow them to lift up and out. A dirty glass ashtray sat on one of the bookshelves there and I had the distinct image of Logan sitting there, coffee in hand, staring out into the forest. A small table and two more chairs sat directly in front of it, one of the chairs had been pulled back and forth so much, it showed lines of wear in the floor. I wonder how long he’s been coming here.
The kitchen occupied the short part of the ‘L’ shape directly next to the porch, a window looking out over the parking lot. All the staples of a semi modern kitchen resided in the marble-countered mahogany-cabineted kitchen. Coffee pot, stove, refrigerator, I assumed they were all electric, and that Logan must have raised hell to get the electric company out this far. There wasn’t much in the way of lights; small lamps and candles were everywhere. I turned to look back at Logan, I’m sure I still had that dazzling awed smile on my face. “Wow,” I breathed.
“So you like it?” He was nervous again, a different kind than the one that tensed up the Jeep on the long ride. I pushed the tormented thoughts away and focused on the joy at just being here with him. I smiled again, but I could tell it had dimmed a bit with my troubles.
I moved forward like a trooper. “You have to ask? It’s great!”
“Good,” the amused smile was back on his face and I couldn’t help the wattage it restored to my own. “Look, you get our bags unpacked, and I’ll get the rest of the stuff.” His demeanor had changed and he was slightly bashful. I liked it. He turned and left out the front door. I lifted the bags and carted them back toward the bedroom area, idly wondering where I would sleep.
I unpacked Logan’s bag and on one of his repeat trips in caught his attention. “Logan, where do I put my stuff?” He sent me an odd look and walked toward me. I was standing wringing my hands when he reached my side and looked around at the small bedroom area.
“There’s not enough room in the dresser?”
“Well, yeah. But do you want my stuff in there?”
He took my face in his hands and tilted my face up. “Marie,” he said looking into my eyes. “I fucked up. Big. It took you leaving for me to realize that I might actually lose you. It took me losing you to realize that you’re all I ever wanted.” He leaned close, and his lips met mine for the first time since that fateful night. “If you’ll have me, I want you to share everything that I am. I’m yours Marie, plain and simple. So yeah,” he grinned placing another kiss on the tip of my nose. “Put your stuff in the dresser.”
I stood staring after him for a few seconds before I finished unpacking my bag and neatly arranging things, a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying was gone and a contented smile crept up. Everything wasn’t perfect yet, but it was on its way. My thoughts wandered and I let my eyes roam around me. The hidden side of the tapestry was now pulled mostly closed and I could see an intricate design of either Native American or Inuit origin. I’m fairly well versed in American history. It looked handmade, not store bought and I made a mental note to ask Logan about it.
Hours later I was in the kitchen, fighting with a finicky stove and begging Logan for the third time to come help me. In my defense each time he came to look, the thing worked fine, and I swear some evil spirit made the flames leap and fly in direct response to my emotions. I was gonna burn the fish, and I was tired of grabbing piping hot handles and having to bear through the quickly healing pain. Tears welled in my eyes, and I know Logan smelt them on his way inside. It doesn’t help that I keep getting distracted by the sight of him shirtless and chopping wood through the small kitchen window.
Lightly he batted my hands away, and I could see him glare at the red slowly fading from my palms. “Darlin’ we’ve got those things to cover your hands. Use ‘em.” He said gruffly before turning his attention to the burners. The flames were leaping wildly, crawling up the sides of the pan and licking at the juices bubbling with the heat. Finally Logan got them patted out and the burner off, he removed the pan from the stovetop and placed it on a waiting wooden cutting board.
“I swear baby, I ain’t never had a problem with this thing before. I’ll look at it before we have to cook next time.” I smiled at his words, and slipped my arms around him, inhaling the strong woodsy Logan smell that calmed me so well. He nuzzled his face into my neck before biting me lightly, and pulling away. “You get the rest of dinner together while I finish up the wood.”
I tossed a salad and cut some bread to serve with the fish while he cleaned up. It wasn’t long before we were cleaning up and getting ready to go to bed. Logan sat at the table, window opened and smoking a cigar, glass of whiskey on ice in front of him. I’d eyed the glass repeatedly; afraid of a relapse into the scarier days of a drinking Logan, but he’d told me that there wouldn’t be anymore of that. I could see hurt in his eyes at the uncertainty rolling off of me. I still looked at it warily, and was relieved when he did nothing but sip at the two inches of liquid inside the glass.
“What kind of whiskey isn’t done in shots?” I asked, I’ve never been well versed on alcohol, and I didn’t have the years worth of memories of all the men I’d touched to fall back on. I spared a moment for the fact that I never once touched a woman after my mutation surfaced. Even touchable, I shied away from any casual contact. Only people I cared about ever got to touch my skin. And Logan has touched lots of it. Back on track Marie!
“This is an expensive kind. Come here, smell it.” I strolled over to him, my sock covered feet cool on the wooden floors. I’d begun to notice my core temperature running a little low and was wrapped in a robe I’d pulled from my duffel. A pair of sleep pants, a tank top, and one of Logan’s button ups completed the ensemble. I brought my nose close the rim and picked out each smell Logan told me existed. He’d been doing this all day, teaching me the different scent markers and trace smells around me. If I was going to have his senses for good, I should definitely learn to live with them and put them to some use.
“You won’t find that mixture of smells in Jack Daniels.” He said, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. Have a sip.” I took the glass from him, and brought it to my lips. A tiny sip, no more than a drop touched my tongue when a burst of flavors exploded in my mouth.
“It’s so good. That’s amazing. I’ve noticed all the flavors in food, but they were always there before. I never noticed it in alcohol before.” He smiled at me and took the glass from my fingers before setting it on the table and stubbing out his cigar. “Is that why you drink and smoke?” I asked, and he gently pulled me toward the bedroom area. “All the flavors?”
“All kinds of things have different flavors and scents. What did you think of the smell of the cigar I was smoking?”
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I had the chance to censor them. “I like ‘em, they smell like you.” He smiled softly at me and pulled me into his arms. My lips met his and I tasted the whiskey, the cigar and something only Logan tastes like as his mouth explored mine. We stayed like that for a moment before he pulled away and stripped off my robe. He left my clothes in place, he too must have noticed the change in my body temperature. There was nothing but his enveloping embrace and intoxicating scent to lull me into sleep.