[ Logan leans against the back of her couch, peering at the screen over her shoulder while the laptop whirs. New York makes it hard to listen for what might be coming; there's people coming and going at all hours, people shouting in the streets and sirens drowning out the rest. But mostly, he's waiting for the distinct click of weapons and the unmistakable smell of gun oil.
His gaze flicks back to the screen as the list of files scroll so fast, it's practically a blur. ]
Jesus. [ It opens up a million more questions: who gave this to her? Why? She'd said it wasn't hers, so where the fuck did it come from? An anonymous source? He can see why those guys want it. This isn't some sob stories from parents with missing kids; they're not old newspaper clippings that don't prove much of anything. It's evidence—real evidence, the kind that can't be buried.
Whoever this was, they're a hell of a whistleblower.
He doesn't recognize the kid. He blinks twice, studying the picture. Autopsy reports, research notes. The same shit they always find in these things. But the names signed on these charts...he's realizing that's where the real information lies. Before he can ask her to click on the next folder, he senses something.
His head snaps up. On instinct, he reaches over and closes her laptop without a word. Shit. ] Get your things, let's go.
[ The words are barely out of his mouth when the door collapses in, and the only thing on his mind when he leaps over her couch is that they're lucky these dumb motherfuckers haven't learned not to shoot at him yet. ]
[ there isn't a lot of time - just enough for her to search a little further through this one folder. reports on reports, distinct, confidential information. the photos are too much for her to look at, but the names, the locations, the evidence at her fingertips. it's the names, yes, but it's also the locations, it's the approval stamps, the- god. she's overwhelmed. overwhelmed even more by the amount of information in this folder alone, and then how many folders there are.
jesus logan whispers, and Karen clicks back to the picture. she doesn't recognize him, not from any of the photos or clippings or things she's been able to cobble together. it all feels somewhat meaningless in the face of this.
and this is just one file. one life. which means that the others, the folders she hadn't even finished scrolling through, if they're all...
karen misses whatever it is that catches logan's attention, but the snap of her laptop being shut is plenty. she's startled by the sudden movement, and turns to him - a what the hell? stuck in her throat as he speaks. ]
Wha-? [ that's when the door collapses in, gunfire exploding into her apartment, and drops immediately down to the floor under her kitchen counter. there isn't quite room for her to really feel the fear that shoots through her, the adrenaline instead taking over and pushing her forward. she doesn't know if she breathes, doesn't know if she even thinks, because this is unfortunately not her first time here. she shakes, but she does move as quickly as she can, grabbing the backpack at her feet and shoving everything she can grab inside. her pistol is there - is always there, tucked into the interior side pocket - but the folders, papers, anything around her she can grab. there's so much noise, guns and screams, fighting, grunts. she thinks she hears a wall collapsing in, hears logan yell.
her coffee table shatters to her left and Karen feels a sob ripped out of her chest, her hands going over her head as she huddles behind the island for a few moments, just long enough for her to hear the guns either run out of bullets or get distracted, before she tries to glance over the top of the counter, to terrified to cry but needing, needing to know where logan is, that he's okay, that- ]
Logan! [ she yells out, ducking around through the kitchen to try and out of view from the doorway. she doesn't even know how many there are, can't track the movement - are they out in the main hall of the building? where did they go? she grabs her purse, because it's within view and that's about as far as she can think.
it goes from a kind of violent cacophony to near-silence, and Karen feels her body force itself to breathe, to exist, to function. she is terrified to duck around the corner, but she also knows she can't just sit here until he comes back. after a few breaths, after hearing the way those breaths shake, she reaches into her bag and finally gets her hand around her pistol. after another few breaths, and still more silence, Karen finally pulls up her pistol and tries to inch around the corner of the kitchen wall.
she can't hear much of anything, the ringing from before still so loud, but logan... he has to be fine. he has to be fine. he is fine. he is. ]
God damn it, Logan. [ she whispers, mostly to herself. ] Okay, okay...
[ He ends up tumbling straight through the stairwell, is where; takes four guys with him, too, rolling down the concrete stairs. His head cracks against the edge of a step. Fuck. Christ. They gotta know what they're dealing with by now, which begs the question: why the hell haven't they changed tactics? Why are they still loaded with nothing more than some goddamn bullets?
Starting to make him wonder if these guys are being sent in as fodder.
He pushes the thought aside. Karen's still inside the apartment, and he's hoping she knows to duck and cover, that she's not gonna run out into the hall. He leaves behind five bodies (one missing a leg; the other an arm) by the time he bursts back through her busted doorway—uncaring if he startles her, pistol and all. What's one more bullet to his collection? He catches her arm, his hand slick with blood. Her pulse thunders in his ears. It's the only heartbeat he can hear nearby. ]
We gotta go, c'mon.
[ He's not sticking around for round three. Besides, the fight's at her door this time, not a block away. It might be Hell's Kitchen, but no way they dodge the cops on this one and Logan's not interested in dealing with the law tonight. Isn't interested in dealing with them at all, in fact. He shoves the few files left behind on Karen's kitchen counter, grabs her laptop while she throws on her jacket and her bag, and hurries her out the door—hand around her wrist as he pulls her along. They descend the same stairs, stepping over the fresh bodies, running past the jagged claw marks gouged inches deep into the concrete wall.
A few college kids stumble along the sidewalk, blocking their path. Logan doesn't think twice, just pushes through the drunken group and hops on his bike.
He revs the engine. He can check if she's okay later; right now, he needs to get her moving. ] Hurry up, let's go!
[ she hears footsteps, heavy and determined, and all of that adrenaline comes rushing back. she pushes back into the fridge, stops her bleeding, shifts her gun off safety, prepares to turn around the corner and then he bursts back through her front door, reaching for her hands even with the pistol.
he catches her arm before she can fire, and Karen feels her heart plummet in her chest. he doesn't take her gun from her, just holds onto her arm and starts to pull her out. we gotta go. her eyes go to his hands, his arms, the blood. her stomach flips, the smell thick and his hands are warm but her mind goes to the people. the people who came here looking for her.
when logan lets go of her, leaving behind blood smears across her arm, she turns her attention to packing her gun away, and she then gets her coat, some cash she keeps in the top drawer and an extra box of ammo. she has no idea how long they'll be gone, or on the run, or whatever it is they're about to do - but she knows they can't stay here, so she just tries to grab what she can. she's reaching for- she doesn't even know. her phone, maybe? her wallet? when he grabs her wrist and is tugging her out the door. she stumbles after him, trying to keep up with the pace he's moving, but as they step out in the hall, she gasps, and it sounds a bit like a sob, before she gets her feet back under her and she keeps running.
the scratch marks, the devastation, the open walls, the bodies. she swallows back any more reactions, rushes after him, and steps outside just when he shoves his way through the college students. she doesn't even have it in her to apologize, just ducks after him into the alley, slipping her backpack over her shoulders and sliding on behind him. ]
Where are we going? [ she asks as he revs the engine again, her arms around his waist. ]
[ He speeds off the second she holds on. A bullet whizzes past his head, a second strikes him right in the shoulder. None of them hit her, which is all he cares about as he swerves around the corner.
He didn't fucking plan for this. He's not strategizing. That's never been how he works. What he does know is he needs to get her the hell out of the city, away from any city, and that means west. They'll be better off heading that direction while it's still dark. While the men after her are licking their wounds. The further they ride, the fewer traffic lights appear. City streets give way to long stretches of highway. It goes dark. Quiet. They pass a lone truck hauling softwood.
He gets off the exit, speeding up now that they're alone. If he was on his own, he'd go all night. But that's not an option with her alongside. He pulls off to the nearest roadside motel: rundown, shady. Broken glass along the curb. It'll do.
