Post by ♥ Nathan ♥ on Jun 11, 2012 18:59:51 GMT -5
Nate said:
The sun is rising.
It bleeds red and gold into the horizon Nathan drives towards, eyes squinted against the growing light. This time yesterday he’d done the same thing – driven off at the crack of dawn towards Raleigh on business, attempting to turn what should have been a two-day endeavor into one long trip: a lengthy there-and-back that would be hard, but doable. Worth it, in the end. He would have been successful if not for small things - things like nearly running over a dying girl.
All in all, it’s not that unusual a night for Blackwater.
That doesn’t mean he has to like it. Nathan is too exhausted to even speed as he rounds the last few turns to home, anxious to get out of his blood-soaked car and clothes and into a hot shower. And then bed. Lots of bed. He isn’t as young as he used to be, isn’t quite as capable of staying up for twenty-four hours straight, and the added fourteen hours of driving has driven a dull ache into his lower back and settled a stiffness in his knees. Even the radio has tuned into something mindless for the hour of day, talk radio adulterating his normal repertoire of classic rock, but there’s no energy left in him to change the station, to even listen. There is no will other than the need to get home.
The lights are out when he arrives, slow and cautious in the driveway. It’s not telling in and of itself – sunrise is somehow late enough for Logan to be just waking up, not crawling – but Nathan allows himself the hope that the other man gave up on him, had gotten some sleep after being told things were running long at Billy’s. Nate doesn’t feel terribly guilty for having broken lighthearted promises to be home before too late, but there’s a lingering disappointment in having missed out, in being unable to keep his word – no matter how unimportant it truly was, in light of interfering events. Patching a girl back together probably counts as “extenuating circumstance.”
Nathan climbs up the steps, enters, and shuts the front door quietly behind him; even the dog remains silent, the whole house still. It’s a hopeful start.
Logan. said:
Logan doesn’t like it when Nate is away.
He is not accustomed to being the one that waits, the one left behind. During Nathan’s absence, Lark kept her vigil on the couch, staring out of the windows, expectant. When Nathan did not arrive home at the usual time, she lingered until it became apparent that something was amiss. She whined, looked to Logan like he could explain.
And he did. With words. Because the house was quiet and Nathan wasn’t there, and talking to Lark made him feel better. Made him feel less like the dejected hound dog waiting for its master to come back. He and Lark, they have more alike than Logan would care to admit.
He busied himself with household chores. The front door was replaced. The yard mowed and tended to. The living room was painted a color that the lady at the hardware store called “soft fern.” Working served to be an ample distraction but there was no ignoring what Logan has now come to understand as his wolf.
The beast was listless, worried. Nathan wouldn’t be gone for long and yet it felt like forever. Raleigh was too far away. Nathan was too far away.
It wouldn’t be long, he would remind himself. Then he got the text – found half dead girl on side of road, home late.
He responded with an immediate, careful What’s going on?.
Nathan was busy attending to the issue. Logan waited, tried not to lose his mind with worry. Lark whined because she sensed his anxiety and when he comforted her, he pretended that it wasn’t to comfort himself.
The night wore on, the sun rises. Logan lays awake on the bed with Lark curled up against his side, tucked under his arm, head resting on his chest. There’s the sound of a car door shutting and Logan is on his feet immediately. Nathan enters and Logan steps out of the bedroom, into the living room. ”You’re home.” It’s tired but relieved.
He smells the blood.
Sees it stained into Nathan’s clothing.
Logan crowds into the werewolf’s space. Hands on his shoulders, on his neck, cradling. Concerned gray eyes assessing for damage. ”Are you alright?” Another question insinuated in the tone – what the hell happened? His wolf is roused, attentive. There is an intense flood of emotions, of thoughts – protect, possess, defend, nurture.
He thinks that if someone hurt Nathan, there's going to be hell to pay.
Nate said:
Nathan’s hands are on the buttons of his shirt before he’s even stepped fully into the room – as though he can’t stand to be in these clothes a moment longer, uncomfortable and reeking of someone else’s scent. He pauses in his actions only long enough to glance up and recognize Logan’s presence, half felt before even heard or seen, and catches the man in his tired eyes; a honest, if weary smile settles on his lips. The discarded shirt, irrevocably ruined, is tossed to the floor for future disposal.
”Yeah. Was hoping you’d slept…” But he can see the concern in those features, feel it in the insistence of Logan’s touch. Nathan crumples beneath the weight of his hands, sagging visibly in exhaustion and relief. He leans forward, arms wrapping about the other man’s waist, and presses his lips into the crook of Logan’s neck. ”It’s not my blood,” he murmurs there, words quiet against skin – like that makes all the difference, makes it less alarming. ”I’m okay. Just been a long night - I’m sorry I’m so late.”
There was a disturbing sort of mortality that had settled into him throughout the encounter, a sobering sense of transience, of humanity. Nathan feels he’s had one too many reminders of that recently for comfort, and can’t shake the disquiet that’s sunk deep into his gut, stirring his anxiety and making him all the more grateful to be here. Home. With Logan.
Lark prances around them, whining and wiggling and nails clacking on the floor, and Nate breaks away to give her the attention she deserves: a few loving scratches behind her ears, a kiss to her nose.
