Calm before the Storm

Disclaimer: Logan is the intellectual property of Marvel Comics and Twentieth Century Fox Studios, I'm only borrowing him.

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Time: About a month before the events in 'Logan', 2029.

Place: Poncho's, a rustic bar in a small south Texas border town.

"Goodnight Enrique, drive safe, OK?" she said as she turned the 'OPEN' sign off.

The lone customer, a broad-shouldered man with a hard-beaten face, looked wearily up from his deep contemplation of the fake wood grain on the bar top. "You didn't say 'last call'." he murmured in a tired, low, raspy voice as she walked back behind the counter.

"That's because you, my friend, look like a man who could use a double, on the house." She put down two glasses and poured at least three fingers in each. "And if you don't mind the company, I think I'll join you."

"Company… that's something I haven't had in a while." he murmured to himself.

"Well then," she raised her glass, "here's to company; may it be pleasant and undemanding."

He let out a short, almost guttural bark of a laugh, "Pleasant and undemanding. I've forgotten what that's like." He scowled down at his drink as if he might gulp the whole thing down, but remembering his manners instead he lifted it and touched the glass to hers. "So, you gonna be in trouble with the boss for givin' away the profits?" he asked after taking a long sip.

"Nah, I am the boss, I own the place."

"We're the only one's here." He said after a quick look around. "Aren't you afraid I might try to rob or even assault you?"

"Not really."

"Not even a little worried?"

"Of you? No. For everyone else, I have a shotgun back here."

"So why aren't you worried about me?" thankfully he was only curious, not belligerent.

"I've seen every kind of drinker in here. Social, casual, depressive, chronic alcoholic, you name it. You can tell a lot about a man by the way he drinks, what he drinks, etc." She didn't tell him about the consistently accurate 'feelings' she got, she didn't tell anyone about those. Safer that way. She went on, "You're the kind of man that the effort it would take to rob me, even smack me around a bit, just isn't worth it for you. You save your energy for more… important things."

He looked at her closely then, taking in her average height, curvy shape, the streaks of grey in her dark brown hair, and blue eyes that looked at him solemnly, neither mocking him nor pitying him. He leaned back in his barstool and cradled his drink. "You're right so far, what else can you tell about me?"

"You were a soldier." she said softly.

"Yeah. But how…?"

"You have that bearing about you, like you've been in the worst shit a man can be in and were the only one to come out of it alive. Like in the deepest, darkest part of your mind you wonder if it wouldn't have been better if you hadn't survived." She took a rather large mouthful of her own drink and continued in a slightly lighter tone. "Also people depend on you; whether it's driving them around in that stretch hack of yours, or for things closer to life and death. But you get very little in return, mostly a lot of pain."

He raised one eyebrow, "And you think you can cure, heal, fix me? Make all the monsters go away? With a 'double' on the house?"

She made a rather rude noise of negation. "Please! I know better than that. No one from the outside can fix all your problems, some you have to fix yourself. Others? Well, some can't be fixed."

"Sounds like you've had problems of your own."

"We've all got problems, and no I'm not going to get into it with you over who's are worse." She waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. "But what I will do is offer you somewhere more comfortable than the back of your car to sleep."

"You will?"

"Yep. My second bedroom has a full-sized bed that has to be better than sleeping across contour seats. I'll also cook breakfast in the morning."

"Why? Why offer me a place to sleep? I'm a total stranger."

"True. But we've already determined that you won't do anything… antisocial. Yes, I saw you flinch when I mentioned smacking me around. Also you're wasted and I'd hate for you to plow into someone after leaving here."

He opened his mouth as if to argue that he wasn't that wasted, then closed it again nodding because she was right. "OK. You win."

She locked up the place and led him through the back door to the alley, then up a flight of steps to the second story. What he found there was unexpected, a lush garden that must have taken up half of the roof space. Vegetables and herbs in planter boxes made maze-like paths, and dwarf fruit trees in large pots raised enough to create a canopy with their branches.

She turned to see his expression when he stopped to take in the novelty. "I grow most of my own food." she stated with quiet satisfaction.

"People still do that these days?" he asked in wonder.

"Yeah, me and a few neighbors, we trade around." She looked at him a little chagrined, "I was an '80's baby; my parents were environmentalists, naturalists and pretty good gardeners. I grew up like this, and…" she shrugged, "I like it."

"There's nothing wrong with that," he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, "nothing wrong at all." To him, a man who was tired of cities, heat and dust; this green garden was what beautiful smelled like. He inhaled deeply once more and followed her into her apartment.

The place was small but tidy. The tiny kitchen flowed into the small living room with no break. There were three other doors, she pointed at one of them, "That's the bathroom. You'll probably need that right about now." He agreed and availed himself of the facilities.

When he emerged he found her wearing a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a baggy tank-top that didn't match. She definitely wasn't dressed to seduce, an observation he found rather… restful.