He knows they can't keep this up long. Her story, the assholes behind it, he needs to find them. Before they finish the job. ]
Wait here. [ He's not going far, just to pay for a room—but he waits for her to give him the go ahead, anyway. It's a lot. Tonight, all of it. He figures a second to make sure she's okay won't kill them. ]
[ he says away like it explains anything at all, and karen very nearly says as much, but it's right about then another shot rings out and logan takes off before karen even has the right grip. she scrambles a little, curls up against him and ducks her head low, and prays, prays they make it out of here. she hears the sound of a bullet landing, the feeling of logan's body tensing, of him grunting, but that's about it. honestly, she barely realizes he's been shot except for the way she ends up smeared with his blood, or at least the amount that seeps through his jacket before he heals.
she keeps her eyes closed, keeps her grip around him tight, and forces herself to breathe. she doesn't watch where he goes, doesn't really care even what direction they take. the limit of her focus is on holding on, it's letting him handle getting them through the traffic, and it's only relaxing once they've been on a highway long enough that she feels like she can breathe.
thought she can't quite relax just yet, given how as soon as the adrenaline leaves her, her body threatens to collapse. so karen focuses on keeping her arms tight around his waist and pressed to his back and the rest... follows. will have to follow.
quieting her mind is another task entirely - and as they drive, her mind spins. who are these people that are after her? how are they this connected, and how did they know? her story has been so connected with government groups that she hadn't thought about the possibility of gangs, or even other interested individuals, but the process they've been using doesn't feel... she doesn't know. organized enough? smart enough? it's clear that they've given up on trying to make whatever was going to happen to her look like an accident, but if that is really the case, what line did she cross?
part of her, somewhere in the back of her head, says she'll need to call matt. or at least tell him. he and foggy are going to worry, if she doesn't. but-
it's not until he pulls off into some kind of parking lot that karen chooses to even try and relax, unclasping herself from around him and finally looking up - seeing the motel lighting in the darkness, wondering what time it even is. they park, and logan kills the engine, stepping off the bike and telling her to wait there and she nods - she can do that - and decides to take the time to pull her backpack from her shoulders and start checking through what she grabbed.
logan doesn't take long to get the room situated, and by the time he returns to the bike, it's just in time to hear karen cursing - loudly, considering the empty, quiet parking lot - as she frantically searches through her backpack. ]
Shit, shit, I can't- [ when he gets close enough that she sees him, Karen looks up to him - frantic, in her own, exhausted way. ] I left the laptop. My laptop. I thought I grabbed it with the files but-
[ she's still sitting on the back of his bike, her backpack on the seat in front of him and she tears it apart. ]
[ Logan cleans the blood off his hands as best he can, which isn't very. He's banking on whoever's behind that front desk isn't gonna give a shit.
Sure enough, he gets a single suspicious once-over before the man takes his cash without a word. Logan puts down a name that isn't his, grabs the keys, and makes his way back to Karen as quick as he can. The neon sign hums, buzzing in his ear—but that's not what he's listening to as he approaches. It's Karen, swearing up a storm.
He blinks. ] Hey, hey, what's—
[ What? The—the laptop, yeah. Logan lays a hand on hers, stopping her from ripping her bag at the seams. ]
I got it. I got it, okay? [ He gestures for her to shift aside before he flips open the top-box on the back of his bike. He pulls out two loose files, smeared reddish-brown, and reveals the laptop inside. He hands it to her, then the drive he's got tucked in his jacket pocket. ] Here. We're over there.
[ He nods at the room labelled 112, a few steps away. He helps her pack up again, sliding her laptop in first, then the rest of the files. It's a goddamn mess, papers and shit spilling out of their folders, but that's a problem for the morning. She looks exhausted, no doubt running high on fumes and adrenaline; he wants to get her inside before she crashes. And he needs a fucking shower. They both do. (And clothes. Again.)
The door creaks open. Yellowed peeling wallpaper greets them, along with the musty of odour of marinating sheets, stale beer, and rat poison.
He misses her couch already.
There's only one bed—his choice. Two of them went on the run, he's not about to sign for two beds for anybody to come looking. Doesn't matter. He can take the floor. ]
[ the hand on hers calms her in more ways than she really wants to admit, the panic settled for long enough that she can actually hear him when he says i got it. karen almost doesn't understand, until he gestures and she shifts back, lets him get into the top box, and he pulls out two files and the laptop. the relief that floods her almost leaves her sobbing, grabbing the laptop, files, and drive from him.
logan gestures towards the room, and Karen grabs at his arm, notices that some - but not all - of the now dried blood has been wiped off. ]
Thank you. [ she says, quietly, genuinely. the relief adding on the rushed release of adrenaline. she looks more exhausted in that moment than she's felt this entire ride, but it's okay. it's okay. they're okay. she lets go of his arm and slips the laptop and files into her backpack, zipping the entire thing closed and holding it against her chest as she steps off the bike and follows him inside the room.
it's shit, a cheap motel, with peeling wallpaper and a kind of dank, still smell. but as soon as the door closes behind them, Karen lets out a breath, walks over and settles on the mattress. the backpack is still clutched to her chest, not even recognizing there is only one bed.
his question pulls her out of her stare, turning to him, huffing a laugh that doesn't fool either of them. ]
I've been better. [ it feels silly to say no, considering how this is just another experience on top of so many others. she lets out another press, presses a palm to her forehead. ] But... yeah. Okay. Thanks to you. [ her eyes scan over him, the dried blood, the shredded clothes, his own exhaustion. she finds his eyes. ]
[ Yeah, well. Haven't they both? But she's alive, uninjured. Counts as a win in his book. He picks through the room out of habit while she settles in. Serviceable coffee, an old microwave, somebody's leftover can of Coke in the mini-fridge. Matches. He pockets that. ]
Been worse. [ A dry joke. He shrugs off his jacket, then his shirt, and sits in the scuffed armchair by the bed. ] No one followed us, but...be careful if you're stepping out.
[ He's suddenly a little too aware of the carnage she stumbled through—his carnage, more than anybody's—but whatever feelings rise as a result, he squishes them down. He rubs his temple. Fuck. Where the hell did her friend get to? The lawyer? What's he doing? Karen hasn't indicated she's heard anything from him—but she's not acting like that's strange, either.
He shakes it off. ] Shower's working.
[ If she wants to dive in. He's lighting up in the meantime, ignoring the No Smoking sign. A light breeze comes through the window. Out here, it's practically silent: no sirens, no drunks, no traffic. He can hear somebody snoring on the other side through the paper-thin walls, the clack of a keyboard across the hall. Nothing they need to be worried about. ]
[ it is a dry joke, but karen still gives a quiet laugh, shaking her head. been worse- yeah, she supposes that makes sense. that this is closer to what logan is used to, that these sorts of things are normal. karen is suddenly a lot more understanding of his need to keep moving, why he doesn't settle in any one place for too long.
it doesn't escape her that he's still on- how no one followed, but how she shouldn't leave the room. she glances around the space, the grime and the dark shadows, and she lets out another breath - it feels... ridiculous, in a way, how restless she'd felt in her own apartment. her own apartment that is now ridden with bullet holes and holes, destruction, again. and now? ]
Okay. [ she says, nodding more to herself than anything. she knows this isn't permanent, nothing about this should be permanent, but-
shower's working and Karen nods, yeah, okay. shower is probably a good idea. she stands and heads that way, backpack still clutched to her chest, not wanting it to be far. she figures logan will keep himself busy, so karen takes her time under the water, lets the sobs she's been holding back, the last rush of fear, escape. some part of her is still there enough to hope the water covers it, but also she doesn't have the energy to really care.
she showers, then she dries off - she doesn't feel clean, exactly, but she does feel a little better as she steps back out into the room. ]
Shower's all yours. [ she doesn't really have pjays, extra clothes weren't top of her mind when she left, but she keeps the towel around her as she steps out of the small bathroom to let logan take his turn.
the exhaustion she's been keeping at bay is written all over her, and she's hoping it'll be enough to force her to sleep, or if the paranoia will keep her up. ]
[ Once the door clicks behind her, Logan cleans up the room some. Or her stuff, more like, keeping her files together and the endless papers from crumpling. He checks the safety on her gun, just in case—then zips her bag up and puts it next to the bed. Ash drifts from his cigar to the already grimy carpet.
He hears the water. He hears everything, actually. It makes him pause—glancing up, eyeing the strip of light at the bottom of the door. Should he check on her? Should he knock? But this is probably all more than she wants him to hear or know; after a moment, he decides to take himself outside, closing the door behind him. He scans the low roofs, peers at the light from the office across the damp motel lot. He counts five cars parked: four rusty sedans, the fifth one of those mini toy cars he could flip with his pinky. Only when the shower shuts off does he go back in, about a half-second before she comes out wrapped in a towel.
