The idea for this story came to me one morning while I was half asleep and it just went from there. I wanna thank LT and especially Deke for all their beta help on this and Elektra for leads on research and basically just listening while I rattled :-).
This is another one of my odd jumbles of Movieverse and comic canon. It's Movieverse Logan with comic book Logan's background although I've taken some liberties with the timeline of Logan's epiphany.
I've also taken some literary license with the existence of burlesque theaters in New York City in the 40's since Mayor Fiorello La Guardia actually began shutting them down in 1937 but I'm sure you all don't really care ;-)
Disclaimer: Logan and anyone else you recognize belong to Marvel and 20th Century Fox. Everyone else is mine but I'm willing to share 'em. I'm poor and not making any money of this so please don't sue me.
Feedback: Fugu me, man!
Nina looked in the mirror as she pinned on her hat. She had shadows under her eyes and she was so exhausted she had no idea how she'd make it through four shows today. She snapped at Mikey, who was dragging his feet, and instantly regretted it. It wasn't like her to be short with him no matter how bad she felt.
Kneeling down, she gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, Mike. I didn't mean to yell. Do you forgive Mommy?"
He nodded sullenly and pouted all the way out the door to Mrs. Lieberman's apartment. He went inside without even saying goodbye to her.
"So," Mrs. Lieberman said brightly, "I see you and that nice Mr. Logan are keeping company."
"Such a nice man, so good with Mikey, too. And so handsome." She winked at the younger woman. "If I was only twenty years younger, I could go for him. You know I was quite a looker, too, in my day."
"Mrs. L, it's not like that. Logan is just a friend."
Mrs. Lieberman's eyebrows crept up into her hairline. She clucked her tongue. "And I always thought you were more sensible than that," she said shaking her head.
Nina's mouth dropped open. She called goodbye to Mike, who as already sitting on the living room floor rolling around one of his little trucks, and then went downstairs to meet Logan.
"You alright, darlin'? You look a little pale," he commented as she descended.
"I'm alright, just didn't sleep too well last night."
Lot of that going around, he thought wryly.
He allowed himself the small pleasure of admiring her. Her hair was in the usual intricate rolls along the sides and front while the honey-blonde tresses fell to just past her shoulders in the back, curling gently against her graceful neck. She was wearing a Russian blue wool coat with velvet collar and cuffs that was fitted to her shapely torso and flared out below her waist. She wore a matching blue wool hat with small silk flowers edging the veiling over her eyes. The color made her eyes burn bright sapphire and her cheeks were flushed from walking in the cold. Logan fought the impulse to take her by the shoulders and plant a hot kiss on her full lips.
She turned and found him looking at her. She smiled self-consciously.
"What?" She asked.
He quickly turned his gaze towards his wingtips. "Nothin'."
They settled next to each other on the train for the short ride to Manhattan. Brandy looked at Logan out of the corner of her eye and wondered if he would be offended if she asked him about himself. Taking a deep breath she plunged ahead.
"So, Logan. Where are you from? Originally I mean."
He gave her a slightly amused look. He had just been wondering the same thing about her.
"Northern Canada," he told her. "Served in a joint US/Canadian intelligence corps connected with the OSS during the war which is how I wound up here instead of home. Got shipped back with the GIs instead of with the Canadians. Decided to stay for awhile." He didn't add that he wasn't completely out of the Army, either. He was a "reservist", completely at the mercy of Intelligence, if they decided they wanted him back. For now, though, he was John Q. Public.
"I'm from Nebraska." She told him. He noticed she twisted her gloves between her hands before going on and wondered what she was so nervous about. "I moved to New York after Grant, that's Michael's father, was killed. I-I n-needed to get away from home. We'd both grown up together in the same small town and everywhere I turned there were just too many painful memories."
She suddenly became very interested in the subway car window, which Logan found strange considering they were in a dark tunnel and there was nothing to see. He could tell she wasn't being completely honest with him about why she left home but he decided not to push the issue.
"How long have you been here?" He asked her.
"Four and a half years. Michael was born here." She flushed and hoped she hadn't told him too much. To cover she went on quickly. "I began stripping about two years ago. Before that I waited tables at Junior's, but the money wasn't nearly as good. We were living in a dingy one-room apartment underneath the Manhattan Bridge. I was able to move to the building we're in now once I started stripping. It's much better."
"You said they don't know what you do."
She looked horrified at the thought. "Absolutely not! They think I'm just a seamstress. You've met Mrs. Di Sicco. How long do you think I'd last in that building if they knew what I really did?"
