1963-09-12 - Old Friends and Cheap Booze
Summary: Heather is looking for one of her interview subjects, Logan is looking for the bottom of a third bottle of Wild Turkey.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
logan heather 


Logan's been setting up shop at the Duck on and off for a couple of days. It ain't exactly a nice place and he's had to throw a few people out the door, but he hasn't broken anything and, honestly, the bartender's a little too scared to toss him out.

He's slowed down a little bit, after Akihiro came and talked to him yesterday. Made him think a little more about whether he should take the advice he gave his son or not. Put the past behind him. Ain't always easy.

Especially when that past walks in the door. Logan's nostrils flare at Heather's arrival and he cocks his head, "Well, I'll be damned," he says.

*

Heather is looking for the father of one of her contacts and, in theory, this is the place she should be looking. She's gone some unsavoury places in her life and this, well, this is as sticky and unwelcome a place as she's been in a long time. She's ever so grateful she didn't wear anything decent today.

She pauses in the doorway to double check her notes — yes, life did serve this up to her this morning — and to look around for the man in question. She doesn't see him and apparently she wouldn't be able to miss him. Her eyes catch on someone familiar but, no, this is New York City. Years and miles away from those memories. She takes a determined course for the bar in because she wouldn't be doing her job unless she at least asked around.

*

Logan reaches into his pocket and draws out a cigar, popping it into his mouth. He strikes a match on the bartop, not the first from the streak of soot he's left on the thing. He starts to puff and then cocks his head. His hair's shaggier than last she saw him, and he's got more stubble on his jaw, close to a beard at this point. The muttonchops are hard to miss, of course.

"Yer a little out yer usual territory, ain't ya, darlin'? Hope ya didn't come lookin' fer me. Waste o' time, I'm what they call retired these days. Livin' the high life, can't ya tell?" he says, holding up a glass full of Wild Turkey. "Salud."

*

Heather is about to say something to the bartender when the world reels a little and she's back in time at the sound of that voice. She shakes her head, pulls herself back to the present.

"Unless. Unless you're going by Sergey Krakov and you have a child named Misha I don't know about, no, not here for you. Still." Heather's smile is bright and she slips onto a bar stool, setting her satchel in a less-sticky spot on the bar. "Retired? Me, too. Not by choice, but they don't always give you a choice, do they?" Heather looks him over. "I think your version of the high life and mine have always differed, though. How are you, other thank 'likkered up'?"

*

Logan smirks, taking another sip of his whiskey, the cubes rattling in the glass. "Pretty shitty," he admits, "Thought I might take the high road for a while, play the hero. Got reminded of what I am right quick. Put a friend o' mine in the hospital. My fault," he says.

"Part of me wants to ask you if you ever knew anythin' 'bout Weapon X, 'bout what they were gonna do to me. But I figure you didn't know. Cause if you did, you wouldn't be the person I thought you was. Break my heart, it would," he says. "So, why'd you get retired? Finally tell off a general?"

*

"Nothing. I didn't know a thing, Logan. I'm so sorry if they got you, too." Heather doesn't sound surprised at his mention of the project but she does look grim. "Got retired because they shut us down."

Heather gestures to the bartender. Same again for Logan, same for her. She doesn't really drink but she could use it right now.

"Mac died about a year ago now. Politics pulled us under." She fiddles with her wedding ring. "I tried, but you know how it is. They didn't want me without him around. I guess it was probably easier to do whatever they were up to with us out of the way, anyway. I thought it was the usual politics but maybe it was worse."

*

Logan snorts, "Yeah, worse. That's one way to put it. Pullin' some of it apart is what…they took me first, but I got lose. Then they took my son. Then my friend. A friend I nearly gutted pulling out of that place," he says. Yeah, he only got Jean in the legs but only cause he overruled his instincts at the last minute. One more second of blind, red rage and he'd have gutted her true.

"So, yeah, probably best you got out of it. Nothin' you could do to stop it," he sighs. "I'm sorry to hear about Mac. Good guy," he says. "I didn't always see eye to eye, but he was smart and tough and that's a hell of a lot more'n you can say about most in his job."

*

"More than you can say about most, period. I've been lucky to have good men in my life — didn't realize it until I was out on my own, how lucky." Heather makes a face at her glass but drinks it anyway. She should have remember Logan's particular taste in alcohol. "If there's anything I can do for you, let me know."

The idea that she has something to offer is a little laughable, but she does it anyway. "I miss — what was it? Herding cats. That's what it was, getting everyone on the same page. I miss that."

*

Logan smiles, "Yeah, you were always good at that, keeping us in line. Of course, a couple of the cats were even wilder than me, an' I ain't exactly tame," he says. "Tried my hand at it a little myself. A group of mutants," he says, "Young ones mostly. Tryin' to get 'em on track, keep 'em safe. Obviously, I did a bang up job, that's why I'm hear drinkin' myself stupid," he sighs.

"I'm sure there's a gig out there for ya somewhere. Somethin' respectable."

*

"I'm working for the United Nations now," Heather says, a little unhappily. "Researcher for a human rights report, though right now I'm interviewing mutant families. Funny, no one else wants to go do it. It's respectable, sure. But I never before got my backside grabbed like I do now, not by anyone who wasn't my husband, anyway."

