ENCOUNTER
Author: Catherder
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to
these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.
Summary : Logan and Renfro encounter each other in the market, and Renfro has designs on
Logan
Spoilers/Timeframe: Between Pollo Loco and Hit a Sistah Back
Rated: G
A/N: Great thanks to a fan for reviewing and making excellent suggestions. Reviews are
appreciated.
Logan carefully threaded his way through the crowd and the stalls at Fremont Market. He wheeled
over to the fruit stand that he frequented. As he selected some strawberries for dessert, he engaged
the vendor in conversation. They had known each other for years and were on a first name basis.
"So, Logan, how's it going?" The fruit vendor gestured toward the wheelchair.
"Better," he replied, deflecting the question as best he could. It was not a topic he felt comfortable
discussing. He was still having a hard time getting his head around it. He touched the wheels of his
chair. "How are the kids?" he asked, changing the subject.
His friend launched into a monologue on the vicissitudes of raising a pair of daughters in post-
Pulse Seattle. After a few minutes, Logan noticed a woman standing there, unabashedly staring at
him. She looked to be maybe 10 years older than he, had very blonde cropped hair, amazing long
legs, and was dressed all in black, which made her look both businesslike and dangerous. Her lips
and talon-like nails were a deep red. She had been examining oranges carefully as if she were
preparing to dissect one. He hadn't seen her at the market before.
He didn't think he would ever get used to people staring at him, or the looks that said "You poor
thing." It didn't happen as often now, so when it did, he noticed it more. Now the hairs on the back
of his neck were standing up. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was looking at him
almost clinically, as if he were a lab rat. He'd never been stared at like that before. She didn't
bother to avert her eyes, or apologize. Instead, she smiled at him, a cold, reptilian smile that chilled
his blood.
Logan looked up at her, meeting her anthracite eyes. "I don't really like to be stared at, thank you."
"Whyever not?" she replied sweetly. "You're a very good-looking man. I'll bet people have been
staring at you for years."
"That's not what I meant."
"Well, what *did* you mean?" she challenged, still smiling that cold smile.
She was playing games with him. She had to be. She knew damn well what he meant. Logan was
determined not to play her game. He glared at her and turned away.
He hurriedly completed his purchase, and wheeled away. All he wanted to do was get out of there.
Even when he got in the car, he could feel her eyes boring sharply into him, as sharp as the bullet
that had severed his spinal cord. He felt like he'd been shot all over again.
***************
In the back seat of her chauffered car, Renfro retrieved a compact from her purse and powdered her
nose, then applied lipstick the color of dried blood. It had been a busy week at Manticore, with new
experiments to oversee, grants to write, and Lydecker to ride herd on. She was tired and was
looking forward to a quiet dinner at home, so she ordered the driver to stop at Fremont Market.
He parked the car at the edge of the market area and waited for her. Renfro strolled through the
market, selecting items for dinner. She was stopped at a fruit stand, examining oranges, when a
man in a wheelchair rolled up next to her. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties.
Renfro watched him as he transferred the packages in his lap to a backpack hanging from his chair
and began to sort through the strawberries.
As a rule, Renfro ignored the disabled; after all, they were considerably less than perfect and the
search for perfection was what she dealt in at Manticore. However, the man didn't seem to be the
typical crippled bum seen around Seattle these days, even though his hair was uncombed and he
sported a three-day stubble. His clothes were expensive, as was his wheelchair. It looked to be a
custom model, costing maybe two grand, she estimated. He was tall, lean, seemingly well built, and
appeared healthy, except for his legs. He might be a suitable subject for one of Lydecker's
nanotechnology experiments -- to see if it really *could* enhance neuromuscular function.
As she watched him select the strawberries, she noticed his long, strong hands. They were
relatively uncalloused, so she figured his paralysis was fairly recent and he hadn't been using the
wheelchair for very long. She continued to stare at him. Apparently he was a regular here because
the fruit vendor was talking to him like they'd known each other a long time.
"So, Logan, how's it going?" The fruit vendor gestured toward the wheelchair, a look of concern
on his face. Renfro noted his name for future reference.
"Better." the man touched the wheels of his chair and quickly changed the subject. "How are the
kids?"
So, Renfo thought, even better. He didn't want to talk about it. The injury *is* fairly recent. There
may be more to work with. Smiling to herself, she mentally took notes.
Suddenly, he looked up at her, his aquamarine eyes flashing with anger. "I don't really like to be
stared at, thank you."
"Whyever not? You're a very good-looking man. I'll bet people have been staring at you for
years," she answered coyly.
"That's not what I meant," he replied, obviously annoyed. He probably hadn't anticipated that
response.
She continued to smile at him. "Well, what *did* you mean?" she challenged, hoping to draw him
into conversation and learn more about him, other than that he was a healthy specimen with a
recent injury that he was still sensitive about.
But he turned his back on her, then quickly paid for the strawberries and wheeled away.
Renfro's eyes followed him. She watched as he deftly got into his car, folded the wheelchair, and
stowed it inside. A moment later, he was gone. Starting tomorrow, she would have a couple of her
operatives watch the market. The next time he appeared, they would know what to do.
I have been convinced by the reviewers to continue the story. Better that than being beaten about the head and shoulders.
Give me a little time since I hadn't planned on this. Thanks for your kind reviews.
