Saint Simon [Ari]

[Logan]

Calloused fingers work an old and tattered scarf into a loose knot, then tuck the frayed tails beneath the lapels of a thick coat. A young boy pouts and tries to dissuade his mother-hen of an uncle from adding more layers by batting his hands away. Storm gray eyes meet soft hazel and glimmer with affection as a navy blue kitted cap slides over the youth’s wild mess of black hair. An old man smiles in the early morning light streaming from a living room window. The boy is reluctant, like smiling is a chore, but his mouth soon twists and when prodded playfully in the ribs, he recoils and laughs. They are ready to greet the day.

The small of the pair’s shared apartment has been filled with talk of dinosaurs for weeks now. Logan assumes it is a phase, but he treats Aaden’s interest with as much respect as a dinosaur-illiterate man might manage. There is a stack of movies standing at haphazard angles atop the coffee table. Jurassic Park was the only film capable of keeping Logan’s attention; he made it a whole hour into the story before falling asleep. As such, his understanding of dinosaurs is limited at best, woefully misinformed at worst. The habits of longnecks and the big ones with teeth, were never of particular importance on Logan’s list of things I should know – until his godson decided on a subject for the school’s science fair.

Logan still isn’t sure if a Nemicolopterus is an actual thing or a nerd’s verbal fever dream. Raptors, he understands. T-rex is within his dictionary, but clearly those awesome beasts are far too mundane for his nephew. Aaden possesses the innate Duvall stubbornness, and if he wants to do a project on a Nemi-whatever-saurus, Logan will not dissuade him. He set aside a weekend morning specifically to facilitate Aaden’s curiosity, and that morning has arrived.

Winter in Boston is nothing in comparison to the ones found in the Last Frontier, but cold is cold. The tips of Logan’s ears turn red and aching by the time he manages to flag down a taxi. The trip is made longer due to the weather; it is snowing and the city is ill-equipped to handle it. Visibility is poor and Logan supposes he should be happy their driver is a cautious one. It is a slow crawl down the snowy and traffic-filled streets, and Logan spends his time watching Aaden, who stares out the window lost to his own thoughts. The kid hardly ever talks and Logan wonders what makes him tick. He is nothing like Ben, but maybe he would have been, should things have been different.

The bitter thought sends a jolt of warning through Logan. He looks away, out towards the sky and watches white specks spiral down from an encompassing gray. It is with practiced effort that he steers his mind away from the past. Logan makes a mental list of errands and chores, goes over it twice, and slowly the phantoms slip back into their graves. Today, he thinks, will be a good one.

Cold brakes squeal their protest as the taxi pulls up to a curb. Logan pays the driver and he and Aaden make a rushed exit towards the Library. The building is a distance away and by the time they make it inside, a light dusting of snow covers their shoulders. Logan reminds Aaden to wipe his shoes before proceeding. The boy rolls his eyes but does as told. The brief spell of annoyance is lifted when Aaden sets eyes on the rows and rows of books. It is rare to see him excited and Logan allows a small flare of victory to warm his veins.

For once, he may have done something right.

”Come on, kiddo, let’s get you a card… at least I think that’s still a thing.” The last time Logan set foot in a library was during his high school years. He’d never admit to it, but he is feeling a little intimidated. ”It says so right there,” Aaden helpfully points towards a sign situated on a desk that reads, also helpfully, Get your card today!. Logan simpers and ventures forward. He props an elbow on the desk and leans against it, peering down at his Nephew as they wait. An employee arrives to help and Logan turns to greet them –only to be rendered stupefied. There, looking far less disheveled, is the trash-hound he picked up, fed, and sent along his merry way. Boston may be a limited territory, but Logan never expects to see the same face twice outside of work. Aaden looks between the two men, figures there is some sort of stupid adult weirdness going on, and slaps his hands onto the desk.

