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FIC: Choices, 7/?, R/NC17, W/R R/G W/f

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  • fyrdrakken@JUNO.COM
    DISCLAIMERS POSTED IN PART 0 * * * Everything you say to me Takes me one step closer to the edge And I m about to break I need a
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 12, 2001

      * * *
      "Everything you say to me
      Takes me one step closer to the edge
      And I'm about to break
      I need a little room to breathe
      Cause I'm one step closer to the edge
      And I'm about to break"
      — "One Step Closer," by Linkin Park

      * * *

      "*Where the hell have you been*?!" was the greeting as he walked into the

      "Out," he replied succinctly.

      As he hung his jacket up in the closet, she came up behind him and
      sniffed him. He had gotten cleaned up before returning to Westchester,
      but knew that it would require a fair bit of time in the shower to get
      rid of the smell of sex, especially with her heightened senses to fool.
      He hadn’t felt like making that kind of an effort, especially when he
      didn’t much care if Cicely knew what he’d been doing or not. So he hadn’t

      "*Who was she*!?!"

      He frowned thoughtfully. "Can’t quite remember her name. Candy, Cindy?
      Connie? Something like that." He stepped away from the closet, having to
      brush past Ciss to get by.

      She had frozen in shock at his rather brazen reaction. It was ridiculous
      of her to expect him to deny the truth when he knew that she could smell
      it on him, so perhaps it was his total lack of shame that had floored

      Anger melted the ice, and she turned on him. "*What the HELL did you
      think you were doing*?!"

      He gave her a mild look — deliberately, aggravatingly unconcerned. "I was
      getting laid — what did you *think* I was doing?"

      Which was when he found himself examining the carpet from extremely close
      range. [What the hell...?] His jaw hurt, briefly, before the ache faded
      away in the time it took him to realize, [She hit me. The bitch hit

      The first impulse was to surge to his feet and respond in kind. What
      stopped him was simple.

      She was his wife.

      That was right up there with abandoning a gal after getting her knocked
      up — no, worse. Abandoning a woman and your future child was criminally
      irresponsible — but beating up on your wife or girl was actively evil.

      Aside from the extremely special case of combat training, You Did Not Hit
      Your Woman. Ever. *Ever*.

      *Or* your kids. Anyone under your protection, really. You just didn’t.
      Ever. No matter what.

      Which left him wondering how the hell to react. He got up off the floor,
      carefully, taking his time because of the pause it afforded him to think.
      He was carefully expressionless when, on his feet once more, he finally
      raised his face to hers.

      Cissy looked shocked, perhaps even remorseful — but as his gaze met hers
      and she realized that he was waiting for her cue to respond, something
      flickered through her eyes. Not regret. Not apology.

      Logan recognized it, even lasting for only a fraction of a second.


      Then she quickly turned and left the room.

      [Well, hell,] he thought, suddenly tired. [I deserved that. Running off
      like that, cheating on her, not having enough respect for her not to go
      throwing it in her face... I deserved all of it.]

      Even the contempt.

      No, *especially* the contempt.

      * * *

      Regret can be a lingering emotion — but it doesn’t always pop up when it
      would be the most useful. Logan felt bad about running out on Cissy like
      that for a few days — but then the aggravations started to pile up again,
      and perhaps a week later he found himself riding his Harley out the front
      gates once more.

      Her reaction on his return was largely similar to the first time, though
      again he was surprised at the blow. Wiping the blood from the
      already-healing cut on his lip, he regarded his wife with more
      astonishment than anger, and when she determinedly changed the subject a
      moment later he was relieved to do so.

      He certainly knew the expression, "Begin as you mean to go on," but he
      wasn’t thinking of it at the time. Perhaps if he’d realized what kind of
      precedents were being set for his marriage, he would have acted to change
      things — but it’s difficult to know how he might have been able to, given
      the constraints of the situation he found himself in and his own

      * * *
      Okay, folks, that's all for now! But don't worry -- not only is more
      "Practice" finally on the way, but I've got another chunk of this one
      waiting for about a scene and a half to be written before I'll post it,
      plus I've got the beginnings of a completely *different* story well under

      She Whose Quotations Are Both Exotic and Appropriate
      Keeper of his Deadly Startle Reflexes, Guardian and Examiner of the
      Adamantium-Revealing X-Rays, and Official Listener for the Occasional
      Aussie Vowels

      "When did things start going so bad? I've been talking to dead rabbits
      and feeding bloody walls. I've done horrifying things with salad tongs.
      It's really eaten into my social life."
      -- Johnny C, JOHNNY THE HOMICIDAL MANIAC #6, by Jhonen Vasquez
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