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4093FIC: AOADB: A Date With the Big 'O'. GEN. Rated R.

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  • My Destiny
    Feb 2, 2002
      TITLE: A Date with the Big 'O'
      AUTHOR: Elektra
      EMAIL: wxfonline@...
      DISCLAIMER: Logan belongs to Marvel, Fox, etc. I'm
      pretty sure Hugh Jackman and everyone else in this
      story belong to themselves.
      DISTRIBUTION: If you would like permission to archive
      this story, please email: wxfonline@....
      OFFICIAL WEBSITE ADDRESS: http://www.wxfonline.com
      RATING: Rated R for language.
      CONTENT: Logan POV
      SERIES: Adventures of a Body Double, Part One.
      SUMMARY: Alternate Movieverse. You know Logan left at
      the end of the movie, but where did he really end up?
      AUTHOR'S NOTE: Blame this on watching Paperback Hero
      too many times in one week.
      AUTHOR'S NOTE2: We'll call this the beta-light version
      of this story. Hopefully there aren't too many errors.

      Logan snarled in irritation as he let his eyes track
      slowly over the pseudo yuppie bar scene he found
      himself thrown into. The pool table was nice but there
      were too many shee-shee drinks with fruit perched on
      the rim of the glasses for his taste. Where was the
      beer and the blood and the-

      "PrEEEeetty Womuuuun, walkin' down the strEEEt"

      Logan cringed as the next ham-handed movie star
      wannabe took their place on stage to make their shot
      at stardom. Why the hell had he ever said yes to this
      job? God damn fucking enhanced senses. Where the hell
      was Rogue when he needed her? She could short 'em out
      or at least dull 'em a little. 'Course that would
      leave her in the same boat. Hell, misery loves
      company, right?

      The woman on the three wooden planks that passed for a
      stage bounced around frantically, smiling a bit too
      brightly at the audience, coming off like a crazed
      wallaby on speed.

      *That ain't gonna get you to Hollywood, sweetie. Why
      don't you go out back and find that prick producer's
      casting couch.*

      Logan motioned to the bartender for another bottle of
      whiskey. Maybe if he could get drunk enough it would
      all fade away. Shit. What a pansy. How the hell had he
      gotten himself into this? It was Chuck's fault. Chuck
      and those goddamned women who made it so he couldn't
      think straight. Goddamn do-gooders. Why the hell
      couldn't they leave him alone.

      He smiled as he sensed the night picking up across the
      room. Some dame in a red dress was asking for trouble.
      She'd been flaunting her ass all over the room and now
      she was getting a little unwanted attention. Hell, at
      least they were keeping it hands off. What else did
      she expect? So, the boys got a little randy, so what?
      No harm, no foul as far as he was concerned. Look, but
      don't touch, that's what his own code of chivalry

      As soon as the bartended returned with the new bottle
      of whiskey, Logan unscrewed the top and took a long,
      slow drink, enjoying the burn as it made its way down
      to his belly. He kept his eyes on the woman across the
      room. He figured his time would be coming soon enough.
      It always did. She'd get a little mouthy and then he'd
      have to fill in for lover boy.

      "Uh, sir."

      He felt a tug on his shirt sleeve. The damn weasels
      just couldn't leave him alone. He took another slow
      draw from the bottle before turning his head to look
      at the person who'd interrupted his perfectly pitched
      internal ranting session.

      The pasty-faced boy smiled a tenuous smile at him and
      brushed his sandy brown hair away from his glasses. As
      Logan quirked his left eyebrow, the smile rapidly

      "Calm down kid, I ain't gonna kill ya."

      The boy's smile returned, but the rustling of the
      sheets of paper in his hands gave away his

      "Uhh," the boy said, looking at his carefully typed
      notes, "your call is up next. You know what you're
      supposed to do right?"

      Logan nodded.

      "We'll have the teleprompter setup in the back-"

      "Don't need it, kid. I know what I'm doin' "

      The boy swallowed, clearly trying to determine whether
      this job was worth losing his life.

      "Just spit it out, Bub. I don't have all day."

      "Ya- You know that you can't use your, your, well
      those things in your hands, right?"

      Logan shook his head, rolling his eyes in irritation.

      "Kid, how long do you think I've been doin' this? If I
      can get through a cage match without puttin' 'em
      through some moron's face, I think I can handle a few

      "Well, they're supposed to heckle you at first. You
      know that, right?"

      "Kid, walk back over there and sit down beside the
      director before I show you what I can do without those
      things in the back of my hands. All right?"

      The boy needed no further encouragement and took off
      toward the director, task complete.

      Logan eyed the whiskey bottle. Goddamn fucking Xavier.
      Cyke would probably have a field day over this one.
      His only consolation was the fact that they had
      promised the film would never be released in the

      "Hey mate," a familiar voice said over his left

      Logan nodded and indicated the stool to his left. As
      the other man settled down at the bar, Logan turned to
      look at his near mirror image. He never expected that
      old saying about everyone having a double to be true.
      But, here he was lookin' at him. He'd probably be a
      good looking man if he'd just grow some hair on his

      "Finally made you shave it off then?" Logan's
      duplicate asked.

      *What is he, a fucking telepath?*

      "Yeah," Logan said, running his hand across his cheek,
      "it'll be back in a coupla hours. All for the cause,

      "Man, I just want to thank you for doing this. Until
      we find the guy --"

      Logan nodded. He'd agreed to help protect the guy
      after some nut job had attacked him, putting him into
      a headlock and then running away before he could be

      "I'd do it myself, y'know, but it wouldn't look good
      if I started beating up on my fans."

      Logan nodded. Hell, he knew how the business worked.
      In the months since he'd started working with the guy,
      they'd been chased by photographers on a weekly basis.
      Logan felt his anger at his current situation begin to

      "Not yer fault," Logan said. "You've got a family to
      protect. I respect that. Just never expected to have
      to sing in front of people. That's all."

      "Why don't I get you another bottle."

      Logan smiled.

      "Yer all right," he said with a grin. "Yeah, you're
      all right."

      * * * * *

      Logan glared at the woman who was applying a thin
      layer of colored powder to his face.

      "Hey, don't you glare at me buddy. It's not my fault
      your skin tone isn't quite the same as his. Besides,
      I've worked with Streisand. If I can live through
      that, I can take your best shot."

      Slowly counting backward from ten to one, Logan tried
      to calm down before he did something naughty, like
      eviscerate the makeup and hair people.

      *Goddamn fucking locusts*

      "Mr. Logan," the cultured tones of his boss, the
      actor's publicist, caught him off-guard. She smiled up
      at him as she brushed a length of harvest red hair off
      her shoulder.

      He nodded at her, swallowing his irritation.

      "I have something for you. You'll need to leave right
      after we're done shooting this scene," she said,
      placing a sheaf of plane tickets in his hand.

      Logan pulled out his itinerary and read it carefully.
      You couldn't be too careful in his business.

      "What's in London?"

      "We're doing Oklahoma! next," she said brightly,
      smiling up at him.

      *Oh fuck. London means Emma, Emma means the rest of
      the team. Oklahoma! means singing. And dancing.*

      "Mr. Logan, are you okay? You're looking a little
      sick. Do I need to ask for a fifteen minute break? Mr.

      Somewhere Cyclops was fucking laughing, he just knew


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