”I’m looking for books on Nemicolopterus.” The boy’s interjection seems to shake Logan from his stupor. ”Right. Books. That’s what people do…in libraries.” Though perhaps not completely. Aaden looks at his uncle like he has just sprouted a second head before turning to Ari. He is going to handle business, he will not be denied his dinosaurs. ”I also need a card. Please.” Logan takes a brief moment to wonder over when Aaden became the adult in their relationship. He offers the apparent werewolf-librarian a shrug and a lopsided smile.

”What the kid said.”

[Ari]

New England winters are for reminiscing, frozen in time and still.

Providence is only an hour from Boston but a lifetime away, and the smell of the sea and the grey of the sky are the same despite the distance. The oppressive clouds that march in off the harbor bring more snow to a city already feeling the doldrums of the season, but the briskness and bite in the air are familiar comforts to Ari. There is an amount of calm to be drawn from sequestering himself away in the catacombs of the Boston Public Library while the gentle snowfall carries on outside; the yellowed lights are warm, the books soothing, the stone walls impenetrable. It is, for a small amount of time, enough to simply pretend that the building around him is all that exists – and that his thoughts do not shy uncomfortably away from ever fixating on the concept of home.

That the weather would see an irksome amount of employees skipping out for the day is no small surprise, but that the lack of staff has Ari manning the help desk instead of managing any real work is the true offense. Regardless of the slow morning, for the third time today an arrival pulls him away from his documentation of recent intakes; he rounds the corner with a stifled sigh and a collection of books clutched beneath one arm, prepared to answer another monotonous slew of questions largely concerning how to use a computer. That he should be met with a recognizable face is immediately shocking – and that it should be the man who dragged his wolf home and made him eggs, of all people, is even more alarming.

Ari touches the side of his head unconsciously, running fingers through his hair and tucking an unkempt strand behind his ear, his deer-in-the-headlights look all too obvious. He is not too proud a man to accept a needed kindness, nor too selfish to offer thanks when the deed is done, but Logan has seen a side of him – physical and otherwise – that he prefers to keep walled off. Lingering embarrassment sees a flush rise beneath the collar of the archivist’s shirt, and Ari busies himself with placing his armload of books down and fumbling to get them organized before he can begin to process the reality of the situation.

Aaden, thankfully, rescues them both. Ari’s people skills might be rusty, but they are more than sufficient when he is within his own kingdom – and better still when applied to areas of interest near and dear to his heart.

”A library card, huh?” The werewolf lifts his eyes from Aaden to offer Logan a forgiving smile, and reaches for a stack of nearby forms. ”I just need some I.D., and for you to fill this out for him.” While Logan attends to the required paperwork, Ari leans over the desk with his chin in his palm, fixing the boy with an amused glance and a curious raise of his brow. ”School project, or do you just like pterosaurs?” Both, if the ridiculous choice of animal is any indication, but Ari is not one to doubt the dinosaur-obsession abilities of small children.

Form returned and papers signed, the werewolf exits from behind the desk with a small white card tucked into his hand, and purposely hands it directly to Aaden. ”This is all yours. You keep it safe, okay? You can take out anything in the library with it, so don’t let it get lost.” Hazel eyes flicker upwards to seek out any sign of approval on Logan’s part. Other people’s children are foreign beasts, and Ari does not claim to be any sort of expert on them, but he has had the luck to find that they tend to like him. The card situation satisfied, the man beckons the pair follow him as he abandons his post to facilitate their search, leading the little party amongst near endless shelves of books.

”You didn’t mention a kid,” Ari begins quietly, and in that manner of adult conversation that children manage to deliberately ignore. A sidelong glance sizes up the man next to him as they navigate the stacks; there is no accusation to his statement, only curiosity. ”What’s his reading level?”

Ari has a book in mind, and he suspects the boy is bright enough to be bored of children’s stories and watered-down facts. He stalks among the shelves with a knowledgeable air and, at length, unearths a slightly battered copy of An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Pterosaurs. Kneeling down, Ari holds the text out to Aaden with one hand, and levels a solemn look in his direction – as though he were handing over some sacred tome. ”Now, I can find you other books for your class, if you want, but they’re all for kids. I thought you might like this one more.”