This booze really is terrible but Heather orders another anyway. The idea of Logan and children genuinely does require it. "Logan, if there's anything that the work we did before taught me, it's that you can do everything right and it still goes sour. Whatever happened — I know you did your best. You always did when you put your mind to something."

*

Logan shrugs, "Yeah, well, my mind ain't always in charge o' my body, which is part o' the problem." Admittedly, Jean had literally ripped his face off when he snapped, but Logan didn't cut himself the same slack he gave to others.

"Oh, and I got a son. Akihiro. You remember my wife, from Japan, the one the Russkies killed? Yeah…turns out the baby lived. I never knew," he says. "Usual shit, raised to be a killer. He got loose on his own. Good kid," he says.

*

"Of course I remember." Of course, Heather didn't fully appreciate how terrible that all must have been for him, though she'd been sympathetic. Some things are hard to understand until they happen to you in one way or another. "I suppose it sounds strange to say congratulations after all that, but…" Heather gives Logan a questioning smile. "Is it something to be happy about? 'Good kid' sounds promising."

*

Logan shrugs, "Yeah, I guess it's a good thing. There's also…I dunno what the other one is. Name's Laura, but she's not exactly my kid, she's…like me, though. I think they…made her," he says.

"I ain't really talked to her yet. Her tryin' to kill me kinda put me on the sour, but Aki - that's my son - he says I should give her a chance," he shrugs, "Listen to me, just pourin' my shit life out on ya. Like you ain't got yer own problems. I really am sorry about Mac. What happened?"

*

"I'm grateful for the distraction," Heather admits. "Mac — you know how they are, the government. Any government. Accident, they said. Miscalculation. He was in the field. I was coordinating. And then he was gone. If you want to talk about feeling guilty…" She shrugs, then takes a breath before continuing.

"What they gave me to bury, it could have been him. Sometimes, I wake up at night and I'm afraid it wasn't, that he needs me and I just moved on." Heather shakes her head, finishes her drink. "Most people don't even know he's dead. You live in the shadows, no one knows you're missing when you're gone. All that work, all that time, and the ripple is gone before the pebble sinks."

*

Logan considers, "Yeah. I dunno if anyone would much miss me if I stopped bein'. Maybe a couple, but just as many would be glad to see it. Maybe more," he shrugs.

"You did plenty o' good, though, from what I saw. Just cause they don't let nobody see it don't mean it wasn't there. Sounds pretty shitty what happened with Mac," he says. He could offer to find out for sure if it was him - his senses would tell him true enough - but let's go dig up your dead husband and see if he's really dead isn't exactly something you offer. He figures if she wants it, she'll ask.

"What're you interviewin' mutant families about?" he says. The idea of the government doing that makes him a little uneasy, naturally.

*

"The High Commissioner on Human Rights is asking for personal accounts of mutant life in a lot of places." Heather pulls out one of her files, the subject indicated only by a location code at the top. "So that we can make a presentation of the difficulties affecting families with mutant members, and those members specifically. If there's going to be any kind of rights recognition, we need to understand what people are facing, what discrimination we need to address. We know it exists, we need to know how it affects people."

The survey covers things like access to school, medical care, sufficient food, shelter. Things many mutants don't have enough of, if they have any at all. "I don't know if anyone will listen, if it'll do any good, but at least it'll be somewhere — officially — that this is happening to people."

*

Logan nods, "It sounds like a good thing. Just makes me worry. Anytime people start collectin' statistics and findin' out where people live…I dunno. I remember Europe in the 30s…and I know a lot of mutants are just straight afraid. I bet it's been hard for you to find subjects," he says.

He considers for a moment, "I might be able to put you in touch with someone who can help, though. If you haven't talked to him already," he says.

*

"I think worry is the right response," Heather admits. "It's a fine line to walk and I know that no one can trusted completely. We've both seen that. We need to know in order to help and, yet… you're right. It could be used for something terrible. And, still, terrible things are already being done. It is hard to find anyone who will talk and I don't blame them."

"So, I haven't talked to many people, no." Heather doesn't sound frustrated, just resigned. "If you know someone, I'd be happy to talk to them. Of course. That's generous of you."

*

Logan considers. On the one hand, exposing the X-men to the government would be a very dangerous proposition. But there was a difference between that and introducing her to the Professor. While he still intended to stay away, this was something he could do.

"Gimme a way to reach you and I'll see if he'd be willing to talk to you. He's a smart guy and a serious advocate for mutants. But he has people to protect and I don't wanna expose him without his permission, ya dig?"

*

"Of course." Heather finds a business card in the front pocket of her satchel, as well as a pen. After a moment's thought, she takes out a second card. On each, she writes an extra phone number. "That's my personal number. I'm staying at the Baxter Building. I still have a few friends willing to take me in, fortunately."

Heather hands over both cards. "One for your friend. One for you," she says. "You can call me any time. I'd love to meet your son, if you ever feel like it. And your — Laura — if you work that out. Family matters. We don't get much of it, and what we get we don't always get to keep."

*

Logan nods and takes the cards, tucking them into his pocket, "I'll be in touch. And I'm betting he will, too. You take care of yerself. The world's gettin' more dangerous, especially for folks tryin' to look out for mutants. You were always a smart one, but you got too much guts to always listen to yer brain," he grins.

Then he returns to his whiskey. His healing factor had sobered him up more than he was interested in being sober right now. He refills his glass. Three bottles down.

*

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