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FIC: Summer's End, 11/?, PG13/R, W/R

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  • fyrdrakken@JUNO.COM
    DISCLAIMERS REPOSTED IN PART 0 * * * When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 9, 2001
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      DISCLAIMERS REPOSTED IN PART 0

      * * *

      "When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an
      important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities."
      — From "Basic Sex Facts For Today's Youngfolk" in _Life In Hell_ by Matt
      Groening

      * * *

      Emma frowned at the tableau presented by her downed students and their
      unharmed target. She was managing not to look impressed — but just
      barely. "What a fine showing you make against untrained children."

      Logan raised an eyebrow at her. "Funny, I thought they were here to *get*
      training. And you must have thought they actually had a shot at taking me
      out, or you wouldn’t have been so casual about sending them to deal with
      me."

      Emma raised her own brow to mirror his expression. "What makes you think
      I sent them to ‘deal with’ you?"

      "It’s what I overhead you telling your secretary you’d do."

      The eyebrow dropped, the chill poise cracked for just a moment.

      "But they prove Rogue’s point. If this was the best they could do, you
      *really* need someone competent teaching them how to fight before one of
      them manages to get killed."

      Emma frowned, then her face cleared. Glancing about at her downed
      students, she actually allowed a flicker of concern to appear on her
      face.

      Logan approved. It was the most humanity she’d shown so far. "They should
      be all right. I was pulling my punches." As her eyebrows raised in
      disbelief or startlement, he added, "If you’ve got an infirmary or
      something like that, we could take them all there to be checked over."

      In response, Frost headed for an intercom at a nearby doorway. "Camilla,
      please send people to the main downstairs hallway to carry some students
      to the infirmary. We’ve had a..."

      As she hesitated, searching for a plausible excuse, Logan offered,
      "Volleyball accident."

      She glared at him, before continuing, "Slight training mishap."

      Satisfied that the wounded were tended to, Emma led Logan to her own
      office. Closing the door behind him, she offered him a seat, which he
      ignored. "So, Mr...?"

      "Logan. Just Logan."

      "All right, Just Logan, so after spending how long working at ‘Xavier’s
      School for the Gifted’...?" She paused, irony making the quotation marks
      audible.

      "About a year."

      "One year working at Xavier’s, you suddenly feel compelled to leave this
      position and seek employment elsewhere."

      "That’s right."

      "Any particular reason why?"

      He hesitated, reminding himself of how much Marie said this woman already
      knew. "I was at Chuckie’s" — she looked startled at the nickname — "to be
      with someone, and with her gone, I didn’t care to stay."

      "I see. And were you aware of the age of consent in the state of New
      York? It’s seventeen, I believe."

      "*Really*? We thought it was eighteen!"

      "And were you aware that young Miss Gordon is *sixteen*?"

      "Sure — got her a present on her last birthday and everything." Mood
      noticeably shifting from "provokingly obtuse" to "bluntly serious," he
      added, "If you’re trying to point out that I had — I *have* — an
      underaged girlfriend, you’re right. I admit it. But it was only Marie —
      I’m not in the habit of jumping on random teenagers. So if you’re
      worrying about me having problems keeping my hands off your students,
      don’t be — it’s just Marie."

      "I’ll keep that under advisement," Emma said drily, but her expression
      had cleared somewhat. And then her attitude visibly shifted, as her gaze
      went from stern to assessing, eyes thoughtfully wandering down his form
      and back up again. Changing the subject, "So, Mist— Logan, that was quite
      a display you put on out there. Where on *earth* did you learn to fight
      like that?"

      He shrugged. "Here and there," not wanting to admit that he couldn’t
      remember.

      "You’ve been a combat instructor at Xavier’s School for a year now — what
      were you doing before that?"

      Logan wasn’t sure he appreciated her look of alert interest — or maybe it
      was just his standard reluctance at talking about his sketchy past — but
      she still hadn’t given him the job yet. So it behooved him to play nice.
      "Wandering. This and that. No steady job." Matching action to words, he
      started idly walking around the room, examining the pictures on the
      walls.