When he was a boy, Ari appreciated those adults who didn’t treat him like just another child – and it is with this in mind that he acts.

[Logan]

Logan’s brain is spinning wheels. It should not be such an overly strange thing to run into a familiar face, but Ari is set apart due to the circumstances of their introduction. The hunter’s eyes persist in their disbelief, as if the werewolf just pulled a magic trick by materializing out of thin air. Mostly Logan is having trouble getting over the whole librarian concept. He does the shallow thing in thinking that Ari’s occupation is further justification for his own actions, the ones that saw the supposed hunter allow a wolf into his home. The guy is harmless; a soft spoken bookworm whose vocabulary includes Pterosaurs.

”It’s for the science fair. But I think they’re neat.” Aaden is very matter-of-fact; a child playing the scholar. He is a connoisseur of dinosaurs, yes he knows it makes him quite clever, but there is no need for accolade. ”I’m gonna do a project on them, because t-rex are so overrated.” Logan spares his nephew a glance from where he scribbles on the paperwork. ”I think they’re cool.” He plays it offended and Aaden responds with a long-suffering sigh. ”You would.” The hunter shakes his head, grins, and returns to the forms, filling out each line with a sharp, precise and slanted script.

The Duvalls converse quietly between themselves as Ari completes the card-making process. Logan confirms that Aaden has a sleepover planned at Sammy’s place. Aaden mentions that Sammy’s mother keeps asking if Logan has any lady friends. The conversation abruptly ends and Logan is glad for Ari’s interjection. ”Anything?” Aaden takes the card from Ari and stares as if the lamented paper could be some sort of magical talisman. ”I won’t,” he declares with a nod and then, ” Thanks.” Because manners are important, dad had always said so.

”I got him an Xbox for his birthday and he’s more excited over a piece of paper,” Logan muses to Ari as the man leads them through the book-lined corridors. There is something like pride in his tone; better a child that gets more excited over books than vapid entertainment. Ari posits the obvious not-question and gray eyes slide to regard the librarian. ”Hey, sorry you’re a werewolf, I hope the eggs are okay – by the way, I have a kid.” There is nothing snide to Logan’s voice, and certainly nothing unkind. The small tug at the corners of his mouth suggests gentle humor; he is only poking fun at the morning they shared. Logan gives up the game by grinning widely and tosses a look towards his nephew. ”Fifth grade, last I heard.” Parent-teacher conferences are always a painful affair but Logan trudges through them, as they offer insight into his godson’s head.

Aaden’s eyes scan the various titles and Logan swears he can feel the frenetic energy radiating off the kid. Logan doesn’t get it but, boy, is he ever happy that something has finally engaged his often detached nephew. There is a light in those hazel eyes that has been devastatingly scarce since the day Ben and Jody died. ”I’m not a kid.” Aaden looks directly at Ari as he delivers the deadpan statement. Whatever ghosts that shadow the child’s features vanish when Ari holds out the book. ”Give me a sec, I gotta look through it—to make sure.” The scholar will only accept the finest of intellectual materials. He will not settle for anything less. Aaden skitters towards a nearby chair and is swallowed into the deep-set cushions. A set of wiggling sneakers denote the kid’s location and Logan, for the time being, allows his nephew the solitude.

He stares at the chair and thinks that he should probably say something. There might be an elephant in the room, Logan’s not sure but, hell, things should never be this awkward. ”So, uh. Get your head stuck in anything recently?” The apologetic look that descends over his features highlights the man’s exact thoughts –Smooth, Logan, real smooth. He tries again with, ” How are you holding up?”