His gaze lingers on her face. Maybe it's obvious he knows, maybe it's not. He blinks, scratching the back of his head. Christ, he's fucking tired, too. ]
Thanks.
[ He disappears into the same shower, the air damp with steam, the mirrors fogged. He doesn't bother wiping them. What's there to see? He runs the shower cold so he doesn't sap all of the hot water, scrubs the blood off of him, and takes the only other towel in this place. Tomorrow, he's gonna have to figure out the rest of this: food, clothes, whether he wants to call anybody else in on this or not. It doesn't feel big enough yet; he knows the Professor's got his hands full with other mutant Brotherhood shit, so. That leaves him here, with her, and he's equal parts sure he's all she needs and equal parts sure he isn't.
He's quiet, opening the door, in case she's already asleep. ]
[ she doesn't notice that he's left, but she thinks she hears the click of the door when he returns, catching his eyes from across the room. his eyes linger on her, and her's lingers on him in return. how the blood smears are still there, dried, but how he's healed. and how she knows she will have bruises tomorrow, how the bruises from the attack in the hallway still haven't totally healed.
logan looks tired. more tired than she thinks she's seem him yet. it makes sense- for all that he can survive, for all that his body can stitch itself back together, just because it won't kill him doesn't mean he doesn't feel it, right?
thanks he says, and starts towards the shower. karen starts to walk away from it as well, leaving him space to walk by her - but barely. it leaves them turning to face each other, within each other's spaces, and whether or not it's all in karen's mind or whether it truly plays out that way, but Karen feels like they both seem to hesitate. they both exist in this space together, and her eyes go down to logan's chest, then up to his face against. she breathes, close, too close, close enough that she could step just a little closer, could reach out, and she doesn't want to leave-
and then the moment ends, and the two of them continue past each other.
as logan closes the door and she hears the water start, Karen turns to where she left her stuff- to find it's been mostly packed back away. she looks over at the door again, smiles once to herself, and then steps around to get dressed in whatever clothes of her are the cleanest - leaving her mostly in her shirt and underwear - and then she climbs into bed - the single bed, the only bed, and pulling the backpack up with her. part of her considers opening her laptop up again, diving into these files - there are so many, so many lives, so many kids - but her head starts to pound and she decides that it can wait for tomorrow.
what she doesn't wait on is to pull out her phone - there's a text from foggy, but nothing from matt. part of her wonders if foggy somehow knows, that the news has already spread that far, but the text is too casual. josie's soon? karen presses her hand to her mouth, the fear and anger and anxiety surging through her and then out again. she takes a breath, considers just calling foggy but realizing she knows she won't be able to keep her voice steady enough for that, so a text will have to do.
Not right now, but maybe soon. I'll have to let you know when though. working on a story.
she considers texting matt, telling him that she's fine and who logan is and that she's not in the city anymore, but she doesn't. can't bring herself to write it out. instead, foggy responds with a You get five days, Miss Page, and then I'm showing up unannounced and legally kidnapping you. karen panics, minorly, before realizing the reaction is unnecessary. she exhales, sends him a I'm not going to ignore your texts, Foggy. I promise not to go silent. How's that?
assceptable. excepta Acceptable.
she smiles, mostly to herself, and shoots him a quick. Go to sleep, Foggy. before turning her phone off and slipping under the covers.
when logan finally finishes his shower, her back is to the bathroom, curled up as far to the edge of the bed as possible to leave him room on the other half. she's still, exhausted, though not entirely old cold just yet. ]
[ Karen's apartment was small. This room is smaller. He can hear her every movement, her every breath; he knows, even through the pounding water, what she's doing two feet away from the door. He's not bothered, not like that, but he's aware. A little too fucking aware. And when he steps out, his eyes land back on her, between her side of the bed and the spot she's left empty.
He considers it. A beat passes; two. It's not anything; he figures, after everything, she wants the company, maybe the comfort of a solid body next to hers. Hell, he could use that, too. But they've got who the fuck knows how long together; he can't begin to guess what might happen next. The unpredictability—the fact that he isn't sure he trusts himself to sleep next to her when he's on high alert—makes him hesitate.
He snags the second pillow off the bed and chucks it onto the floor by the nightstand. Like her, he's thinking about the files, the kids, the millions of documents stored in that tiny drive. He's thinking that he's pretty sure he glimpsed something, a familiar date or name or string of numbers, something that tells him he's in those files. Of course he fuckin' is. Why wouldn't he be? It all started with him, didn't it? Yeah, yeah, they'd have found somebody else, might've experimented on plenty before he came along. He knows. But he's their breakthrough, the thing they've tried to replicate for decades since.
Wish he could say it ended that day with Stryker. Even back then, he hadn't believed it would. Now he knows he was right.
He settles back with an arm under his head, the same bloodstained sweats pulled over his hips. It should be easier than it feels. He can protect her. All of this, it's what he does. But his head's somewhere back there, too, at that goddamn diner, and he gets the wild, absurd thought that if he takes her far enough north, nobody'll come after her again.
[ she hears, in that distant, exhausted kind of way when you're half asleep and barely conscious. she hears the water cut off, she hears the door open, and she knows logan is stepping into the room. her eyes are still closed, and she doesn't clock that she's waiting for something - tracking his movement around the room, where he steps and what he's choosing to do - until it never comes.
instead, logan picks up a pillow and tosses it on the floor next to the bed. and then, a couple of moments later, he settles on the ground next to the bed, and karen's eyes open.
she's so tired, so much that even opening her eyes feels like a chore, but as she looks at the dirty, faded curtains, she hears logan's voice from the floor. wake me if you need me. her knees slide up into her stomach, curled around herself, as she sits on barely a portion of the bed. she tries to logic it out - she's read that sometimes, soldiers can't sleep on beds because the softness is what's the problem. they can't handle the comfort. ]
Will you sleep on the bed? [ she asks, quiet. it almost sounds like a plea, which she hates. she closes her eyes, lets out a breath. ] There's plenty of room. [ another beat, where her chest starts to feel tight - she hates this, how she feels strung out and alone, exhausted and weak. she's almost impressed by how exhausted she is, by the fact she might actually fall asleep, but now that she knows logan is laying on the floor... ]
You don't have to. It's just... [ she chews on her lip. ] Nevermind.
[ Somehow, she's always surprising the hell out of him.
Logan lifts his head. The question hangs in the air, impossible to ignore, impossible to deny. Well. No. More accurately, he doesn't wanna say no. He doesn't. It's easy to be alone when he's got nobody he wants to be with, when he's shut himself away from the world and settled into a thoughtless truce with the foxes and wolves that roam the brush. Each time he comes back, though, it sort of rushes at him, how he doesn't always mind being around...people. Familiar faces he doesn't hate seeing again. New ones he starts wanting to revisit—or stick with a little longer than he's gotta.
The seconds tick by. He glances at the clock's red glare, then back at Karen. She looks wrung out, but more than that, she looks lonely.
He dusts off the pillow and returns it to the bed. Then he climbs on, the old springs complaining under his weight. She smells like cheap motel shampoo and bar soap and the lingering scent of blood that she must've missed in the shower. Or maybe that's from him, buried under his nails.