      "I see." Logan assumed that she was questioning his lack of references
      (barring Chuckie), until she commented, "Sort of a vagabond rogue, then."

      "That would be a polite way to put it." *Very* polite — almost
      Disneyized. He paused for a closer look at a photo — Frosty with a group
      of adolescents. He recognized slightly younger versions of some of the
      kids he’d just thrashed.

      "Working for Xavier must have been quite a change for you."

      He shrugged. "Some. Got a permanent address, someplace to leave stuff. I
      still got to run off sometimes — got sent to pick up new kids and all
      that. Still managed to get into fights," he added — then immediately
      wished that he hadn’t.

      Marie hadn’t said whether Frosty knew about the X-Men or not... If Frosty
      was setting herself up as Wheels’ rival in more ways than one, Logan
      wasn’t gonna be the one to go spilling his guts to her. Changing jobs was
      one things — screwing over the X-Crew in the process was something else
      entirely.

      Unfortunately Emma pounced on that little slip of his. "I hope you’re not
      referring to your training sessions with the students..."

      "No, I... I go out to bars. Sometimes even fight bars." Stroke of luck
      that his near embarrassment at nearly giving the X-Men away was easily
      passed off as a reaction to being forced to admit his own rough and ready
      ways. One thing was for sure, he wasn’t making himself out to be a very
      good "role model" type to have around her little preppie
      mutants-in-training...

      "How... fascinating," she purred. Thing was, she didn’t sound at all
      sarcastic. Halting in his circuit of the room — Logan was on his second
      orbit by now — he turned to face her. Emma took a step towards him, bring
      herself more than close enough for him to get a good whiff identifying
      the cause of her interest.

      [Uh-oh.] Ordinarily, he might have been encouraged. Flirting with the
      potential boss lady would probably help him get hired — and Frosty was a
      pretty goddamn *hot*-looking ice princess.

      But "ordinary circumstances" for him in no way included Marie.

      He didn’t let himself appear alarmed, instead watching her intently.
      Taking his undivided attention as an encouraging sign, she took another
      step towards him. "Logan, would you care for a drink?"

      [What the hell kind of school principal keeps liquor in her *office*?]
      "Nah, I’m fine."

      "Are you sure?" she asked, moving to a cabinet and taking out a key.

      [Well, at least she keeps it locked up.] "Maybe later," meaning that he
      might hit a bar or raid a liquor store later on that evening.

      "Perhaps," she consented, giving him a sidelong glance as she put her key
      away. Logan belatedly realized that she had taken his response as
      indicating interest in having a drink with *her* later. "So tell me,
      Logan — what’s a grown man like yourself doing with a teenager when he
      could no doubt have just about any woman he wanted?" Walking towards him
      again, he watched her with the same attention he would give an
      approaching viper — something capable of rapid and painful attack,
      something to be wary of. Mistaking his intent gaze for a reciprocation of
      her interest, she pressed on. "A *grown* woman — one with mature tastes
      and... skills. Not a little girl just a few years past Barbie dolls and
      bicycles."

      "Marie’s absorbed a few other people. Some of them are a long way past
      toys. She’s older on the inside than she looks."

      "Perhaps — but she’s still a girl," Emma said dismissively. "Not even
      legal. Wouldn’t you rather have someone a little more — " close enough
      now for him to feel her breath on his cheek " — knowledgeable?"

      He met the pale blue eyes for a moment before breaking eye contact and
      stepping away, putting some distance between them. "Like I said, she’s
      got other people in her head. She’s plenty ‘knowledgeable’."

      He tossed a casual glance over his shoulder at Frost, catching the
      faintly annoyed expression as she said, "Perhaps. But perhaps you should
      also consider — how very, very hard it may be for her as a young girl
      paired with a much-older man. Like it or don’t, she’s going to have some
      very pretty... *expectations* of you. You seem to have made the shift
      from ‘wandering vagabond’ to ‘schoolteacher’ — can you claim to be ready
      to even *consider* a wife and children, a dog and a house in the
      suburbs?"

