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Fic: Red #2: The Morning After - 1/1, Logan [L/R]

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  • victoria p.
    Title: The Morning After Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net] Summary: Logan took one look at Marie s new hair color and felt like a complete bastard.
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 4, 2001
      Title: The Morning After
      Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
      Summary: "Logan took one look at Marie's new hair color and felt like a
      complete bastard."
      Series: Red #2
      Rating: PG-13 - language
      Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of
      fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
      Archive: Archive: Lists, Muse's Fool; if you've already got my stuff,
      sure. If not, please ask. I'll say yes.
      Feedback: Yeah, baby! Feed me!
      Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete. This is the sequel to "Dying
      for Attention."

      The Morning After

      Logan took one look at Marie's new hair color and felt like a complete

      He was used to people thinking he was a bastard -- encouraged it, even,
      but Marie was different. He never wanted her to see him as he really
      was. He liked to think she saw him as the man he could become -- wanted
      to become, when he was with her.

      The red hair was a symbol of the man he'd been -- the man who cared for
      no one and nothing but himself, living only for the moment and the
      pleasure it could bring.


      He'd be the first to admit he was drawn to redheaded women -- the
      stereotype was often true, and he enjoyed the fire and passion red hair
      seemed to signify.

      But he'd found himself dreaming more and more of a brown-haired woman --
      one with dark eyes and platinum streaks framing her face. He fought the
      feelings -- he was no good, she was a kid. He'd played the arguments
      over in his mind ad infinitum. He was going to do the right thing and
      leave her alone. He was going to say to hell with it and hold tightly to
      the best thing that had ever happened to him.

      He, who'd never second-guessed himself, but always took whatever he
      wanted, when he wanted it, wavered in his response to Marie.

      So when he saw her at breakfast that morning, the morning after she'd
      dyed her hair red, he felt like she'd torn his guts out with a rusty

      She knew him -- knew him better than anyone ever had -- and she thought
      that's what he wanted, another redhead for another one-night stand.

      She smiled at him, and he, never one to mince words, was not polite. The
      shock and hurt he felt made him even more blunt that usual.

      "What the hell did you do to your hair?"

      The smile faltered. "I, I thought you'd like it. "

      "I don't." The smile died at his brutal words.

      He ignored the warning look Jean shot him and the disdainful sniff from
      Ororo. He knew he was behaving like a jackass, but he couldn't help it.
      He felt as if she'd seen inside him and found him wanting; she obviously
      thought he was too blind or too stupid -- or both -- to value her for
      what she was.

      "It's red," she added, the hope in her voice giving him some, after all.
      "I thought you liked red."

      "Not on you."

      Her face fell. "I'm sorry," she whispered, before turning on her heel
      and rushing out of the dining room.


      He started after her, only to be stopped by a firm hand on his arm.

      "You've done enough damage for today, don't you think?"

      He whirled and faced Scott, the owner of the hand that restrained him.
      He glanced down at it. "Move it or lose it, One-Eye."

      "I'm not kidding, Logan," Scott said.

      You have to hand it to the boy, Logan thought. He's not scared of me.
      "Neither am I," he answered with a fierce grin.

      "Do you really think anything you can say will make it better now?"
      Scott demanded. "You just crushed her. You can't waltz in now and expect
      everything to be all right if you say you're sorry."

      He blinked. He knew Scott was right, as much as he didn't like to admit

      "What if I tell her she don't need to dye her hair to make me love her?"
      he said, his voice so low only the man standing next to him heard it.

      Scott looked him over appraisingly. After a tense moment, he nodded.
      "That might work. I'd suggest chocolate or jewelry, though, just to
      reinforce that you know how big an idiot you are." He removed his hand
      and Logan went after Marie.

      He found her in her bedroom, which she'd wrecked in a fit of temper that
      would have made him proud under other circumstances.

      "I swear to God, Logan," she said as he pushed his way into the mess
      she'd made, "if you came to tell me you're sorry, get the fuck out. Now
      that I know how you really feel, I'll stay out of your way."

      "I'm not sorry," he said mildly. "I mean, I am sorry I hurt you, but I
      don't like the red hair." She opened her mouth to speak, but he ignored
      it and continued, "It ain't you, darlin'. And I love *you*, not some
      cheap hair dye or some fantasy woman. I've been trying to do the right
      thing by you, been trying to stay away, 'cause I know I'm no good for
      you. But--"

      "You love me?"

      "Yeah. I love you. And I don't wanna think of what my life would be like
      without you, Marie."

      She sniffed, her tears this time from joy and disbelief instead of anger
      and pain. "That's so sweet." She threw herself into his arms and hugged
      him tightly, rubbing her face against his chest. "I just -- I know you
      like redheads and--"

      "Yeah, I like redheads, but I *love* you, Marie -- and your hair color
      ain't got nothing to do with that."

      Another sniffle, and she was burrowing her head into his chest, suddenly
      shy. "I love you, too," she said, but she didn't meet his eyes.

      He felt a strange sensation in his chest, and wondered if that's how the
      Grinch felt on Christmas when his heart grew three sizes. He gently
      cupped her face, her newly-red hair protecting him from her skin, and
      gazed into her eyes, which glistened with tears. Everything in him
      seemed to expand. He realized that he held the whole world in his arms,
      and it was good.

      They stayed that way for a timeless moment, and he was content.




      "Nothing is forgotten or forgiven, when it's your last time around / I
      got thoughts running round my head that I just can't live down" -
      "Something in the Night" - Bruce Springsteen


      The Muse's Fool - http://www.unfitforsociety.net/musesfool
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