He's not thinking anymore. Now that he's allowed himself to be next to her, he's stopped going over every detail, stopped weighing his choices. When he reaches over to brush back a damp lock of her hair, it's almost second nature—a reflex. ]
[ she is lonely- that's the thing. it's been a creeping feeling over the last few months, every since each time she's tried to fight the feeling it's crept back in again. she's lonely right now, knowing that the only person who is reaching out is someone she can't tell the details (yet, maybe, but still). lonely, because the only person who even somewhat knows logan is here is probably out there dealing with this same thing, but doesn't feel the need to check in. lonely, knowing that beyond the two of them, that her list pretty much ends.
in the silence that follows her request, Karen holds her eyes closed, hoping, praying that logan doesn't do what she expects him to. that he won't turn right over where he is, on the floor, and grunt a good night, Karen. it would be the smarter decision - and really, how pathetic is it that she's still this scared, still this fragile, after everything. after all the things she's been through. after knowing, if distantly, how much logan has this handled.
he moves, then, and karen's eyes open, unsure if she is imagining it. first she feels the pillow fall back onto the bed, and then it's the creaking, the dip of his weight next to her. karen takes a couple of breaths to settle herself, to calm down the relief she feels. from how nice it is that even in these shitty sheets, on this shitty bed, his presence just next to her is helpful. more than helpful.
it feels like something loosens as he settles on the bed, and that is when karen feels him reach over, brushing back a log of her still damp hair. drawn by it, she turns over to face him, instead of keep her back to him. her eyes hover on his face for a few moments, as if she's checking for cuts, for scars, when she knows neither will be there. it takes one, maybe two breaths before she smiles, and seems to actually relax. ]
[ The smarter decision. Probably, yeah. He sucks at making those. He keeps thinking, now's not the time. Now's not the fucking time, but the thing is, when it comes to him, he's never at the right time. He's never at the right anything.
She doesn't pull away. He withdraws his hand, but lets it linger a hint. The bed feels too goddamn small. There's no room between them. Her skin is cool from the shower where her arm brushes his. He's always run hotter than most, though. ]
More than a little, [ he agrees. His gaze is fixed on her face. The curve of her lips when she smiles. She's scared, yeah, but—not of him, he realizes. He knows there's good people out there. She's determined to finish this story for a reason. Still, mutant kids are one thing; he's...something else, something far on the other end of innocent victim.
He tucks his hand under his pillow before he makes a choice that fucks this up. This is good. Whatever's here right now, it's good. He's not gonna be an idiot about it. Besides, they're both exhausted to hell. Bad time for any decisions. And a good time for a million regrets in the morning.
[ for what it's worth, karen is pretty okay with whatever decision this is going to be considered. smart, safe, unhealthy, whatever - whatever it is, logan looks at her like he's waiting for her to shrivel back. pull away. like he's waiting for her to suddenly decide to be scared of him. it's a little ridiculous to imagine, that of everything karen's been through in the last four days, of everything she's felt, that has never crossed her mind.
and yet- he's still waiting.
he withdraws his hand, but it doesn't go far. it doesn't feel like he's pulling away from her. more than a little he says, and Karen blinks - feels her eyes getting heavy - the smile lingering. he settles, tucks himself into the pillows, and Karen shifts herself to get more comfortable. there's a decision made at some point, and Karen feels... not disappointed, exactly, but something else. something missed, but not gone.
the bed is too small - with the two of them in it, they are inches, not even a foot, away from being pressed up against each other. karen is on her side, which does provide some space, but she can still feel the heat of him, feel it radiating off of him even from this distance. ]
Goodnight, Logan. [ she says in response, letting her eyes fall closed. letting her body finally sink into the mattress, fully. she should stay at least somewhat alert, should be prepared if someone shows up, but she's so tired. exhausted. and with logan here...
karen falls asleep, not even full moments later, and sleeps solidly through the night. ]
[ It's good she's out like a light; Logan's not near a restful sleeper, but when he wakes in the middle of the night with is heart pounding, she's dead to the world. He glances at the clock—4:47 A.M.—and decides that's about all he's getting. He swings his leg over the bed. Flexes his fingers.
It's not regret that settles over him as he studies her. Not exactly. Feels more like a question he isn't sure they'll ever answer.
The air's crisp when he steps outside. He scans the lot, then walks to the end of the motel. A dusty vending machine sits pressed up against the pockmarked brick wall. He digs out some crumpled bills and coins. Nothing like Fritos for a healthy breakfast. He brings them back inside, tossing the packets on the table. His gaze wanders over her bag. He pauses. After a second, he removes one of the folders, the files she once offered for him to read. He didn't take her up on it then but—
When she finally wakes, she'll find him on the room's solitary sofa flipping through the info she's collected on Weapon X. The rumoured incidents. Clippings, mostly. None of them bring much flooding back, but...
[ she is out like a light, and stays dead to the world until well into the morning. it feels like a combination of finally having something, of being attacked, of finally being out in the middle of nowhere so maybe she can't be easily found, and then there's logan - a weight on the bed next to her, the feeling of not being alone.
when karen does blink awake, she's shifted somewhere into the middle of the bed, a placement that feels weird and she can't figure out why until she shifts around a little more, finally pushes herself up to sit and rubs at her eyes.
hey.
logan's off onto the sofa, a file of hers in his hands, and Karen has to blink a couple more times before she can speak. she feels like she's waking up through a thick layer of exhaustion, of soreness and still healing bruises, but none of it seems to have been a dream. ]
Hi. [ she moves, setting her feet on the ground (and forgetting the limited options she went with for pjays) and combing back her hair. she realizes, distantly, that she definitely didn't grab a brush. or toothbrush. or really just about anything they are going to need.
she looks around for the clock. 10:21am. ] How long have you been up?
[ He smiles, just a little, before he puts the papers down. Other than banged up, she looks alright. Tired. Giant knot in her hair is kinda cute, actually.
He clears his throat. ]
Uh— [ What's the time now? ] Few hours.
[ The paper cup next to him has got dregs of coffee in it. Tastes like shit but it's coffee. They can't do much 'til they grab supplies. Speaking of. ]
You feeling up for some shopping today?
[ They're gonna have to drive a bit into town up ahead, but it's better than staying too close in one spot constantly, anyhow. He figures—he's got enough cash to get them by. Maybe it's lucky he doesn't have cards to his name, that he pretty much only ever travels with cash unless he's putting something on the Professor's card (or Scott's). ]
[ she nods - a part of her expected as much. though if he slept at all, which it seems like he did, she'll count it as a win. that's when she recognizes the papers he's put down, her weapon x file. she lifts a brow at him (completely unaware of the huge knot in her hair, or how ridiculous she probably looks). ]
Spark anything? [ she means the papers, her research - she doubts it, considering what she had access to, considering what she saw on that drive in one folder, but there's a kind of feeling in her chest at seeing logan looking through it. something like hope for him. something she might actually be able to help him with.
at the mention of shopping, karen's stomach gurgles embarrassingly, and she freezes - just for a moment - before she smiles a bit sheepishly at him, noticing his bloodstained sweats, the shirt she's still in. she nods. ]
Probably a good idea. Give me a minute. [ she stands, stretches, and then heads back into the bathroom to do something with her hair, toss some cold water on her face. she shuffles around the room picking back up her clothes and pulling on the jeans she'd been wearing, pulling back the mess of hair into a clip she found in the bottom of her bag. she comes over to grab her backpack - laptop, files, and all, when she pauses and looks over to him - silently asking what he thinks would be best. part of her doesn't want the backpack anywhere she can't see it, but she doubts going out into public with it just. on her person. is the safest bet, either. ]
[ It takes him a sec before he catches her meaning. Logan shakes his head, though it's not a complete no. He's got these vague impressions all the time, blood and corpses and screaming, but it's not something he can work with. He's obviously linked to some of these—the shit they ultimately file under mountain lion or grizzly except there's always one or two witnesses going, never seen no bear do that before.
But the worst of it—he's pretty sure the government buried those. If they're anywhere, they'll be in that drive.
Logan slides her the packet of chips when she returns. He stands, hands on his hips as he considers the same question. A safe is worthless, even if this place has one—which it doesn't. Taking it with them is asking for trouble. In the end, he makes his own safe, pushing the bed aside and carving a square out of the wall with a claw. He shoves her bag between some piping. ]
When we get back, [ he wedges the bed firmly against the wall, covering the hole, ] make a copy of that drive, you hear?
[ Just seems like with anything, they're better off with a backup.
He forgoes his shredded t-shirt, throwing his jacket over his bare shoulders and zipping it up. Sticks a Do Not Disturb sign on the knob. It's not ideal; he'd feel better locking it all in a basement vault and maybe putting Karen on a jet for good measure, but this is what they've got.
