FIC: AOADB: A Date With the Big 'O'. GEN. Rated R.
- TITLE: A Date with the Big 'O'
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
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
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.
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?"
"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
*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."
"Yer all right," he said with a grin. "Yeah, you're
* * * * *
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
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
Do You Yahoo!?
Great stuff seeking new owners in Yahoo! Auctions!