Author: Catherder
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to
these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.
Summary : Logan and Renfro encounter each other in the market, and Renfro has designs on
Logan
Spoilers/Timeframe: Between Pollo Loco and Hit a Sistah Back
Rated: G
A/N: Great thanks to a fan for reviewing and making excellent suggestions. Reviews are
appreciated.
Logan carefully threaded his way through the crowd and the stalls at Fremont Market. He wheeled
over to the fruit stand that he frequented. As he selected some strawberries for dessert, he engaged
the vendor in conversation. They had known each other for years and were on a first name basis.
"So, Logan, how's it going?" The fruit vendor gestured toward the wheelchair.
"Better," he replied, deflecting the question as best he could. It was not a topic he felt comfortable
discussing. He was still having a hard time getting his head around it. He touched the wheels of his
chair. "How are the kids?" he asked, changing the subject.
His friend launched into a monologue on the vicissitudes of raising a pair of daughters in post-
Pulse Seattle. After a few minutes, Logan noticed a woman standing there, unabashedly staring at
him. She looked to be maybe 10 years older than he, had very blonde cropped hair, amazing long
legs, and was dressed all in black, which made her look both businesslike and dangerous. Her lips
and talon-like nails were a deep red. She had been examining oranges carefully as if she were
preparing to dissect one. He hadn't seen her at the market before.
He didn't think he would ever get used to people staring at him, or the looks that said "You poor
thing." It didn't happen as often now, so when it did, he noticed it more. Now the hairs on the back
of his neck were standing up. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was looking at him
almost clinically, as if he were a lab rat. He'd never been stared at like that before. She didn't
bother to avert her eyes, or apologize. Instead, she smiled at him, a cold, reptilian smile that chilled
his blood.
Logan looked up at her, meeting her anthracite eyes. "I don't really like to be stared at, thank you."
"Whyever not?" she replied sweetly. "You're a very good-looking man. I'll bet people have been
staring at you for years."
"That's not what I meant."
"Well, what *did* you mean?" she challenged, still smiling that cold smile.
She was playing games with him. She had to be. She knew damn well what he meant. Logan was
determined not to play her game. He glared at her and turned away.
He hurriedly completed his purchase, and wheeled away. All he wanted to do was get out of there.
Even when he got in the car, he could feel her eyes boring sharply into him, as sharp as the bullet
that had severed his spinal cord. He felt like he'd been shot all over again.
***************
In the back seat of her chauffered car, Renfro retrieved a compact from her purse and powdered her
nose, then applied lipstick the color of dried blood. It had been a busy week at Manticore, with new
experiments to oversee, grants to write, and Lydecker to ride herd on. She was tired and was
looking forward to a quiet dinner at home, so she ordered the driver to stop at Fremont Market.
He parked the car at the edge of the market area and waited for her. Renfro strolled through the
market, selecting items for dinner. She was stopped at a fruit stand, examining oranges, when a
man in a wheelchair rolled up next to her. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties.
Renfro watched him as he transferred the packages in his lap to a backpack hanging from his chair
and began to sort through the strawberries.
As a rule, Renfro ignored the disabled; after all, they were considerably less than perfect and the
search for perfection was what she dealt in at Manticore. However, the man didn't seem to be the
typical crippled bum seen around Seattle these days, even though his hair was uncombed and he
sported a three-day stubble. His clothes were expensive, as was his wheelchair. It looked to be a
custom model, costing maybe two grand, she estimated. He was tall, lean, seemingly well built, and
appeared healthy, except for his legs. He might be a suitable subject for one of Lydecker's
nanotechnology experiments -- to see if it really *could* enhance neuromuscular function.
As she watched him select the strawberries, she noticed his long, strong hands. They were
relatively uncalloused, so she figured his paralysis was fairly recent and he hadn't been using the
wheelchair for very long. She continued to stare at him. Apparently he was a regular here because
the fruit vendor was talking to him like they'd known each other a long time.
"So, Logan, how's it going?" The fruit vendor gestured toward the wheelchair, a look of concern
on his face. Renfro noted his name for future reference.
"Better." the man touched the wheels of his chair and quickly changed the subject. "How are the
kids?"
So, Renfo thought, even better. He didn't want to talk about it. The injury *is* fairly recent. There
may be more to work with. Smiling to herself, she mentally took notes.
Suddenly, he looked up at her, his aquamarine eyes flashing with anger. "I don't really like to be
stared at, thank you."
"Whyever not? You're a very good-looking man. I'll bet people have been staring at you for
years," she answered coyly.
"That's not what I meant," he replied, obviously annoyed. He probably hadn't anticipated that
response.
She continued to smile at him. "Well, what *did* you mean?" she challenged, hoping to draw him
into conversation and learn more about him, other than that he was a healthy specimen with a
recent injury that he was still sensitive about.
But he turned his back on her, then quickly paid for the strawberries and wheeled away.
Renfro's eyes followed him. She watched as he deftly got into his car, folded the wheelchair, and
stowed it inside. A moment later, he was gone. Starting tomorrow, she would have a couple of her
operatives watch the market. The next time he appeared, they would know what to do.
I have been convinced by the reviewers to continue the story. Better that than being beaten about the head and shoulders.
Give me a little time since I hadn't planned on this. Thanks for your kind reviews.