When she's ready, he rides west, angles a touch north 'til they hit the next pocket of civilization. Not the smallest town he's ever been in, but still small in his eyes. And like any decent small town, there's a trusty Goodwill on the corner. ]
[ karen's speciality - ever since that tip ellison gave her what feels like a lifetime ago - is finding the things that have been buried. she never really gets a full picture unless someone clues her in, but she can see what's being covered, can get a sense of the black hole, even if she doesn't know what's inside.
that's where the drive will come in, hopefully. where all that will come to prove what she's been scratching at. and once the story is bullet proof, once she has copies on copies and knows everything she gets together will be solid, she'll call ellison, and-
she needs to focus. they need to go get the essentials, and then she needs to come back and dive into all of that. she steps out, as put together as she will be for today, and he slides her the bag of chips. she looks from it, to him, with a kind of really? is that where we're at? before she answers her own question with a nod and opens the bag, chewing on them as she watches as he carves a hole in the wall.
it's in that moment karen realizes she hasn't really seen logan use his claws all that often, beyond high-stress moments where she's caught them through another man's stomach. it's fascinating to her, thinking about how much of an inconvenience it must be but also how it helps, all that logan's gone through to have them, if those reports she read about bone instead of metal are real and what they all mean that he's-
she's distracted, so much that it isn't until logan is speaking again that she blinks out of the thought. ] Yeah, that's... [ she crosses her arms over her chest, rubbing along her upper arm. the very idea of losing that, after all they've gone through... ] First thing on the list. You ready?
[ get grabs his jacket and she slips her's on as well, flipping up the hood and digging a pair of sunglasses out of her purse as she follows him out to his bike. they head a bit of a ways to the next town, somewhere that reminds her a little too much of where she grew up, and stop in front of a rundown strip with one of the corner store labeled GOODWILL. karen steps inside and immediately heads to the shirts and pants aisle, glancing only once to the older woman reading some mass market romance novel behind the register. something about the combination of her and the Hispanic music crackling over the intercom seems to calm her down as she starts rifling through the options.
logan never goes far, and it's not even five minutes into shopping that karen snorts to herself, once, and pulls out an ugly crocheted vest on a thin wire hanger, holding it up for logan to see from over the racks. ]
This would look great under that leather jacket. Just saying.
[ Logan's not picky about his clothes, in the sense that his preferences are as ubiquitous as grass. He keeps one eye on Karen while he sifts through an endless array of jeans, looking for something that'll fit. Honestly? He'll be glad to get rid of these sweats. Not his favourite for riding. The hem keeps getting snagged.
Tuesday before noon, it's quiet. There's only one other person shopping, a grandma dressed as if she's out for afternoon tea, pearls and all. He ends up waiting patiently, if awkwardly, against the rack of winter coats while she inches past the narrow aisle. It's the sort of thing he's done a thousand times. Towns and stores like these. He doesn't feel at home, exactly; he's never really at home when he's drifting through human society, but there's a comfort in the familiar. He shops like how you'd expect him to shop—as in, it takes him a grand total of five minutes to find what he wants and go. It's easy when nothing about him ever changes. He's been buying the same shit for years.
So by the time Karen pulls that out, Logan's already got a couple of shirts and jeans draped over his arm. He glances up from across the aisle, then snorts. Jesus, how'd that even get made? Hurts just looking at it. ]
You're gonna have to do a lot of convincing to get that on me.
[ He rounds the corner to join her now that he's done, takes any clothes she's carrying off her hands. Might as well. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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His gaze flicks back to the screen as the list of files scroll so fast, it's practically a blur. ]
Jesus. [ It opens up a million more questions: who gave this to her? Why? She'd said it wasn't hers, so where the fuck did it come from? An anonymous source? He can see why those guys want it. This isn't some sob stories from parents with missing kids; they're not old newspaper clippings that don't prove much of anything. It's evidence—real evidence, the kind that can't be buried.
Whoever this was, they're a hell of a whistleblower.
He doesn't recognize the kid. He blinks twice, studying the picture. Autopsy reports, research notes. The same shit they always find in these things. But the names signed on these charts...he's realizing that's where the real information lies. Before he can ask her to click on the next folder, he senses something.
His head snaps up. On instinct, he reaches over and closes her laptop without a word. Shit. ] Get your things, let's go.
[ The words are barely out of his mouth when the door collapses in, and the only thing on his mind when he leaps over her couch is that they're lucky these dumb motherfuckers haven't learned not to shoot at him yet. ]
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jesus logan whispers, and Karen clicks back to the picture. she doesn't recognize him, not from any of the photos or clippings or things she's been able to cobble together. it all feels somewhat meaningless in the face of this.
and this is just one file. one life. which means that the others, the folders she hadn't even finished scrolling through, if they're all...
karen misses whatever it is that catches logan's attention, but the snap of her laptop being shut is plenty. she's startled by the sudden movement, and turns to him - a what the hell? stuck in her throat as he speaks. ]
Wha-? [ that's when the door collapses in, gunfire exploding into her apartment, and drops immediately down to the floor under her kitchen counter. there isn't quite room for her to really feel the fear that shoots through her, the adrenaline instead taking over and pushing her forward. she doesn't know if she breathes, doesn't know if she even thinks, because this is unfortunately not her first time here. she shakes, but she does move as quickly as she can, grabbing the backpack at her feet and shoving everything she can grab inside. her pistol is there - is always there, tucked into the interior side pocket - but the folders, papers, anything around her she can grab. there's so much noise, guns and screams, fighting, grunts. she thinks she hears a wall collapsing in, hears logan yell.
her coffee table shatters to her left and Karen feels a sob ripped out of her chest, her hands going over her head as she huddles behind the island for a few moments, just long enough for her to hear the guns either run out of bullets or get distracted, before she tries to glance over the top of the counter, to terrified to cry but needing, needing to know where logan is, that he's okay, that- ]
Logan! [ she yells out, ducking around through the kitchen to try and out of view from the doorway. she doesn't even know how many there are, can't track the movement - are they out in the main hall of the building? where did they go? she grabs her purse, because it's within view and that's about as far as she can think.
it goes from a kind of violent cacophony to near-silence, and Karen feels her body force itself to breathe, to exist, to function. she is terrified to duck around the corner, but she also knows she can't just sit here until he comes back. after a few breaths, after hearing the way those breaths shake, she reaches into her bag and finally gets her hand around her pistol. after another few breaths, and still more silence, Karen finally pulls up her pistol and tries to inch around the corner of the kitchen wall.
she can't hear much of anything, the ringing from before still so loud, but logan... he has to be fine. he has to be fine. he is fine. he is. ]
God damn it, Logan. [ she whispers, mostly to herself. ] Okay, okay...
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Starting to make him wonder if these guys are being sent in as fodder.
He pushes the thought aside. Karen's still inside the apartment, and he's hoping she knows to duck and cover, that she's not gonna run out into the hall. He leaves behind five bodies (one missing a leg; the other an arm) by the time he bursts back through her busted doorway—uncaring if he startles her, pistol and all. What's one more bullet to his collection? He catches her arm, his hand slick with blood. Her pulse thunders in his ears. It's the only heartbeat he can hear nearby. ]
We gotta go, c'mon.
[ He's not sticking around for round three. Besides, the fight's at her door this time, not a block away. It might be Hell's Kitchen, but no way they dodge the cops on this one and Logan's not interested in dealing with the law tonight. Isn't interested in dealing with them at all, in fact. He shoves the few files left behind on Karen's kitchen counter, grabs her laptop while she throws on her jacket and her bag, and hurries her out the door—hand around her wrist as he pulls her along. They descend the same stairs, stepping over the fresh bodies, running past the jagged claw marks gouged inches deep into the concrete wall.
A few college kids stumble along the sidewalk, blocking their path. Logan doesn't think twice, just pushes through the drunken group and hops on his bike.
He revs the engine. He can check if she's okay later; right now, he needs to get her moving. ] Hurry up, let's go!
