The Fatigued and the Furious

January 30, 2015:

Logan gets an unusual wake up call.

Salem Centre

Mrs. Olbermann's Bed and Breakfast

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Someone. Is Smoking. In Logan's room. A cigar by the smell of it. Cohiba. The room is dark, of course, but for the small bit of red as someone puff-puff-puffs on that cigar sitting in the chair across the room, facing the bed. Someone is very sneaky. Until they want to be seen. "Not exactly Sleeping Beauty are you?"


It is not every day that someone can enter Logan's room without him noticing. On a good day, nobody can enter the building without him noticing. But the Bed and Breakfast that he had booked himself into, they had filled the room with Febreeze, lavishly lavender and vanilla if he wasn't mistaken. They had used some bleach to remove a stain on the carpet. And he's pretty sure that they hadn't taken the clothes out of the closet down the hallway in fifteen years. Combined, it left their guest with a badly irrigated nose, and a less than sunny disposition.

On top of that, the radiator was at full blast, along with some fans strategically placed to keep the home warm. When he booked the room, he had wondered who was paying the heating bill, but then he found out the home owner had tapped into their neighbours, Harry's Hideaway. The owner of that bar must have been going nuts trying to figure out where all that electrical use was going, but for all Logan knew, they had an arrangement, or the same owner.

Startled by the smell, and the sound, he stirred under the blankets, kicking them off his chest to reveal the top of his form-fitting black boxer shorts. He slept in that, and nothing else. Claws jutted out from both hands, making that familiar snikt sound. "Fury," he growls in recognition, "what the hell are you doing in my room?" But the anger is far shorter in terms of duration and severity. His mind, already racing to an alertness that few could muster this quickly after having been woken prematurely, considers the possibilities. If Fury wants him, and wants him in the middle of the night, it was either big, or Fury was an ass. Probably both.


"You're a hard man to find." Fury says, ashing his cigar in the nearby try before flicking on a lamp. "My father always said you had a talent for disappearing though. It's been a few years since Africa." Actually it's been about thirty years. And before that it'd been the second world war, though that was another Nick Fury. "Makes a man wonder what you do to keep yourself occupied during that time."


Reaching for the nightstand, where he had put his wallet and cigars. There was no safe in the room, and Logan usually relied on his superhumanly acute senses to know about people before they entered his room. But he didn't account for Nick Fury. And then he realises that Fury stole one of his cigars. The nerve on that man. Before Fury stubbed it out, Logan would ask, "you wanna crank that window? I don't think Mrs. Obermann would appreciate you smokin' in here."

If Logan has a clue what Fury's on about, he's playing his cards close to his chest. Logan gets around. Bringing up Africa could mean last week, last month, 50 years ago, or some time in between. But he hasn't met Nick Fury too many times. Still, he never forgets a scent. Name, reason, what they did, maybe, but not the scent. Never the scent.

Laughing it off sarcastically as he sits there, practically naked, Logan says, "bit o' cooking, bit o' cleaning, bit o' cutting off people's heads." Which part was the joke, were they all, or was none of it. It's hard to say. "Did you have a reason fer this social visit, or do you just like seeing hairy Canadians in their boxers?"


"It's good to know what the competition has going for it." Fury says as he walks over and opens the window. Not cranked. All the way open. All well for Fury, he's got a trench coat. "You been following the news lately? Or you been' under some rock fifty miles from the nearest telephone pole?" He's wondering, specifically, if Logan has heard of the attacks on the Triskelion and their aftermath. Fury had resolved to do someting about it and he's got a lot of people doing a lot of somethings to that end. This is part of it. And something he felt required a personal touch.


Pushing himself up a bit more on the bed, so he can rest his back against the old oak headboard, and place his hands behind his head, Logan offers back in a tone of the Atom's violin, "What a shame. You got a few windows to replace with that big old budget of yours. You're not going to have to replace staff with interns, are ya Nick?"

Normally, Logan's not this much of an ass. But Fury woke him up. He's an earlier riser, but not this early. In point of fact, his healing factor's already adjusted him to the lack of sleep. That's got to be one of the best gifts any mutant ever got. Its no wonder Weapon Plus tried to share with so many people.