[Ari]

Ari has little experience with children outside of what his job has ever required of him, but the sight of Aaden’s grave face as he accepts his card and browses the shelves allows him to believe he’s done something right. Too many bright children could benefit from being taken a little more seriously – and he is not above winning brownie points by catering to the kid’s needs. Prior mistakes demand that he set a new example. Here, amongst an unchanging world he knows intimately, Ari can disprove the embarrassing paradigm set by his wolf and his own social inadequacies; here he more than a stray, than a wretch in another man’s clothes and too vulnerable for his own good. Calling it an act of pride might be a stretch – he simply has some dignity to reclaim.

”I get it,” the werewolf laughs, relenting with a shrug. At the very least, the advice exchanged that morning has some basis now, a deeper meaning that flows to fill in the blanks; Logan had been under no obligation to share his life along with breakfast. ”Didn’t come up. And the eggs were fine, if you needed to know.” Aaden scampers off with the selected book, leaving the two men behind to observe without the benefit of a buffer. ”Seems like a good kid. He’s what? Seven?” Let his bias be known: in a world where the vast majority of children wouldn’t be caught dead in a library, intelligence, politeness, and a thirst for knowledge are sure to win Ari over.

The silence threatens to turn uncomfortable, and Logan’s eventual interruption does little to improve matters. A pair of scandalized eyes turn to regard the older man, and Ari cannot disguise the way his face flushes crimson – there are lines not meant to be crossed, ones Logan manages to smooth over in his repentant expression and fumbling recovery. ”Stuck in work, mostly,” he manages with a broken smile, a hand lifting to pick distractedly at the knot of his tie and smooth the lapel of his jacket beneath worn fingertips. If there is anything the man has that replicates the anchor Logan had once spoken of, perhaps it is the dedication with which Ari applies himself to his job. ”There’s always something to do, if you know where to look.” There is a measure of pride in the tenor of his voice, the manner of a diligent caretaker finding satisfaction in the fruits of his labors.

There are few things he draws confidence from, but the archives are one of them; if there is a place both man and animal can claim as territory, it is here amongst the warm scents of paper and ink.

”Harvard has a great exhibit running right now,” Ari offers, watching where Aaden flips through his book. ”He’d probably like it. I’ll even let you take credit.” Hazel eyes seek out grey, matched by the pull of a teasing smile. Logan as father is a more comfortable concept than the fragmented picture Ari had pieced together, as though the older man’s nature somehow makes more sense. It is, at least, enough to allow honest responses in exchange, and Logan is not the only one to resort to stereotypes. Trust – as ever – comes too easily.

”But things have been – fine.” Ari steps away, and motions for Logan to follow with a flick of his fingers. With Aaden still in their sights he collects another few books, holding them protectively – and a touch defensively – to his chest. ”As fine as things ever are?” The easy grin that crosses his features is self-depreciating for all its friendliness, patiently accepting of their shared and eternal condition. Even when he avoids eating trash, turning into a wolf by the light of the full moon is hardly normal.

An extended arm holds out the chosen books in offering, an assortment of volumes designed more for Aaden’s age group. ”Here. He might like these, too, if that ends up being too much.” Ari presses his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and the smirk that lands upon his lips is a rare show of good humor, playful and lighthearted. ”—Or for you. Brush up before the museum. I bet he’d be impressed.”

[Logan]

”He’s turning eight soon.” Aaden is small for is age. His frame is slender, his shoulders compact, and Logan knows he gets it from Jody’s side. Ben was chubby and round, and there was never any doubt that he would grow into a massive bear of a man. It is the image most remembered by those that knew him. ”Sometimes I just can’t believe how fast time goes by,” he says wistfully.

Logan casts a look into the belly of the library. He squints as if doing so will help him find the special something that inspires the pride carried within Ari’s tone. There are rows of books, a modern interior organized into islands of fiction, non-fiction, and more. It is a library and Logan does not see it as anything more than it is. That does not stop him from affording the bookworm-werewolf an amiable smile. ”Work is good.” A stellar observation, and one that causes Logan to mentally kick himself.