"You've got a point there, darlin'. Well, don't worry, I won't tell." He gave her a disarming smile that caused her heart to leap to her throat.
"You know, I almost forgot to tell you. I'm having a few people from the theater over for Thanksgiving dinner next Thursday and you're invited, of course," she added with a shy smile.
"Thank you, that sounds nice. We don't celebrate Thanksgiving quite the same way in Canada. It's not even the same day. But I've had a few bad U.S. Army Thanksgiving dinners over the years and it'll be nice to have a real one for a change. Who else is coming?"
"Oh Windy and Jewel. Jewel is dating Gus so he'll be there. It's really just the people who have no family or won't be going home. I guess I shouldn't have assumed you didn't have anywhere else to go."
"Well, I don't and I'd be honored to spend the day with all of ya." He mentally made plans to head for the tailor's on their dinner break. He had very few civilian clothes, just the twill work pants and shirts he wore every day and a few of his beloved Pendleton wool plaid shirts that he'd taken to Europe with him. He'd need a suit for dinner and he should probably get some nice trousers and a sport jacket as well.
The theater was quiet when they got in and they both went to their separate tasks. Brandy went to the wardrobe room to steam out her new costume before heading to her dressing room. When she climbed the stairs she saw Rosie closing the door quietly behind her and tiptoeing down the hall in the direction of her own dressing room. Brandy immediately went to open the door and carefully looked around the room.
Strangely, nothing appeared to have been disturbed or destroyed so she wondered what Rosie could have been doing snooping around. She had a niggling suspicion she'd find out one way or another but she pushed the thought aside and began preparing for the first performance.
She didn't think about it again until the shows were finished that night. She realized she'd made it through the day without a major disaster and heaved a sigh of relief. She reached for her cold cream jar and began slathering it over her face to loosen her make-up. She wiped it off and rinsed her face in the small sink.
Dressing quickly, she ran downstairs to see if Logan was riding home with her. He met her at the door.
"Hi," she said. "You going out tonight?" She reached up and scratched her cheek.
"I'm still pretty tired after running around with Mike yesterday. Think I'll ride home with you and call it a night." He looked around and sniffed at the air. He smelled something odd on her but didn't mention anything. His acute senses of hearing and smell were just another one of those odd things he took for granted but knew instinctively was unusual.
She smiled and rubbed the palm of one hand against the back of the other before pulling on her gloves.
"You know what, Logan. I'm pretty exhausted too. What do you say we splurge for a taxi ride tonight?"
"I like that idea. My treat, ok?"
"Absolutely not. It's mine. It's the least I can do for you buying and cooking dinner last night."
They walked up to Fourteenth Street and hailed a cab.
"The Monday after Thanksgiving, we start rehearsing the new show. Joe wants to have it ready to debut for New Year's Eve," she told him. "It's going to mean longer days for everyone and probably Sundays." She reached a hand up to scratch her cheek again but he grabbed her wrist.
"Why do you keep scratchin'?"
"My face and hands are itchy. My face is starting to feel hot, too."
"Hey," he called up to the cab driver, "can you turn the dome light on for a minute, please?"
The cabbie gave an annoyed grunt but flicked the light on.
"What?" Brandy asked with alarm when she saw a flicker of surprise on his face. She reached up to scratch again.
"Listen, bub," Logan told the driver, "if you get us home in the next ten minutes there's a fin tip in it for ya."
By now Brandy was scratching her face with gusto. "Ow, ow, ow! What the heck is going on?" She reached into her purse for her compact and peered at her reflection in the dim light. "Oh my God!" She screamed in utter panic. Her face was bright red and rapidly swelling up with angry looking hives. Pulling off her gloves she could see her hands were breaking out as well.
"Darlin', don't scratch!" Logan warned as her hands reached up again. "You're only going to make it worse." He reached over and took both of her hands firmly in his. "We'll call a doctor as soon as we get home, okay?"
He continued to hold her hands but noticed her legs bouncing up and down with the effort of trying to control herself.
"Oh! Ow! Logan, it hurts!"
"I know, darlin', but ya can't scratch." The cab pulled up in front of their building. "Look we're home. Come on, let's get you inside."
He paid the cab driver and led her upstairs to her apartment. Mrs. Lieberman let them in. In the evenings, she put Mike to bed and then waited until Nina got home.
"Oh my goodness," Mrs. Lieberman exclaimed. "Nina, dear, your face looks terrible."