”I nearly hit this girl out on 411, right before I texted you.” Nate makes for the sofa; he tosses his belt to the floor and leaves his pants unbuttoned, loose, as he sinks into the couch with a sigh. ”…She’d been attacked. Not around here, though. Said she was from Knoxville.” And set in all that worry about why another wolf had seen fit to find her, maul her, and drag her all the way to Blackwater. Billy’s town. ”Took a while to put her back together, make sense of everything, you know?”
He runs a knuckled hand over his face, so wholly and completely done with the day. He’ll have to get back over there at some point – knows Billy thinks the girl is his responsibly, just because he’s the one who found her. Nate finds himself reluctantly agreeing, unwilling to just walk away.
”I think she’ll be alright. Eventually. Her name’s Evelynn.”
Logan. said:
”Don’t worry about it,” he says softly. Logan is not a vindictive housewife; he does not harbor those fickle, selfish feelings related to being left to worry and wonder. He can’t, not with Nathan so very, very tired. Nathan sags forward, against his chest, and the hunter pulls him into an embrace. He presses his mouth into that dark head of hair and breathes in the man’s scent. ”I’m just glad you’re home.” The relief that accompanies the realization that his partner --the wolf cuts in with a firm declaration of mate—is safe and home, is overwhelming. Frayed nerves settle; he can breathe easy again.
Nathan pulls away and heads towards the sofa, Logan settles next to him. He reaches out and pets Lark, contemplative as the werewolf gives his weary explanation. Blackwater has some sort of sick gravitational pull, Logan swears. ”Yeah,” he says and turns his eyes onto Nathan. It was not fun to sit and home while his mind betrayed him and spit out one horrible scenario after the other, but Logan does not fault Nathan. He reaches out, squeezes gently at the back of Nathan’s neck, leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against the man’s temple. ”You did the right thing,” he murmurs.
”I’m proud of you.” A quiet smile pulls at the corner of his lips. Logan does not fully understand the situation – far from it—but he takes solace in the fact he is with someone willing to play the good Samaritan. Gray eyes wander over the younger man’s features and Logan mulls over the information provided. A girl attacked, found on the 411. Nathan neglected to bring her to a hospital and instead opted to bring her to Blackwater. There is only one logical conclusion – werewolves.
The pragmatic side of him wonders how unnoticed the ordeal went. There are hunters in Blackwater – nosy, watchful types. He’ll have to scope things out, make sure that nothing is amiss – that there are no potential problems coming from the Corbin end.
”She’ll be fine.” Placating words. ”You should go get cleaned up." Because there are scents that do not belong to Nathan or Logan clinging to the man and if Logan is going to be selfish about anything, it's going to be this. "Then get some sleep.” His eyes turn thoughtful; Logan wonders if the werewolf’s weariness is born solely from fatigue. ”…Unless you want to talk about it.” Traumatic events can stave off much needed rest, and Logan can clearly see that rest is what Nathan needs.
Nate said:
Nate leans forward, shoulders hunched, and buries his head in his palms; an expression of the exhaustion he feels in the length of time it takes him to reconfigure, reboot. He focuses on the feel of Logan’s hand, the comfort he takes in the man settled beside him without needing to share a word; and that even when sentences come, they are warm and consoling without being forced. Nate still marvels in the idea that Logan is always, somehow, exactly what he needs. When he finally looks back up, it’s with a sigh of acceptance, and he leaves his chin set in one hand.
”She got chewed up pretty bad. She’s small, too. A doctor, but I thought she was a teenager. It’s just… it’s a lot for her to go through.” He needs to let Logan know that she might not be fine, and that has him worried. That even if she survives this first ordeal, the change itself could kill her outright. ”But she pulled herself onto the road where I found her. I figure she’s got to want to live, if she had that sort of will.” It’s what he’s been telling himself for most of the morning; that if Lynn wants to live hard enough, she’ll make it. It’s the only concession Nathan will allow himself.
Nathan eases backwards, rests into the cushions of the couch and tilts his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Logan is right – he should go clean up and get in bed, put an end to the past twenty-four hours and squeeze in a nap before Billy shows up to drag him off again. But it’s the thought of Billy returning, about what he’d sworn to do, that has him troubled.
And Nathan can’t keep secrets from Logan. Not anymore.
”We’ve had… three attacks recently. Three new werewolves.” Not, of course, including Mister Duvall himself. ”And then there was a sighting around town a few months ago, but nothing Billy could pin on anyone in the pack.” He knuckles his brow, eyes shut in thought. None of this is anything resembling confidential so far, but he feels like he's nearly overstepping his bounds by explaining it, though anyone with a nose in the paper could put two and two together. ”She thinks it’s the same person, at least in some of these cases. It’s just too coincidental to feel random.” Nate drops his hand back to the couch, limp. What needles at him more is knowing Logan won't like what he has to say - what he has to do.
”We’re going to go get Lynn’s stuff later, and then we’re going to go check it out.”