Eloquence has never been Logan’s strong suit. He is a man more given to silence, and it as an introversion acquired over the years. Despite a habit of not wasting words, conversation is rarely this difficult. Grey eyes take stock of the librarian and Logan remains unsure. Something so easy and mundane as running into a familiar face, pushes the hunter off-kilter. ” There’s nothing more exciting than looking at dry bones all day.” The sarcasm is forced and meant in jest. Logan follows it a sigh of amused air. ”I think Aaden would like that. Harvard, huh? Fancy.” He files the information away for later and follows behind Ari at the man’s behest.

The conversation wavers towards understood territory and Logan nods. ”You’re not dead, and you haven’t killed anyone. That’s batting one thousand, as far as I’m concerned.” Stark observations juxtaposed with a baseball analogy; Logan can thank the supernatural for making it his common language. He slides a look towards Ari, takes note of the glasses and remembers – oh right, librarian. ”Batting one thousand is a good thing, by the way.” Now comes the realization that he is falling to stereotypes, and likely coming off as an ignorant jock.

”Not that I don’t think you know what that means-- you’re allowed to like baseball.” No, that’s not right. This is not how Logan wants to sound. ”I mean. It’s the Great American Pass-time and all.” The hunter accepts the bundle of books while internally trying to understand at what point he became so incredibly inept at communicating. ”Though I guess that’s up to debate, what with the popularity of football… I’m just gonna stop talking right now.” It’s probably for the best. Logan hasn’t run such a tragic show of verbal circles since the day he proposed to his now ex-wife.

His smile is lopsided and appeasing. The man means no harm and never any offense, and right now he is feeling every color of idiot available. ”You got any books on how to talk to people, without coming across as an ass?” It is an apology wrapped in humor, and Logan hopes Ari doesn’t think he is a complete lunatic by now.

At the very least, the hunter is no longer digging himself deeper with one fumbling word after the next.

[Ari]

The back-and-forth of easy conversation is a simple pleasure Ari has forsaken for far too long. His lack of practice leaves him fumbling, recovering ground lost weeks previous when any remaining amount of his dignity had been swept away in fur and claw – but Logan’s own brand of endearing charm works to ease his tension more surely than false pleasantries ever could. He is warm; he understands; he is refreshingly human.

”The Natural History museum,” Ari clarifies with a wry glance, lest Logan confuse it for its shared namesake. The other man is not the only one concerned something is being lost in translation. ”And I have a passable knowledge of baseball. Enough to grasp more than a few turns of phrase.” The statements are layered with a playful amount of boasting – largely at his own expense – and emphasized with a burgeoning smile. ”But I’ll be sure to check what sports I’m allowed to like with you, next time.”

The boldness drawn from him is a response made possible entirely by Logan’s good-natured honesty. Ari picks apart the hunter’s statements not as a cruel retort, but as a teasing jab to give as good as he gets, an appeasing effort to smooth the cracks between them and echo the mantra of no hard feelings. Were another man in Logan’s place – one without their modest history, one less free with his smiles – there would be only practiced small talk in reply, but the older werewolf demands more. It is a rare occurrence that Ari can feel both so interested and so in control of an encounter; here, for once, he does not default to routine.

”You want to take a tour of Self Help next?” Ari’s familiarity with that section is only half to do with his occupation, but that embarrassment is one he does not need to air. He rests an elbow atop the shelf beside him, leaning against the towering bookcase while meeting Logan with a roguish grin.”You might try practicing, first.” Wise words coming from a man who does not heed his own advice. ”Getting out more? A day at Harvard might be the next step from chatting up stray librarians.” This surge of confidence is foolish – he is too taken in by Logan’s bumbling attempts at an apology to realize the words spilling from him before they are said.

Flirtation is not his intent and it sees the werewolf withdrawing, straightening in his effort to disengage and glancing to where Aaden leafs intently through his selected book. ”—not that you’re being an ass,” he adds after a moment, returning his gaze to Logan in his quick endeavor to make amends. ”You’re fine. You just – I get it.” A tongue runs across his lower lip, and Ari motions in vague gesture at the space between them; at himself. ”Librarian. Whatever you’re thinking probably isn’t far off base, anyway.” He understands his own stereotype, and he does not concern himself with defying it.