"Mrs. L," Logan told her. "I need you to call a doctor and get him over here as soon as possible. Nina, go change and get into bed. Do you have any calamine lotion?"
"In the medicine chest," she told him, all the while bouncing around, trying not to scratch.
He went to the bathroom and started rooting around. Grabbing a washcloth off the rack on the wall he placed it into the sink and ran cold water over it.
He rapped sharply on her bedroom door. "Are you in bed?" Her muffled affirmative reached his ears through the closed door.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed the cold washcloth gently to her flaming cheeks. The cool compress offered her little relief and her eyes were red with unshed tears. With a second washcloth, Logan began dabbing pink calamine lotion onto her face and hands.
Mrs. Lieberman appeared at the door of the room.
"Dr. Carlson said he'd be here in ten minutes. My goodness, Nina, what happened?"
"I'm not sure," she stopped as a thought occurred to her
"What?" Logan asked her as he saw comprehension dawn on her face.
"Mrs. L. Would you mind making me a cup of tea?" Nina asked the older woman.
"Not at all, sweetheart. I'll be right back."
When she'd gone to the kitchen, Nina told Logan her suspicions.
"I saw Rosie sneaking out of my dressing room this morning. Nothing seemed to be missing or out of place so I didn't think anything of it. She must have put something in my cold cream. I was fine all day until I took my make-up off!"
Logan cursed vehemently under his breath. "Sorry," he apologized. "Looks like I'm going to have to have another little talk with her. This is ridiculous." He ran a hand through his thick hair; now he knew what it was he smelled on her earlier. It must have been whatever Rosie put in the cold cream.
Mrs. Lieberman reappeared at the door with a cup of tea and the doctor. Logan moved aside for the doctor.
"Hmmm, Nina, it looks like you're having a severe allergic reaction to something." She glanced at Logan whose lips were pressed together in annoyance.
"I put a cold compress on it and then the calamine lotion," Logan told him.
Dr. Carlson glanced curiously over at him. "Well, I'll leave a prescription for some ointment. You can have it filled tomorrow. Don't scratch, Nina, or your skin could become infected. You may want to wear gloves so you don't scratch in your sleep." He smiled indulgently at her. "And I know how vain you ladies can be so you're probably not going to want to leave the house for two or three days."
He turned to Logan and Mrs. Lieberman. "Would you please step out of the room? I'd like to give her an injection."
He joined them several minutes later in the living room.
"I gave her a mild sedative so she'll sleep, hopefully through the night." He tore a page off his prescription pad and placed it on the table by the door as Mrs. Lieberman saw him out.
Logan went back to check on Nina. She was dozing lightly as the sedative began taking effect. Her hands, encased in a pair of white cotton gloves, were resting on top of the covers. He bent down and brushed a kiss on her forehead. A slight smile curled her lips.
"I'll stay with her tonight," he told Mrs. Lieberman when she came in. "Will you be able to stay with her tomorrow while I'm at work?"
She agreed and said good night.
His eyes rested on the sleeping woman. She shifted a bit and reached up to her face. Logan was glad the doctor had made her put on the gloves. He reached over and began stroking her hair, the unfamiliar wave of protectiveness washing over him yet again. After tucking her covers more tightly around her he took the spare blanket from the foot of the bed, snapped off the light and made his way out to the couch, settling in for the night.
* * * * *
Rosie gave the man beside her a glance to make sure he was still sleeping before quietly slipping out of bed for a drink of water. She smiled triumphantly to herself, certain she had seen that puta, Brandy scratching her face and hands before she and Logan hastily left the theater. The memory was bittersweet. She had once again exacted a small bit of revenge from the bruja but it was obvious to her the two of them couldn't leave fast enough to get home and have each other and the thought of the other girl enjoying her lover made her sick with rage.
She sat on the couch where she had first made love to Logan and looked out at the soft snow that had begun falling sometime during the night. He was a magnificent lover and the most beautiful man she had ever seen, his body all corded muscle and barely restrained animal power. Up until that night she'd never seen anything like it. She thought of the man lying in her bed that very moment. He was big and savage and as beautiful in his own way but he wasn't Logan, although he suited her purposes for now. And she suspected she suited his and that was just fine with her.
His voice carried from the bedroom. "Hey, Rosie! Where'd ya get to? C'mon back to bed, I ain't done with you yet."
She smiled jubilantly. Oh yes, it suited her just fine. "Coming lover," she called, and made her way back to bed.
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