She had just opened a linen closet when she turned to him and saw he had removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, the broad shoulders she had noticed in passing before translated into a wide expanse of hard muscled chest tapering to a flat stomach, but the edges of a few scars could be seen at the collar of his undershirt. Testament of a hard man who'd lived a hard life. Realizing she didn't even know his name she stated: "You know, we haven't even introduced ourselves to each other. I'm Tricia."

He shook his head and almost smiled. "Logan. Just call me Logan." Then a thought occurred to him, "So why is the bar called 'Poncho's'? Why not: 'Tricia's Tavern'?"

"I named it Poncho's for one of my dad's favorite movies." She waved away that consideration and moved on. "Anyway, pleased to meet you Logan. Now, the bed's got sheets and a blanket but here's a pillow…" He took hold of it but Tricia didn't let go, she continued in a low voice, "'Course that bed is only a full-sized, mine is a king, has more space, if you don't mind the company?"

"I know I'm too wasted for that." he said with half a smirk.

"I said 'pleasant' and 'undemanding', remember? When was the last time you just… fell asleep in a woman's arms?" There was nothing coy or flirty in her direct gaze or quiet voice, just an offer of simple comfort.

"Too damn long." he said with a weary sigh as he released the pillow. She turned and replaced it back in the closet, then took him by the hand and led him to her bedroom.

Tricia turned out the lights, figuring that if the rest of Logan was as hard-beaten as his face he may want the privacy to finish undressing, and settled herself in bed. He lay down and turned toward her hesitantly, but she slid an arm under his neck and gathered him to her with his head resting on her shoulder. She stroked his back with a slow soothing hand until finally relaxed, his breathing deepened and he fell asleep. A last thought crossed Tricia's mind before she too slept; his head felt heavier on her shoulder than she'd expected.

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Feather-lite strokes that slowly traveled from her shoulder, along her upper arm to her forearm then down across the wrist to end at the tips of her fingers gradually woke Tricia. "Hmm, feels good." She opened her eyes to see him on his side, head propped on his hand, arm reached out to her. Although she could dimly make out his face in what little moonlight that filtered past the curtains, the look of tenderness in his eyes still shone through.

"I'd almost forgotten how soft a woman can feel." His voice was low, soft and warm.

She rolled onto her back while she slid so that her side was pressed comfortably against his chest. "Hmm, and I'd forgotten how gentle a man could be."

Her face was so close to his and she smelled of soap, whiskey and warm sleepy woman, some of his most favorite scents. The desire to kiss her was strong but not driving, yet. He wondered just how 'pleasant' she was willing to be. But before he could ask she took hold of his hand as it reached her fingers, placed his palm against her cheek and whispered, "I think I'd like to kiss you."

He rubbed his thumb softly across her lips, "I know I want to kiss you." And he slowly closed the small distance between them. To his delight she didn't just 'let' him kiss her; she kissed him back with skill and tenderness. Their seduction of each other started slow and gentle; touching, kissing, exploring, sharing, giving just what the other needed.

Logan explored every inch of Tricia's body with lips and gentle fingertips as if to taste, touch and memorize every hollow, dip and swell; glorying in the softness of her skin, the willingness of her body. Several times he brought her to climax, reveling in her complete surrender to him as more than once she called out his name in passion.

"L-Logan… need… catch… breath!" she gasped, waving her hands weakly in a half-hearted attempt to get him to stop doing what was making her feel SO good.

He gathered her to him and held her close as she tried to regain her composure, taking great satisfaction in knowing that he had sated her so thoroughly.

As her breathing slowed and Tricia could think again, she began to stroke Logan's chest over his shirt; long, slow strokes, but when she would have slipped her hand under it to feel his skin, he stopped her.

"It's OK darlin', you don't have to." He removed her hand from the hem of his shirt and kissed each fingertip.

"But I want to Logan. I know you have scars, I saw them," she traced her fingers along the edge of his undershirt collar, "before I invited you into my bed. Tell you what," she said, looking him straight in the eye, "how about I close my eyes?"

He actually chuckled at that, considering that there was very little light in her room. "I'm sorry darlin'," he said as he stroked her cheek. "I guess I'm a little rusty at this. It's been a while. How 'bout this?" Logan sat up, pulled off his shirt then leaned back against the pillows with his hands behind his head.

"Hmm, that will do nicely." Tricia purred appreciatively. With slightly trembling fingers, soft caresses of her lips and occasional flicks of her tongue she traced every well-defined muscle of his shoulders, arms and chest as well as each scar. She slowly worked her way down his torso, enjoying the uninhibited and delicious sounds he made, though she was pretty sure he wasn't aware he was making them.

When she reached the waistband of his shorts, she slowly trailed her fingers down his leg then back up his inner thigh to find him quite responsive. He moaned when she touched him, a throaty, guttural sound of pleasure and surprise. "Ooh Tricia, you are somethin' else. I thought I was beyond all that." He chuckled again. "Like I said, it's been a while."

"Shall we see what else you're capable of?" she asked as she rubbed her thumb along the full length of the most sensitive part of him.

"God! Darlin', I'm all yours."

Quickly she slipped him out of his shorts then proceeded to apply her fingers, lips and tongue in techniques that she also hadn't used in a while.