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he catches her arm before she can fire, and Karen feels her heart plummet in her chest. he doesn't take her gun from her, just holds onto her arm and starts to pull her out. we gotta go. her eyes go to his hands, his arms, the blood. her stomach flips, the smell thick and his hands are warm but her mind goes to the people. the people who came here looking for her.
when logan lets go of her, leaving behind blood smears across her arm, she turns her attention to packing her gun away, and she then gets her coat, some cash she keeps in the top drawer and an extra box of ammo. she has no idea how long they'll be gone, or on the run, or whatever it is they're about to do - but she knows they can't stay here, so she just tries to grab what she can. she's reaching for- she doesn't even know. her phone, maybe? her wallet? when he grabs her wrist and is tugging her out the door. she stumbles after him, trying to keep up with the pace he's moving, but as they step out in the hall, she gasps, and it sounds a bit like a sob, before she gets her feet back under her and she keeps running.
the scratch marks, the devastation, the open walls, the bodies. she swallows back any more reactions, rushes after him, and steps outside just when he shoves his way through the college students. she doesn't even have it in her to apologize, just ducks after him into the alley, slipping her backpack over her shoulders and sliding on behind him. ]
Where are we going? [ she asks as he revs the engine again, her arms around his waist. ]
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[ He speeds off the second she holds on. A bullet whizzes past his head, a second strikes him right in the shoulder. None of them hit her, which is all he cares about as he swerves around the corner.
He didn't fucking plan for this. He's not strategizing. That's never been how he works. What he does know is he needs to get her the hell out of the city, away from any city, and that means west. They'll be better off heading that direction while it's still dark. While the men after her are licking their wounds. The further they ride, the fewer traffic lights appear. City streets give way to long stretches of highway. It goes dark. Quiet. They pass a lone truck hauling softwood.
He gets off the exit, speeding up now that they're alone. If he was on his own, he'd go all night. But that's not an option with her alongside. He pulls off to the nearest roadside motel: rundown, shady. Broken glass along the curb. It'll do.
He knows they can't keep this up long. Her story, the assholes behind it, he needs to find them. Before they finish the job. ]
Wait here. [ He's not going far, just to pay for a room—but he waits for her to give him the go ahead, anyway. It's a lot. Tonight, all of it. He figures a second to make sure she's okay won't kill them. ]
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she keeps her eyes closed, keeps her grip around him tight, and forces herself to breathe. she doesn't watch where he goes, doesn't really care even what direction they take. the limit of her focus is on holding on, it's letting him handle getting them through the traffic, and it's only relaxing once they've been on a highway long enough that she feels like she can breathe.
thought she can't quite relax just yet, given how as soon as the adrenaline leaves her, her body threatens to collapse. so karen focuses on keeping her arms tight around his waist and pressed to his back and the rest... follows. will have to follow.
quieting her mind is another task entirely - and as they drive, her mind spins. who are these people that are after her? how are they this connected, and how did they know? her story has been so connected with government groups that she hadn't thought about the possibility of gangs, or even other interested individuals, but the process they've been using doesn't feel... she doesn't know. organized enough? smart enough? it's clear that they've given up on trying to make whatever was going to happen to her look like an accident, but if that is really the case, what line did she cross?
part of her, somewhere in the back of her head, says she'll need to call matt. or at least tell him. he and foggy are going to worry, if she doesn't. but-
it's not until he pulls off into some kind of parking lot that karen chooses to even try and relax, unclasping herself from around him and finally looking up - seeing the motel lighting in the darkness, wondering what time it even is. they park, and logan kills the engine, stepping off the bike and telling her to wait there and she nods - she can do that - and decides to take the time to pull her backpack from her shoulders and start checking through what she grabbed.
logan doesn't take long to get the room situated, and by the time he returns to the bike, it's just in time to hear karen cursing - loudly, considering the empty, quiet parking lot - as she frantically searches through her backpack. ]
Shit, shit, I can't- [ when he gets close enough that she sees him, Karen looks up to him - frantic, in her own, exhausted way. ] I left the laptop. My laptop. I thought I grabbed it with the files but-
[ she's still sitting on the back of his bike, her backpack on the seat in front of him and she tears it apart. ]
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Sure enough, he gets a single suspicious once-over before the man takes his cash without a word. Logan puts down a name that isn't his, grabs the keys, and makes his way back to Karen as quick as he can. The neon sign hums, buzzing in his ear—but that's not what he's listening to as he approaches. It's Karen, swearing up a storm.
He blinks. ] Hey, hey, what's—
[ What? The—the laptop, yeah. Logan lays a hand on hers, stopping her from ripping her bag at the seams. ]
I got it. I got it, okay? [ He gestures for her to shift aside before he flips open the top-box on the back of his bike. He pulls out two loose files, smeared reddish-brown, and reveals the laptop inside. He hands it to her, then the drive he's got tucked in his jacket pocket. ] Here. We're over there.
[ He nods at the room labelled 112, a few steps away. He helps her pack up again, sliding her laptop in first, then the rest of the files. It's a goddamn mess, papers and shit spilling out of their folders, but that's a problem for the morning. She looks exhausted, no doubt running high on fumes and adrenaline; he wants to get her inside before she crashes. And he needs a fucking shower. They both do. (And clothes. Again.)
The door creaks open. Yellowed peeling wallpaper greets them, along with the musty of odour of marinating sheets, stale beer, and rat poison.
He misses her couch already.
There's only one bed—his choice. Two of them went on the run, he's not about to sign for two beds for anybody to come looking. Doesn't matter. He can take the floor. ]
You okay?
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logan gestures towards the room, and Karen grabs at his arm, notices that some - but not all - of the now dried blood has been wiped off. ]
Thank you. [ she says, quietly, genuinely. the relief adding on the rushed release of adrenaline. she looks more exhausted in that moment than she's felt this entire ride, but it's okay. it's okay. they're okay. she lets go of his arm and slips the laptop and files into her backpack, zipping the entire thing closed and holding it against her chest as she steps off the bike and follows him inside the room.
it's shit, a cheap motel, with peeling wallpaper and a kind of dank, still smell. but as soon as the door closes behind them, Karen lets out a breath, walks over and settles on the mattress. the backpack is still clutched to her chest, not even recognizing there is only one bed.
his question pulls her out of her stare, turning to him, huffing a laugh that doesn't fool either of them. ]
I've been better. [ it feels silly to say no, considering how this is just another experience on top of so many others. she lets out another press, presses a palm to her forehead. ] But... yeah. Okay. Thanks to you. [ her eyes scan over him, the dried blood, the shredded clothes, his own exhaustion. she finds his eyes. ]
You okay?
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Been worse. [ A dry joke. He shrugs off his jacket, then his shirt, and sits in the scuffed armchair by the bed. ] No one followed us, but...be careful if you're stepping out.
[ He's suddenly a little too aware of the carnage she stumbled through—his carnage, more than anybody's—but whatever feelings rise as a result, he squishes them down. He rubs his temple. Fuck. Where the hell did her friend get to? The lawyer? What's he doing? Karen hasn't indicated she's heard anything from him—but she's not acting like that's strange, either.
He shakes it off. ] Shower's working.
[ If she wants to dive in. He's lighting up in the meantime, ignoring the No Smoking sign. A light breeze comes through the window. Out here, it's practically silent: no sirens, no drunks, no traffic. He can hear somebody snoring on the other side through the paper-thin walls, the clack of a keyboard across the hall. Nothing they need to be worried about. ]
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it doesn't escape her that he's still on- how no one followed, but how she shouldn't leave the room. she glances around the space, the grime and the dark shadows, and she lets out another breath - it feels... ridiculous, in a way, how restless she'd felt in her own apartment. her own apartment that is now ridden with bullet holes and holes, destruction, again. and now? ]
Okay. [ she says, nodding more to herself than anything. she knows this isn't permanent, nothing about this should be permanent, but-
shower's working and Karen nods, yeah, okay. shower is probably a good idea. she stands and heads that way, backpack still clutched to her chest, not wanting it to be far. she figures logan will keep himself busy, so karen takes her time under the water, lets the sobs she's been holding back, the last rush of fear, escape. some part of her is still there enough to hope the water covers it, but also she doesn't have the energy to really care.
she showers, then she dries off - she doesn't feel clean, exactly, but she does feel a little better as she steps back out into the room. ]
Shower's all yours. [ she doesn't really have pjays, extra clothes weren't top of her mind when she left, but she keeps the towel around her as she steps out of the small bathroom to let logan take his turn.
the exhaustion she's been keeping at bay is written all over her, and she's hoping it'll be enough to force her to sleep, or if the paranoia will keep her up. ]
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He hears the water. He hears everything, actually. It makes him pause—glancing up, eyeing the strip of light at the bottom of the door. Should he check on her? Should he knock? But this is probably all more than she wants him to hear or know; after a moment, he decides to take himself outside, closing the door behind him. He scans the low roofs, peers at the light from the office across the damp motel lot. He counts five cars parked: four rusty sedans, the fifth one of those mini toy cars he could flip with his pinky. Only when the shower shuts off does he go back in, about a half-second before she comes out wrapped in a towel.