The truth might sting, coming from someone who looked down upon it, but Logan does not radiate any sense of superiority. If anything, it is the opposite. ”What I mean is, if you want to brush up on talking to people, I might not be the best start.” His smile is self-deprecating, but his laugh is genuine – if Logan’s conversational skills are out of practice, he is only in good company.

[Logan]

Logan was the star quarterback on his high school’s football team. He was an Eagle Scout accustomed to giving presentations and speeches. Later, he was an aspiring sailor who knew how to talk his way onto a ship despite not knowing stern from bow. Somewhere between growing up and losing himself on the road, Logan must have forgot his way with words. To be fair, the hunter did not do much talking during those decades spent behind the wheel of his pickup truck.

And so it is with a quiet smile that he listens to Ari’s recommendations. Logan’s chosen way to save face during shows of his ineptitude, is to adopt a boyish disposition and simply roll with it. Things are easier when the other party is aware that Logan knows just how hopeless he is. The hunter is ready to agree that, yes, getting out more might help his cause, but Ari continues and Logan remains silent. The smile on his features grows into a grin as Ari proves to be a kindred spirit in way of conversation-making.

His shoulders shake and his chin ducks in quiet laughter. Logan turns a pair of bemused grey eyes onto the librarian and says, ”You and me both, huh?” As always, there is only good humor here, an amiableness both innate and born from their similarities. ”I just figured a book-guy would be better at it than me, what with those words and all.” Logan’s smile falters when he realizes that he, once again, is playing the stereotype game. It is not a purposeful show of ignorance; he only means to continue their discourse.

”Ah hell, and there I go again – putting my foot into my mouth. You’d think I was going for some kind of record.” The hunter rubs at the back of his neck in a show of sheepishness. ”That thing about getting out more? You hit the nail right on its head,” he admits through an apologetic look.

There have been offers. Logan is agreeable enough that friends come easily. He is a single father who deals with single mothers at school functions. Opportunities to get out more arise more often than not and yet when Logan even considers the notion, he is left feeling tired. His obligation is to the household and to his godson; it is the excuse he hides behind every time.

The hand sitting at the back of his neck drops listless at his side. ”Thanks, for the tip on Harvard, I mean. And the book. I know Aaden will --“ Logan is struck silent when he looks towards his godson. The chair previously occupied by wiggling feet sits empty and Logan cannot fight the spike of fear that stabs at his chest. He is moving in an instant through the rows of books and, in his haste, manages to clip a man on the shoulder as he rushes by.

Fear, as expected, is unwarranted. Aaden is found sitting on the floor of the fiction section leafing through a different book. The boy moves to his feet once he notices the men. His youthful face contorts into confusion and he asks, ”What’s wrong?” Logan is frowning as he walks up to Aaden. ”We had this talk before, about going off on your own?” The man sounds incredibly tired and this seems to rankle the boy. ”It’s just a library,” Aaden mutters in retort.

Logan sighs and decides to spare the public the potential lecture hanging on his tongue. ”What did you find there? More dinos?” The change in subject stalls Aaden from sinking into his shell. He holds out the book for Logan’s inspection. The cover, in white writing, reads The Werewolf Book. Logan stares down at the cover and if he pales a little, Aaden does not comment on it. A brittle smile forces its way onto the hunter’s lips. ”Why would you want something like this? It’s just a bunch of fairytales-- don’t you think you’re too old for that?”

Aaden gets that look in his eyes that tells Logan that he’s managed to cross one of those invisible lines. ”I like them,” the boy declares. Then, more softly with a downcast gaze, ”Dad used to read them to me.” Aaden is avoiding eye contact which means he’s shutting down. Logan silently curses himself and hands his godson the book. One step forward, two steps back. This is a fight he will never win.

He turns to Ari and with a wan smile says, ”I think we’re ready to head out.” Logan will be playing damage control over this incident for a while, of this he is certain.