Rating: PG for language
Genre/Warnings: Logan/Remy slash
Summary: Two ficlets based off the prompts, "Most wonderful time of the year my ass!" and "Write about the message in the bottle".
Disclaimer: I don't own them and ain't that sad?
Author's Note: This ficlets were inspired by prompts from the comm staringout , a great cure-all for writer's block. As you can see by the titles, the pairing of choice is Logan and Remy. I hope you all enjoy them, I had a lot of fun writing them. As always, special thanks to my cheerleaders, momma_66 and gothabilly13 ! You ladies help calm my pre-posting nerves, and I love you for it! Enjoy!
~"Most wonderful time of the year my ass!"~
Logan gritted his teeth as yet another soccer mom elbowed passed him. His mantra for the past hour and a half had been, "Most wonderful time of the year my ass, but you're doing this for Jubilee! This is your first Christmas together, gotta make it count, bub!" He had dropped his adopted daughter off at Scott and Jean Summers' house. She had begged him the entire ride over to let her come with him, but he just grinned and told her that she would just have to wait Christmas like all the other kids in the world. She tried to act like she was mad for the rest of the short trip, but before he left Scott and Jean's, she gave him a big hug and kiss.
His decision to adopt Jubilee had shocked his friends. But it had been something he had been considering for quite some time. He had always wanted to settle down and have a family, but the perfect person had eluded him. So when his 40th birthday had come and gone earlier that year, he decided to go ahead and start a family on his own. He met up with a very nice older man, Charles Xavier, who ran a foster home. Jubilee stuck out almost immediately to him. She had been sitting Indian style on the floor of the den, watching old Bruce Lee movies and giggling at the sounds the man made. Her short black hair was mostly gathered into two short and spiky pigtails, and she wore a pink t-shirt, blue jean overalls, and Batman sneakers. Charles must have Logan noticing her because on Logan's next visit, he introduced them.
Logan fell in love with her right then and there, and not long after that first meeting, he began working with Charles on the paperwork to adopt her. The rough and tumble girl begged him to take her to work with him at one of his construction sites, so he pre-ordered her some protective gear. She loved the bright yellow hard hat with her name inscribed on it, and she absolutely adored her hot pink protective goggles, so much so that she was rarely seen without them.
Logan's stomach made its presence known with a loud rumble, causing him to make his way toward the food court. He scanned the different eateries before heading over to the Subway for a foot-long meatball sub. Stealing a table for himself, he pulled his tattered shopping list from his front pocket and grabbed his ever-present mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket, intent on crossing off items he had purchased. The first and most important present was the bright pink iPod Logan had seen her eying a few weeks ago. She had "casually" mentioned it at breakfast times over the next few days. Logan wasn't much into technology, but she wanted it, so he made sure she would get it. When he grabbed the last one at the electronics store, he thought for sure that the old woman standing behind him was going to beat him to death with her cane.
Next, he stopped by the tiny bookstore at the mall and purchased her a hardback set of the Twilight Saga, as her paperback copies Charles had bought her were worn and falling apart. He then went to Sears and spent a small fortune buying her very own set of tools. She had been asking for her own set so she could build a desk for her room. Then he went into a god awful store known as Hot Topic to buy her a few of Twilight t-shirts, some with that Edmund or Edward guy she liked so much on them.
As he finished his sub, he mused with joy that he had only two things left on his list, and they could be found in the same store: the first and second Kingdom Hearts. He wiped at the corners of his mouth and gathered his trash, standing and hiding a rather noisy burp behind his hand. He headed towards Game Stop, the store Scott and Jean told him that he would find the games. He entered the crowded store and was greeted by a pale-skinned boy, who said, "Hello, sir. Anything I can help you find today?"
"No, thanks, kid," Logan replied, ever the male, confident in his abilities to find two simple games. The boy nodded and tended to another person. Logan scanned the walls, his eyes soon swimming at the various titles. As he sighed in frustration, he heard a chuckle from his left, "You look a lil' lost, padnah."
Logan looked to the voice and saw a younger man grinning at him. He was wearing a deep purple turtleneck, blue jeans, and a pair of worn boots. His hair was long and auburn-colored, which glowed bright red as it shifted in the light. Logan snorted softly and asked, "What gave me away?"
"Well, you don' really look da type to be playin' video games," the stranger replied with a grin. "For your lil' one?"
"My daughter," Logan replied, extending a hand out. "I'm Logan Howlett."
"Remy LeBeau," he drawled, shaking his hand. Logan ran an appreciative eye over the younger man's face, his eyes actually a dark red that intrigued him. Remy turned his body toward the shelves full of games and asked, "So...what were ya lookin' for, Logan?"
Logan smiled at the way his name rolled off the other man's tongue and replied bashfully, "Ummm...the first two Kingdom Hearts games? For, uh, Playstation 3?"