His gaze lingers on her face. Maybe it's obvious he knows, maybe it's not. He blinks, scratching the back of his head. Christ, he's fucking tired, too. ]
Thanks.
[ He disappears into the same shower, the air damp with steam, the mirrors fogged. He doesn't bother wiping them. What's there to see? He runs the shower cold so he doesn't sap all of the hot water, scrubs the blood off of him, and takes the only other towel in this place. Tomorrow, he's gonna have to figure out the rest of this: food, clothes, whether he wants to call anybody else in on this or not. It doesn't feel big enough yet; he knows the Professor's got his hands full with other mutant Brotherhood shit, so. That leaves him here, with her, and he's equal parts sure he's all she needs and equal parts sure he isn't.
He's quiet, opening the door, in case she's already asleep. ]
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logan looks tired. more tired than she thinks she's seem him yet. it makes sense- for all that he can survive, for all that his body can stitch itself back together, just because it won't kill him doesn't mean he doesn't feel it, right?
thanks he says, and starts towards the shower. karen starts to walk away from it as well, leaving him space to walk by her - but barely. it leaves them turning to face each other, within each other's spaces, and whether or not it's all in karen's mind or whether it truly plays out that way, but Karen feels like they both seem to hesitate. they both exist in this space together, and her eyes go down to logan's chest, then up to his face against. she breathes, close, too close, close enough that she could step just a little closer, could reach out, and she doesn't want to leave-
and then the moment ends, and the two of them continue past each other.
as logan closes the door and she hears the water start, Karen turns to where she left her stuff- to find it's been mostly packed back away. she looks over at the door again, smiles once to herself, and then steps around to get dressed in whatever clothes of her are the cleanest - leaving her mostly in her shirt and underwear - and then she climbs into bed - the single bed, the only bed, and pulling the backpack up with her. part of her considers opening her laptop up again, diving into these files - there are so many, so many lives, so many kids - but her head starts to pound and she decides that it can wait for tomorrow.
what she doesn't wait on is to pull out her phone - there's a text from foggy, but nothing from matt. part of her wonders if foggy somehow knows, that the news has already spread that far, but the text is too casual. josie's soon? karen presses her hand to her mouth, the fear and anger and anxiety surging through her and then out again. she takes a breath, considers just calling foggy but realizing she knows she won't be able to keep her voice steady enough for that, so a text will have to do.
Not right now, but maybe soon.
I'll have to let you know when though.
working on a story.
she considers texting matt, telling him that she's fine and who logan is and that she's not in the city anymore, but she doesn't. can't bring herself to write it out. instead, foggy responds with a You get five days, Miss Page, and then I'm showing up unannounced and legally kidnapping you. karen panics, minorly, before realizing the reaction is unnecessary. she exhales, sends him a I'm not going to ignore your texts, Foggy. I promise not to go silent. How's that?
assceptable.
excepta
Acceptable.
she smiles, mostly to herself, and shoots him a quick. Go to sleep, Foggy. before turning her phone off and slipping under the covers.
when logan finally finishes his shower, her back is to the bathroom, curled up as far to the edge of the bed as possible to leave him room on the other half. she's still, exhausted, though not entirely old cold just yet. ]
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He considers it. A beat passes; two. It's not anything; he figures, after everything, she wants the company, maybe the comfort of a solid body next to hers. Hell, he could use that, too. But they've got who the fuck knows how long together; he can't begin to guess what might happen next. The unpredictability—the fact that he isn't sure he trusts himself to sleep next to her when he's on high alert—makes him hesitate.
He snags the second pillow off the bed and chucks it onto the floor by the nightstand. Like her, he's thinking about the files, the kids, the millions of documents stored in that tiny drive. He's thinking that he's pretty sure he glimpsed something, a familiar date or name or string of numbers, something that tells him he's in those files. Of course he fuckin' is. Why wouldn't he be? It all started with him, didn't it? Yeah, yeah, they'd have found somebody else, might've experimented on plenty before he came along. He knows. But he's their breakthrough, the thing they've tried to replicate for decades since.
Wish he could say it ended that day with Stryker. Even back then, he hadn't believed it would. Now he knows he was right.
He settles back with an arm under his head, the same bloodstained sweats pulled over his hips. It should be easier than it feels. He can protect her. All of this, it's what he does. But his head's somewhere back there, too, at that goddamn diner, and he gets the wild, absurd thought that if he takes her far enough north, nobody'll come after her again.
Jesus. He needs to stop. ]
Wake me if you need me.
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instead, logan picks up a pillow and tosses it on the floor next to the bed. and then, a couple of moments later, he settles on the ground next to the bed, and karen's eyes open.
she's so tired, so much that even opening her eyes feels like a chore, but as she looks at the dirty, faded curtains, she hears logan's voice from the floor. wake me if you need me. her knees slide up into her stomach, curled around herself, as she sits on barely a portion of the bed. she tries to logic it out - she's read that sometimes, soldiers can't sleep on beds because the softness is what's the problem. they can't handle the comfort. ]
Will you sleep on the bed? [ she asks, quiet. it almost sounds like a plea, which she hates. she closes her eyes, lets out a breath. ] There's plenty of room. [ another beat, where her chest starts to feel tight - she hates this, how she feels strung out and alone, exhausted and weak. she's almost impressed by how exhausted she is, by the fact she might actually fall asleep, but now that she knows logan is laying on the floor... ]
You don't have to. It's just... [ she chews on her lip. ] Nevermind.
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Logan lifts his head. The question hangs in the air, impossible to ignore, impossible to deny. Well. No. More accurately, he doesn't wanna say no. He doesn't. It's easy to be alone when he's got nobody he wants to be with, when he's shut himself away from the world and settled into a thoughtless truce with the foxes and wolves that roam the brush. Each time he comes back, though, it sort of rushes at him, how he doesn't always mind being around...people. Familiar faces he doesn't hate seeing again. New ones he starts wanting to revisit—or stick with a little longer than he's gotta.
The seconds tick by. He glances at the clock's red glare, then back at Karen. She looks wrung out, but more than that, she looks lonely.
He dusts off the pillow and returns it to the bed. Then he climbs on, the old springs complaining under his weight. She smells like cheap motel shampoo and bar soap and the lingering scent of blood that she must've missed in the shower. Or maybe that's from him, buried under his nails.
He's not thinking anymore. Now that he's allowed himself to be next to her, he's stopped going over every detail, stopped weighing his choices. When he reaches over to brush back a damp lock of her hair, it's almost second nature—a reflex. ]
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in the silence that follows her request, Karen holds her eyes closed, hoping, praying that logan doesn't do what she expects him to. that he won't turn right over where he is, on the floor, and grunt a good night, Karen. it would be the smarter decision - and really, how pathetic is it that she's still this scared, still this fragile, after everything. after all the things she's been through. after knowing, if distantly, how much logan has this handled.
he moves, then, and karen's eyes open, unsure if she is imagining it. first she feels the pillow fall back onto the bed, and then it's the creaking, the dip of his weight next to her. karen takes a couple of breaths to settle herself, to calm down the relief she feels. from how nice it is that even in these shitty sheets, on this shitty bed, his presence just next to her is helpful. more than helpful.
it feels like something loosens as he settles on the bed, and that is when karen feels him reach over, brushing back a log of her still damp hair. drawn by it, she turns over to face him, instead of keep her back to him. her eyes hover on his face for a few moments, as if she's checking for cuts, for scars, when she knows neither will be there. it takes one, maybe two breaths before she smiles, and seems to actually relax. ]
It's a little better than the floor.