When Logan's back began to arch and his fists to twist in the sheets, he called out, "Aah. No Tricia n-not like that." He pulled her up and astride him, wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her almost desperately, then buried his face in her neck and growled, "Tricia, let me - let me be… inside you!"

In answer, Tricia reached between their bodies and firmly took hold of him, then slowly impaled herself on him. Immediately strong hands clamped onto her hips and stopped her progress, "Slowly! Oh God! Tricia, you're so tight! Slowly."

With excruciating, delirious, delightful slowness she accepted all of him into her body. His strong hands moved her on him in a rhythm that with the thrusting motion of his hips had both of them drawing closer and closer to release at the same pace, reaching their crescendo at the same instant. He may or may not have called out her name; she would never be sure, for she screamed his before darkness took her.

Opening her eyes after what was only a few minutes, Logan was still breathing hard and she was still sprawled across his chest, she met his troubled gaze. "I haven't lost control like that in a long time. I'm sorry." His expression was almost meek in the dim light.

"Sorry? Lost control? I don't understand."

"I may well have just gotten you pregnant."

Tricia shook her head, "I have an implant." she decided not to tell him that it had been due to be replaced over a year ago. The thought of a child created from this amazing encounter didn't seem a bad thing to her, although her age meant the chances were still very slim.

Relief washed over him as he clasped her firmly to his chest and kissed her deeply. His relief gave way to passion and he began to stroke her body. "In that case…" he murmured.

"In that case, what?" she asked with mock innocence.

"I'd like to see if I can get you to scream my name again." He replied with sensual seriousness as he rolled over and nestled himself lightly between her legs.

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When Tricia awoke, Logan was still quite soundly asleep. She slipped from the bed, gathered her clothes, found his and left them where he could find them, then decided that coffee was the first order of business. As the coffee brewed, she set out everything she would need to make a decent breakfast for two. She poured herself a cup, took a sip and immediately felt more awake. She poured a second cup and placed it on the nightstand next to Logan, she figured the aroma would wake him soon, and then returned to the kitchen to begin cooking.

Just as she was about to dish up the food, Logan sauntered into the kitchen. He had gotten half dressed; slacks, his undershirt (and mm, was that shirt fond of him, it clung so lovingly) and nothing else.

He raised his coffee mug, "This is good. Thanks, I needed this." Logan put his cup down, held out his hand and said quietly: "C'mere." He folded her tenderly in his arms and just held her. "Thank you." He murmured into her hair.

"For what?"

"For the first time in a long time, I slept without any nightmares. That means a lot to me." He tilted her face up to look him in the eye. "It's been so long since a woman has trusted me so completely with her body. That means even more to me, thank you again."

"I'd like to thank you as well; you've shown me that men can still be gentle. Considering the business I'm in, I don't see that very often."

He kissed her again not quite platonic but definitely not arousing, she was sure that this was the last time he would kiss her.

They ate their breakfast in companionable silence. As Tricia cleared up the kitchen, Logan went and finished dressing.

She walked with him through her garden to the stairs, he took her hand, "Thanks' again for being… undemanding."

"And pleasant?"

"Most definitely."

"I'd extend my hospitality for future visits, but we probably won't see each other again, will we?"

"I can't come back. Like you said, people depend on me; life and death."

"In that case; no regrets. As the locals say: via con Dios."

Tricia watched Logan turn, walk down the steps, cross the parking lot, climb into his car and drive away. She turned back to her garden, her little apartment, her life. The last twelve hours had been erotic and certainly satisfying; no, no regrets at all.

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Tricia was skimming a news site that featured stories of an unexplained nature when she recognized a police artist's sketch from surveillance footage of the man she had spent an amazing night with about a month ago. Logan, his name came to her immediately, she wasn't likely to forget him soon.

The story was how he had been identified as the man who had been involved in some incident at a convenience store just north of El Paso. He was also linked to the remains found in a shallow grave discovered by a forestry ranger in North Dakota just a short distance from the Canadian border. The grave was surrounded by a few off-road trucks, many black market weapons and several bodies of men who had died as the result of many different causes. "Many had slashes, like from knives, but we didn't find any. Some appeared to have been torn to pieces, some electrocuted and one had even been frozen." The ranger had reported. The Department of Homeland Security quickly took over the scene and no new details had been released.

Tricia suddenly felt nauseous. Logan was dead. While she had been the one to state that they would probably never see each other, a small illogical part of her had hoped. But Logan was dead. After she divested herself of her breakfast she realized that this had happened most every morning for the last week or so. 'Slim chance' or no, it seemed Logan had been right.

Had he killed those people? How had he died? Who had buried him? She could believe that he would kill, he had admitted to having been a soldier, but she also believed that it would have been for a good reason. Perhaps he had been protecting someone. Maybe that someone was whoever had buried him? She sighed; these were questions she had better decide she would probably never get answers to.

Well she had said 'no regrets' and she meant it, she told herself after wiping away a tear. She had made her choice that night and she would stand by it; there would still be a part of him that lived on. Besides a child from that glorious night was sure to be exceptional!

~X~