Remy grinned and led him to the wall opposite them. He squatted down to reach the lower shelves, giving Logan a nice view of his ass. Logan ogled for a moment before adverting his eyes as Remy rose with a triumphant grin, handing him the two games. Logan returned the grin, saying in relief, "Thanks a lot, bub. I thought I was done for! So what, or should I say who, brings you here to the store?"
"Mon neveu, Jack," Remy replied, causing Logan to frown in confusion. It took a moment, but Remy understood his confusion and laughed, "'m sorry, homme. Keep forgettin' I ain't home no more. It mean "my nephew". But anyways, Jack's daddy, my older brother Herni, passed away not too long ago. Herni ask me to take care of Jack, and dat's what I intend on doin'."
Logan smiled, saying softly, "I'm sorry to hear about your brother. But it sounds like his boy will be well-looked after."
"T'ank ya kindly," Remy drawled bashfully, his cheeks turning a light pink. The two men stood in a comfortable silence for a moment before Remy said, "Ya know, I don' have to be back at da house for a couple more hours. Would ya like to grab a bite to eat?"
Even though Logan had eaten a very short time ago, he found that he could always fit more into his stomach. Plus he wanted to spend more time with Remy. As he turned toward the counter with the games, he replied, "Sure, that sounds great."
~Write about the message in the bottle~
Remy felt tears of despair flood his eyes as he drove his bike through the broken streets of his beloved New Orleans. It had been almost eight months since Katrina and Rita, and yet the city still looked like a bomb had hit. His père Jean-Luc was still in Shreveport, along with his tante Mattie and his frère Henri's son, Jack. Henri had opted to stay behind and helped the local nursing homes and hospitals with their patients. Unfortunately, he stayed too long and got swept away in the flood. They were lucky to find the body but had to have a closed coffin because of the damage and level of decay.
Jean-Luc had asked Remy for him and his boyfriend, Logan who owned a construction company, to go check out the house and see how bad the damage on the house was. Logan was at the house, but just from the outside, Remy knew he wasn't going to like what Logan had to say. Remy drove through the streets, his heart breaking at such familiar sights being so beaten and broken down. He saw houses completely abandoned with three to six foot high water marks from the flood waters. He drove his bike to the beach, which was sparsely populated. Even though the area was cleared of debris, the lack of life spoke of a community that still bled from the vicious wounds Katrina and Rita left.
Remy walked along the beach, his thumbs tucked in his front jean pockets. His copper red hair kept blowing in his face, but he was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't care. As he walked, he spotted what appeared to be a green glass bottle wedged in the sand. He frowned, litterbugs being a pet peeve of his. As he got closer, he arched an eyebrow when he saw that it was corked. He bent over to pick it up and examine it better in the sunlight. After wiping away the sand and grime, he saw pieces of paper rolled up tight and tied with a string. He had to grip the cork with the bottom of his shirt and twist it carefully until he pulled it free with a loud pop. Grinning like a fool, he tucked the cork in his pocket to throw away later and turned the bottle upside down, shaking it softly. The roll slipped out and onto his palm.
Remy handled the papers carefully, telling by the aged look that it was quite old. He untied the string very slowly, so as not to damage the paper. It appeared to be notebook paper with some of the blue lines still visible. He unrolled the papers and spotted a date, which caused his eyes to widen.
July 5th, 1986
Rose is dead. I've been sitting here, on the edge of the Hudson River, trying to wrap my mind around that fact. Her friends tried to invite me to stay at one of their houses, each of them telling me that they were here for me. It took every fiber of my body to fight the urge to tell them all to go to hell, but I know that's not what Rose would have wanted. I know that this message in a bottle shit are usually for little kids and sappy romantics, but I've never been one to follow the norms of the world. I just want to make a record of her short life, of the good that she did and toss it into the sea. Maybe it will travel to all the places she never could.
From what Rose remembered, she was born in Camrose, Alberta, Canada. She used to say her fondest memories of her parents were her mother's voice singing along with the radio as she made dinner and her father's smell after a hard day at work when he gave her a hug. They died in a car accident when she was seven and, since she had no other relatives to take her in, she spent the next three years bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage until my parents found her at one in Edmonton. My mother had had a hard pregnancy with me and after I was born, the doctors told her more children wouldn't be possible. My parents adopted Rose when I was five. She was really smart and helped me with my homework, ever patient with me when I throw my pencil across the room. She'd simply go pick it up, ruffle my hair and giggle that I shouldn't always let my temper get the better of me.