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She doesn't pull away. He withdraws his hand, but lets it linger a hint. The bed feels too goddamn small. There's no room between them. Her skin is cool from the shower where her arm brushes his. He's always run hotter than most, though. ]
More than a little, [ he agrees. His gaze is fixed on her face. The curve of her lips when she smiles. She's scared, yeah, but—not of him, he realizes. He knows there's good people out there. She's determined to finish this story for a reason. Still, mutant kids are one thing; he's...something else, something far on the other end of innocent victim.
He tucks his hand under his pillow before he makes a choice that fucks this up. This is good. Whatever's here right now, it's good. He's not gonna be an idiot about it. Besides, they're both exhausted to hell. Bad time for any decisions. And a good time for a million regrets in the morning.
Nether of them need that. ]
Night, Karen.
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and yet- he's still waiting.
he withdraws his hand, but it doesn't go far. it doesn't feel like he's pulling away from her. more than a little he says, and Karen blinks - feels her eyes getting heavy - the smile lingering. he settles, tucks himself into the pillows, and Karen shifts herself to get more comfortable. there's a decision made at some point, and Karen feels... not disappointed, exactly, but something else. something missed, but not gone.
the bed is too small - with the two of them in it, they are inches, not even a foot, away from being pressed up against each other. karen is on her side, which does provide some space, but she can still feel the heat of him, feel it radiating off of him even from this distance. ]
Goodnight, Logan. [ she says in response, letting her eyes fall closed. letting her body finally sink into the mattress, fully. she should stay at least somewhat alert, should be prepared if someone shows up, but she's so tired. exhausted. and with logan here...
karen falls asleep, not even full moments later, and sleeps solidly through the night. ]
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It's not regret that settles over him as he studies her. Not exactly. Feels more like a question he isn't sure they'll ever answer.
The air's crisp when he steps outside. He scans the lot, then walks to the end of the motel. A dusty vending machine sits pressed up against the pockmarked brick wall. He digs out some crumpled bills and coins. Nothing like Fritos for a healthy breakfast. He brings them back inside, tossing the packets on the table. His gaze wanders over her bag. He pauses. After a second, he removes one of the folders, the files she once offered for him to read. He didn't take her up on it then but—
When she finally wakes, she'll find him on the room's solitary sofa flipping through the info she's collected on Weapon X. The rumoured incidents. Clippings, mostly. None of them bring much flooding back, but...
He glances up as she stirs. ] Hey.
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when karen does blink awake, she's shifted somewhere into the middle of the bed, a placement that feels weird and she can't figure out why until she shifts around a little more, finally pushes herself up to sit and rubs at her eyes.
hey.
logan's off onto the sofa, a file of hers in his hands, and Karen has to blink a couple more times before she can speak. she feels like she's waking up through a thick layer of exhaustion, of soreness and still healing bruises, but none of it seems to have been a dream. ]
Hi. [ she moves, setting her feet on the ground (and forgetting the limited options she went with for pjays) and combing back her hair. she realizes, distantly, that she definitely didn't grab a brush. or toothbrush. or really just about anything they are going to need.
she looks around for the clock. 10:21am. ] How long have you been up?
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He clears his throat. ]
Uh— [ What's the time now? ] Few hours.
[ The paper cup next to him has got dregs of coffee in it. Tastes like shit but it's coffee. They can't do much 'til they grab supplies. Speaking of. ]
You feeling up for some shopping today?
[ They're gonna have to drive a bit into town up ahead, but it's better than staying too close in one spot constantly, anyhow. He figures—he's got enough cash to get them by. Maybe it's lucky he doesn't have cards to his name, that he pretty much only ever travels with cash unless he's putting something on the Professor's card (or Scott's). ]
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Spark anything? [ she means the papers, her research - she doubts it, considering what she had access to, considering what she saw on that drive in one folder, but there's a kind of feeling in her chest at seeing logan looking through it. something like hope for him. something she might actually be able to help him with.
at the mention of shopping, karen's stomach gurgles embarrassingly, and she freezes - just for a moment - before she smiles a bit sheepishly at him, noticing his bloodstained sweats, the shirt she's still in. she nods. ]
Probably a good idea. Give me a minute. [ she stands, stretches, and then heads back into the bathroom to do something with her hair, toss some cold water on her face. she shuffles around the room picking back up her clothes and pulling on the jeans she'd been wearing, pulling back the mess of hair into a clip she found in the bottom of her bag. she comes over to grab her backpack - laptop, files, and all, when she pauses and looks over to him - silently asking what he thinks would be best. part of her doesn't want the backpack anywhere she can't see it, but she doubts going out into public with it just. on her person. is the safest bet, either. ]
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But the worst of it—he's pretty sure the government buried those. If they're anywhere, they'll be in that drive.
Logan slides her the packet of chips when she returns. He stands, hands on his hips as he considers the same question. A safe is worthless, even if this place has one—which it doesn't. Taking it with them is asking for trouble. In the end, he makes his own safe, pushing the bed aside and carving a square out of the wall with a claw. He shoves her bag between some piping. ]
When we get back, [ he wedges the bed firmly against the wall, covering the hole, ] make a copy of that drive, you hear?
[ Just seems like with anything, they're better off with a backup.
He forgoes his shredded t-shirt, throwing his jacket over his bare shoulders and zipping it up. Sticks a Do Not Disturb sign on the knob. It's not ideal; he'd feel better locking it all in a basement vault and maybe putting Karen on a jet for good measure, but this is what they've got.
When she's ready, he rides west, angles a touch north 'til they hit the next pocket of civilization. Not the smallest town he's ever been in, but still small in his eyes. And like any decent small town, there's a trusty Goodwill on the corner. ]
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that's where the drive will come in, hopefully. where all that will come to prove what she's been scratching at. and once the story is bullet proof, once she has copies on copies and knows everything she gets together will be solid, she'll call ellison, and-
she needs to focus. they need to go get the essentials, and then she needs to come back and dive into all of that. she steps out, as put together as she will be for today, and he slides her the bag of chips. she looks from it, to him, with a kind of really? is that where we're at? before she answers her own question with a nod and opens the bag, chewing on them as she watches as he carves a hole in the wall.
it's in that moment karen realizes she hasn't really seen logan use his claws all that often, beyond high-stress moments where she's caught them through another man's stomach. it's fascinating to her, thinking about how much of an inconvenience it must be but also how it helps, all that logan's gone through to have them, if those reports she read about bone instead of metal are real and what they all mean that he's-
she's distracted, so much that it isn't until logan is speaking again that she blinks out of the thought. ] Yeah, that's... [ she crosses her arms over her chest, rubbing along her upper arm. the very idea of losing that, after all they've gone through... ] First thing on the list. You ready?
[ get grabs his jacket and she slips her's on as well, flipping up the hood and digging a pair of sunglasses out of her purse as she follows him out to his bike. they head a bit of a ways to the next town, somewhere that reminds her a little too much of where she grew up, and stop in front of a rundown strip with one of the corner store labeled GOODWILL. karen steps inside and immediately heads to the shirts and pants aisle, glancing only once to the older woman reading some mass market romance novel behind the register. something about the combination of her and the Hispanic music crackling over the intercom seems to calm her down as she starts rifling through the options.
logan never goes far, and it's not even five minutes into shopping that karen snorts to herself, once, and pulls out an ugly crocheted vest on a thin wire hanger, holding it up for logan to see from over the racks. ]
This would look great under that leather jacket. Just saying.
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Tuesday before noon, it's quiet. There's only one other person shopping, a grandma dressed as if she's out for afternoon tea, pearls and all. He ends up waiting patiently, if awkwardly, against the rack of winter coats while she inches past the narrow aisle. It's the sort of thing he's done a thousand times. Towns and stores like these. He doesn't feel at home, exactly; he's never really at home when he's drifting through human society, but there's a comfort in the familiar. He shops like how you'd expect him to shop—as in, it takes him a grand total of five minutes to find what he wants and go. It's easy when nothing about him ever changes. He's been buying the same shit for years.
So by the time Karen pulls that out, Logan's already got a couple of shirts and jeans draped over his arm. He glances up from across the aisle, then snorts. Jesus, how'd that even get made? Hurts just looking at it. ]
You're gonna have to do a lot of convincing to get that on me.
[ He rounds the corner to join her now that he's done, takes any clothes she's carrying off her hands. Might as well. ]
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