Logan. said:
He hears it in Nathan’s tone, reads between the lines. The woman is in danger, the amount of blood on Nathan’s clothing attests to as much. Logan wants to offer comfort, to tell him things will be fine, but Nathan isn’t stupid. A gilded version of reality won’t hold any water here, not in this house, not in this town. Logan remains quiet and instead uses his hand to work away the tenseness in Nathan’s neck.
”There’s reason to hope for the best, then,” he says and pulls his hand away when Nathan lays back. Logan braces his forearms against his thighs, leans forward. If the woman managed to wander into the street then maybe she’s meant to survive. He thinks back to his hunt gone wrong, and how damned fortunate he was that Anna showed up when she did. Sheer, stupid luck.
”Sounds like someone’s making trouble,” he agrees. Logan does not understand werewolf dynamics or laws or culture – or whatever the hell is going on. He gets the stress of the situation, that Billy is forced to deal with these throwaways, these strays left to wander onto her doorstep. The logic behind the attacks, the reason that someone is dumping whelps in Blackwater as opposed to outright killing them, escapes him. Maybe it’s some sort of werewolf calling card, an insult. Whatever it is, Logan doesn’t like it.
And he certainly doesn’t like the next revelation Nathan shares.
His face turns grim. He feels the devil on his back, feels his hackles raise preemptively. The wolf in him rouses because in Blackwater, he has no pull, no responsibility – no say. That power and responsibility lies with Billy, with her second, with her third – with Nathan. ”Great,” he says and his tone suggests he’s expecting an argument. ”I’ll come with you.”
Logan turns a set of unrelenting gray eyes onto Nathan. He’s not a limp-dick housewife that’s just going to follow the ’yes, dear’ methodology and obediently wait at home. Not when Nathan is going to put himself in danger. Not when he can help.
Nathan is tired – he deserves a break. Logan wants to give it to him, but the nature of the conversation has changed. He is unsettled, displeasure written in the flat line of his frown.
Nate said:
Nate turns his head to meet Logan’s eyes, his attempt at brevity and innocent nonchalance having crumbled in the face of grim reality. The man’s words are met not with bristling and posturing, but with something like relief . Logan is a valuable asset, and one the pack should take advantage of now that he’s on their side; if Billy can’t see the sense in that, she’s being needlessly stubborn.
”You’ll go with me?” It’s something he hadn’t wanted to ask – least of all without Billy’s permission – but also for fear that Logan was done with all of that, that he wouldn’t be able to help, and would ask Nate to stay in exchange. And if Logan wanted to be through, wanted to never pick up a gun or track a wolf again because of something resembling a promise, Nate would let it be – just as he would if the man asked him not to go. Nathan knows what it’s like to be the one left waiting. Too well.
”I’ll tell her you’ll be there.” With an unwritten or I won’t go, because he knows equally well that it’s the only other option. Nate breaks the tension with a shrug and a smile, leans forward to put a hand on the back of the hunter's neck and press a kiss to his forehead. The thought of Logan attempting to control him like that is surprisingly inoffensive; that Nathan doesn’t want to go if it would make Logan feel the way he did those brief weeks ago: alone, frustrated, impotent. Any anger is tempered by the idea that Nathan would do the same thing, were the situation reversed.
Between the pack and Logan, Logan always wins.
The werewolf rises with a grunt, returning to his feet; he slips off his shoes one at a time, kicking them under the coffee table, and then offers a hand to Logan. ”C’mon. Get back in bed. I’m gonna go take a shower, and then probably pass out for a few thousand years, if no one minds.” At least until Billy calls. ”I think I’d like to put an end to today.”
Logan. said:
Logan deflates, relents, when his opinion is not met with opposition. He would have gone even if Nathan or Billy dictated that he could not. Nathan going off on a business trip is one thing, but this hunt has the potential to be dangerous, even deadly. He wants to be there – needs to be there—to watch over Nathan. The man has his wolf, Logan knows, but it won’t keep him from worrying, won’t stop him from wanting to protect him. Nathan could be Superman and Logan would still try to play the stalwart guardian. Nathan is too important and Logan’s own wolf is too damned frantic at the idea of Nathan falling to harm and not being there to help.
It is an obsessive dedication.
”Sounds good.” The relief is evident in his voice. Logan smiles fondly at Nathan’s kiss and accepts the hand up. ”Remember to wash behind your ears,” he jests lightly and lets his eyes linger on the other man as he disappears into the bedroom. Logan takes to cleaning up after Nathan’s mess because the smell of blood and not them wreaks havoc on his other half. There is a responsible part of him, a small voice, that wonders if the amount of possessiveness he feels is something he should worry about.
Gray eyes stare into the bloodied heap of clothes in his hand and Logan feels his lip starting to curl. He stifles the action, shakes his head, looks down to where Lark is watching him with a tilted head. It’s not a problem until it becomes a problem. The hunter steps out to dispose of the clothing in the dumpster, well away from the house. He returns, washes up and chucks off his shirt onto the bedroom floor and collapses onto the mattress.
The sound of the shower, the knowledge that Nathan is right there beyond the door, safe and real, is the perfect lullaby. Logan falls asleep, face down, with Lark curled up against his side and back. There are things to do, to worry about – like always – but they will face whatever comes later, and together.