I was really upset when she left home for college in Calgary. But I was 13, a big tough guy who wasn't bothered or upset by anything. When Rose hugged me goodbye, neither of us mentioned the tears that were shed as I buried my face in her neck. She just pulled away after a moment and said, "Take care, tough guy. I'll call you when I'm settled, okay?" And that little promise made her leaving seem a little less terrible. She had a tiny apartment with a friend of hers, Shelly. They studied to become nurses and worked as waitresses. She wrote me letters full of her goings-on and helpful tips with my studies. The first year flew by, and before we knew it, she was back for a visit during summer break. Two days before Canada Day, my mother and father went to the store to get supplies to the cook out. Three hours had past and they still hadn't returned. Then there was a knock at the door. By then, I had this feeling in my gut that something wasn't right. And that feeling only increased when Rose opened the door to show two police officers. My parents had been in an accident, broadsided by a truck on the way home. My father, whose side had been struck, died at the scene and my mother was in critical condition.
Rose rushed us to the hospital and we waited for four hours before a blood-speckled doctor came in and told us she didn't make it. I felt like I lived in a fog of anger and pain for several months after that. Rose sold the house and put all of our parents' things in a huge storage building. She and Shelly shared a room, so that I could have one of my own. I tried to convince her to let me quit school and get a job so I could help out. But she refused, telling me how important my education was. Shelly eventually got a boyfriend and moved out. Things would get tight, but somehow, Rose always managed to find the silver lining. She would bring food home from work for me when we didn't have enough for groceries, and she got a second job to pay all the bills. But through it all, she stayed positive and graduated in the top ten of her class.
Things got better once she got her nursing license. She got a good job at a good hospital and got plenty of hours. She always made sure she helped me out any way that she could. She'd stay up and help me with my homework, even after she'd had a hard day at work. But in turn, I always made sure the apartment stayed spotless and that she always had a hot meal waiting for her. She would smile tiredly and say, "Thanks, Jimmy. You know just how to take care of me." At the beginning of my last year of school, she started talking about going to America. She told me about New York City, a city that never slept, that buzzed with energy and life. I was fine with where we were, but Rose wanted to go, so I was on board. She took care of getting things in order, and by the time I graduated, we were set. We got another tiny apartment in the Bronx. Weary of this huge city, I took her to and from work, regardless of the hour. I got jobs working on construction sites and an auto repair shop. But whenever we caught a day off together, Rose would always drag me around to go sight-seeing. We would munch on cheap hot dogs at Central Park, Rose picking bits off her bun to feed to the birds. Once for her birthday, I saved up enough money for the two of us to go see "Cats" on Broadway. She burst into tears when I showed her the tickets and kept thanking me the entire night for the most wonderful birthday.
Then she met this guy, Victor Creed. He was a real brute and there was something off about him, but he somehow made Rose happy so I kept my objections to myself. They only dated for four months before he up and disappear. Rose was devastated but begged me not to hunt him down, that he wasn't worth it. Things went back to business as usual until one day she got a cold. We didn't think nothing of it, going about our daily routines. But two weeks passed and a little cough evolved into a fever and cough fits so violent they hurt to hear. When I came home to find her collapsed on the floor, I took her to the ER. They swept her away and two hours later, as I was comforting her in her room, a doctor walked in and I got that feeling again. He told Rose that he needed to ask her some questions and she squeezed my hand weakly before nodding. He asked her if she had ever used drugs via a needle and she replied, "Of course not." Then he asked if she had had unprotected sex and her bottom lip started to tremble. I got pissed and asked what the hell did that have to do anything. That was when he told us the news. She had HIV, and her cold jump started it into AIDS, causing her to develop Pneumocystis pneumonia. There were experimental treatments they would try, but the prognosis wasn't good.
That was her life. She was beautiful and kind, generous and lovely. She never met a stranger and died with a soft smile on her face. She taught me that even though there was evil in the world, there was kindness as well. All one had to do was search for it.
James Logan Howlett
Remy sniffed as he finished the letter. The signature at the end of the letter shocked the hell out of him. Logan had been quiet about his earlier years, saying nothing more than his family was dead. Remy now understood why. He felt a deep ache for his lover, losing everyone he'd ever loved. Logan had been his rock when Herni drowned and in the following months before they found his body. He held Remy as he sobbed into the older man's chest and listened when the Cajun remember happier times.
"Merde, Logan," Remy cursed, wiping at his face and studying the letter again.
Carefully Remy folded the letter and placed it in his front pocket. As he walked back to his bike, he mused over the letter and Logan. Remy couldn't believe that his lover could have suffered that much lose and didn't fall apart. He couldn't imagine the pain of having to watch a loved one waste away and suffer because of a deadly disease. Remy felt then a surge of admiration and love for Logan, for his strength and ability to move forward. As he climbed on his bike, he couldn't help but feel hopeful. If Logan could rebuild his life from the ruins, maybe his beloved city could too.
A/N- Thank you for reading! Reviews makes me warm and fuzzy!