M/L Drabble, Art Attack
Written for fauxcynic who requested just some kind of fic
Maybe more Logan-cure?
“I... I shouldn't have ignored you like that”
His confession catches her on her way out, her thoughts already back in her run-down apartment with it's assembly of half-broken things. Curious she turns back to him, the dresses crisp, silky fabric feathery around her ankles.
“I've always been in the spotlight....” Elbows resting on his knees, Logan gazes over to her... and yet he doesn't, his mind elsewhere as his hands play with the locket she'd salvaged for him. “Even as a kid....there were the people fussing over the poor orphan, telling me how happy I was to be taken in by Jonas and Margo.... And then, some years later, when that had been forgotten, the breakup with Daphne, when everybody had already planned out our future.”
He is silent for a moment, sorting memories.. “I've always hated it...the gossiping and questions when I refused my place at Cale Industries... The false empathy over Val's drinking, the divorce...”
Max doesn't say anything, just tries to imagine the Logan she knows, the guy who is so unshakeable in his beliefs, so self-assured among his computers and equipment among these people, with their ideas and rituals. She tries to imagine and somehow, what she sees is the nervous, fidgeting Logan, who had just simply accepted his uncle's remarks.
“And now, with... the chair...”
He doesn't have to finish. Max had seen the quick looks behind his back, the comments made in passing by before the conversation turned back to Margo's lacking taste in art.
“Daphne though....,” He shrugs, self-consciously smirking down at his feet, “ She just didn't seem to care, just seemed happy to see me no matter what.”
Max can still hear them... “What a shame, such a good-looking guy...” Damaged goods, that's what they'd meant.... but still good enough for Daphne with her old dress. And suddenly the irritation irking her all evening tilts into anger, disgust with their satiated boredom, their quick judgement over Logan who spends his nights up with coffee and gritty eyes.
Its in this instant that Logan snaps out of his brooding and looks up, reading in her grim frown that she picked up what people had spared to say to his face.
Max shrugs, apologetic almost, as if it was her fault that she'd witnessed the relicts of that world he'd so reluctantly shared with her. As if she should have stepped in, should have defended him...
Her voice though is flippant, upbeat as she bounces off the doorframe. “I wouldn't give too much for their opinions. They praised Jonas as the smartest business man since the Pulse and... ,“ she pauses, just for the effect of it,” ...that Eyes Only broadcast on employing underaged maids had them scrambling more than they'd ever admit.”
Already turning around, she just waits long enough to see him fight his grin from growing into something like triumph. And then, finally, as she strides out, her steps long and confident, there's Logan's reflection in the dark window, upright and strong.