Finally deciding that whether Fury is going to let him go back to bed or not, Logan's going to get up, he reaches for his pants, which lay on the floor, putting them on, one leg at a time, just like anyone else, before standing to do the button and zip up the fly. Next, he'll sit right back down on the bed, making it creak under his weight, and start to put his socks on.


"Windows busted, walls taken out, power lines ripped apart, damn near got our experimental lockers raided." Fury doesn't like being rolled. He runs a tight ship, his people are good at what they do. The plain fact was though that their enemy found a blind spot and exploited it. "We got our asses handed to us on a silver platter. I don't like that feeling Logan. I've got the Sci-Tech guys putting their degrees to work, but I need someone who can tackle whatever this enemy decides to throw at us next, and I don't want to have to rely on the good will of others to do that." JL:A and other hero teams are all well and good, but when you need a solution now you need it now. SHIELD got lucky at the Triskelion. Nick doesn't like leaving things to luck.


Though he may sound to be giving Fury a hard time, there's a subtle lilt in his voice as he does so, just a hint of humour in it. What happened wasn't very funny, but that doesn't stop Logan from ragging on Fury about it. He listens to the details. What Fury just admitted probably hurt him, Logan even figures he saw it as a personal embarrassment. And Fury isn't the type to take that lightly.

"So, whatcha want with me?" He reaches for a t-shirt, putting it on over top his finely chiselled physique. Turning on the bed at the waist, he'll hold a hand out as he asks, "got a can you just can't open?" And for emphasis, he pops a single claw out of his wrist with a snikt. The claw will go back in almost immediately afterwards, the damaged skin healing instantly.

"You ever thought of tapping up Superman or Iron Man, some guy with a Man in his codename, or Woman, like that Wonder Woman?" He knows that Fury puts stock in known quantities, and the people he just mentioned are hard to control. Superman's an alien. Wonder Woman's an Amazon. And Iron Man's the worst of the lot. He's a loose cannon.


"We're going to be getting a lot of snake leather soon." Fury deadpans, looking at those claws. Logan isn't exactly controllable himself. But he understands war and warfare and operations of this nature. Bringing him into SHIELD is, as of right now, not something Fury's got in mind. But hell SHIELD can consult and contract with the likes of the Witchblade or Hellboy, then what's wrong with Logan? The man helped out during the whole Virus fiasco and for the problems facing the Division right now, a certain amount of flexibility is a good thing.

"We have enough 'heroes', thanks." Or self described heroes in the case of a certain metallic man. "What I need is someone I don't have to babysit or argue ethics with. Frankly, most of our agents get pretty outgunned pretty fast. I want that to stop. You've done good work in the past, your name came up."

Fury takes a deep breath and looks back out the window again. "Don't answer right away. Take a day or three to think about it. Security's on lockdown while we 'redecorate' anyway." He glances back for some sense of what Logan's thinking.


War isn't something that Logan relishes. He doesn't seek it out. The first few times, he believed in the cause. The last few were more because it was something to do, and he was good at it. That's part of the reason he didn't take part in the last couple of wars. He's grown tired of it. It was always the same. People never learn.

He could use a drink right about now. It's too early for that, and for philosophical questions, but Logan does offer up, "Nobody's a hero. There are just some folks who do the right thing for a while. We all have our demons."

Coming to Logan was probably the right decision. He isn't someone Fury has to babysit. He might ignore Fury's orders, he might go completely the other way, but even if he defied Fury, he'd probably be doing it because he had information that Fury didn't. Most soldiers wouldn't challenge a CO like that, but Logan wasn't like most soldiers. As he often likes to say, he's the best there is at what he does, but what he does best isn't very nice.

As Fury looked out the window, having given his spiel, Logan stood up, "all right," he finally says, but before Fury can take that a yes, he adds, "I'll think about it."


"Good. When you figure it out, come find us. I know you've been cosy with May. She's taking a little break right now, but I'm expecting her back soon if other people are doing their jobs." The one eyed man turns to let himself out. He's done here. "I'll be watching. I always am."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License