      Emma Frost was *not* a person he’d have picked to go over his future
      plans with. He’d have sooner discussed it with Magneto, frankly. (He
      really *would* have. In lieu of kicking the crap out of Lensherr, sitting
      him down and telling the old fucker all about the bright future he had
      almost taken from an innocent girl — *and* a mutant, one of those he
      claimed to be trying to save — would have been a great way to blow off
      steam.)

      But carting his metal-laden self off to the incarcerated Master of
      Magnetism would have been patently unwise — and the secrecy of his
      relationship with Marie had precluded discussion with the X-Crew. So it
      looked like he was reduced to playing True Confessions with the ice queen
      here.

      Hey, at least it seemed to be distracting her from attempted seduction.

      "I want Marie to have what she wants for her life. To be able to go
      around without being afraid of getting touched, yeah. College, no
      problem. A wedding ring and some kids, fine. And I *like* dogs."

      Emma looked nonplussed at this speech — but then she decided what
      response to take. "So you say you’re... committed to Marie."

      It was phrased as a statement, not a question, but he answered it anyway.
      "Yes."

      "And you want to give her what she wants, and also to be with her
      yourself, I presume?"

      "Yes."

      "So getting hired on here is *important* to you — to the both of you."

      "Yes." He sensed a trap ahead, though as yet the form it would take
      remained unclear.

      "And I’m the one who decides whether or not you get to be with her for
      the next year and a half."

      Things were falling very nastily into place now. "Yes."

      "So, you *really* need to get on my good side. Impress me." A pause as if
      for thought, then, "Any suggestions?"

      Logan had a few, but none that would earn him much goodwill from Frosty.
      "I get the idea you had something in mind." [Please, please let it be a
      mutant terrorist organization you need a hatchet man for,] he prayed,
      knowing full well that, Xavier’s rivals or not, a recruitment pitch for a
      super group was not the trap being laid for him.

      Standing close again, Emma thoughtfully ran a finger along the collar of
      his T-shirt, fingertip teasing at the skin beneath. "Why don’t I offer
      you that drink again, and then perhaps you and I could go over to my
      private apartment and you could impress me there?"

      "And if I say no?"

      She frowned at him, albeit prettily. "You *do* have that option."

      "And what will it do to my chances of getting a job here?"

      She gave him an *almost* wicked look, too composed and polished for true
      roguishness. "I fear your disinterest in adhering to the wishes of your
      potential employer wouldn’t speak well for you."

      "And if I say yes?"

      "Then you have the opportunity to impress me with your... Enthusiasm for
      the job. Thorough attention to detail. Tireless dedication to your work.
      Skill at carrying out required physical tasks. That sort of thing."

      "But will it get me the job?"

      She pursed her lips. "I’m afraid I can’t promise that *now*. You might
      prove to be entirely unsuitable."

      "So you’re saying I need to climb into bed with you, and if I ‘impress’
      you then you *might* decide to keep me around?"

      A delicate frown. "You put things very boldly. I haven’t decided yet
      whether I find that refreshing or merely boorish."

      Logan gave no indication that he actually did know what ‘boorish’ meant.
      "A straight answer, now."

      "Well, if you insist upon being crude about it, then I suppose you have
      the terms of the arrangement correctly."

      "No."

      "No?" sculpted brows raising in polite disbelief.

      "No. No arrangement."

      "Then, I’m afraid, no job." She folded her arms, expression a blend of
      annoyance at having her advances spurned and pleasure at displaying her
      power over him.

      Logan merely nodded, showing no sign of emotion for her to take petty
      satisfaction from. He turned and left her office.

      He’d need to leave the school grounds pretty soon, or risk an ugly scene
      as Frost would no doubt try to have him *thrown* out — but first he
      needed to find Marie.

      * * *

      FyrDrakken
      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

      "Okay, this is going to hurt quite a bit, but, I suppose, that's the
      entire POINT. I'm aiming for obscene agony, so if it's just merely
      unbearable, DO say something."
      -- Johnny C, JOHNNY THE HOMICIDAL MANIAC #6, by Jhonen Vasquez
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