Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,
Snow
sweptawaybayou

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**waves**

Okay. *breathes* This is very raw and completely unfinished, although I have it all done in my head. (go me!) It is the getting it to paper that I'm stalling out on ... So be kind, if it sucks ... just be quiet. If it sounds like something you'd be interested in reading? Let me know.

My thanks go to petal_n_thorn for brainstorming with me over martinis in Kansas City. If there is anything good here, it is because she listened to me *wibbling* about my dream to bring Logan and Angel together, but! With a purpose. I didn't want it to be random ... and well, you know. K. Shutting up now.

:)

Prophecy

by Snow

Angel/Logan
Ats/X-men crossover
During Ats5/Directly after X-men 2
Eventually NC/17, because, you know ... me.
No Profit. No Gain.
Just playin' with the prettah.



“Angel, please. This is important.”

Wesley followed Angel into his office, barely making it past the door being shut in his face. He had been chasing the vampire through the long hallways of Wolfram and Hart as Angel had been going office to office, collecting files pertaining to the case with which he was currently involved. A particularly nasty one dealing with possession, the victim a child. A case that had caught Angel’s attention from the moment he had found out about it.

Angel threw the papers and files he had been carrying on his desk, pulled his out his chair and sat down, not letting his body rest into the soft leather. Not letting himself put his feet up on the desk. He sorted through the documents, his normally stoic face lined with worry as he tried to make sense of them. He did not look up at Wesley. He did not want to know about another prophecy. They had never turned out in a good way for him. And besides, he had his hands full right now.

“If it’s important Wesley, handle it.”

Angel’s spoke with his lower than usual tone, which combined with his soft Gaelic lilts, meant he was pissed off. It was his ‘I’m close to the end of my rope, do not fuck with me’ voice and Wesley realized he had been hearing it more and more lately.

“I would, believe me. Only it clearly calls for you to handle this situation.”

Angel rubbed his closed, tired eyes with his fingers, trying to retain some focus. He looked up at Wesley from under his brow.

“This specific prophecy. Clearly calls for me. Angel, to deal with this. Mentions me by name, does it? From what you have been telling me, and yes, I have been listening, it is just a bail out, pick up and deliver job. Anyone can do that. We have a building below us full of lawyers and para-legals that do it every day. Why would this time be any different?”

"It is who you’d be bailing out, and what he is, and that you need to bring him here. He probably will not want to come with you, willingly, and we need him. You should be the one to talk to him. Of course, it does not mention you by name. But it does call for someone with your unique abilities, your special circumstances.”

“My special what?”

Wesley turned at the interrupting voice from the doorway. Spike walked into Angel’s office, leaving the door open, as usual. He flopped, rather than sat, into the nearest chair, slid down until his head was level with the back, his feet sprawled.

“Spike. Shut. The. Door.” Angel could feel his teeth grind together as he spoke.

The blonde vampire just stared. Giving Angel the familiar grin of insolence and attitude that he knew exasperated and enraged him.

“Why? You two doing something no one else should see?”

Spike was bored and when he felt like this, he thrived on baiting Angel. He was looking for the release of an argument or even better, a fight. The overwhelming psychological need to be doing something, anything, even if it hurt.

Wesley turned to Angel and caught his eyes. Angel knew immediately what his friend was thinking and shrugged. Happy with anything that would get Spike out of the office. For at least a day.

“Send Spike.”

“Done. Thank you, Angel.”

They both returned their attention to Spike. Who suddenly did not like the way they were looking at him and the way they were smiling at him.

“Send Spike where? What the hell are you two plotting?”

“And Gunn. He’ll need Gunn.”

Angel was now very near to smirking. Just the very thought of Gunn and Spike traveling together, spending hours in close quarters had lightened his mood.

“Wes, after you get them briefed and gone, come back and give me all the details. I should have this one wrapped up before evening.”

Then, Angel tuned out Spike’s raised voice and questions, trusting Wesley to handle him and them. He turned his attention back to the papers strewn across his desk, to the case and the child that needed him.




Logan felt consciousness return and he wished he did not. His head hurt. His arms ached. His back felt as if someone had forcibly taken out every single vertebra, twisted it and then returned it to the wrong slot. He took a deep breath and instantly he knew where he was, a drunk tank. Again. The city, state, even the country might be different each time, but the smell was always the same. Piss. Vomit. Unwashed bodies. Stale alcohol. Cigarette smoke. He raised his hands up to his face, covering his eyes before opening them carefully. Bright lights and fierce hangovers do not mix. He might seem like a slow learner, but he knew this one for a fact.

He took another deep breath and forced himself to sit up, moved so that his feet were on the floor, his head carefully cradled in his palms, and his elbows rested on his knees. His brain swam in a quick burst of vertigo that his healing mutation instantly went to work on, probably relieved to have something to do other than alcohol poisoning and liver damage.

Logan slowly moved his fingers from his eyes, letting them adjust. If he had a sense of humor, which he did, he had just recently misplaced it; he would’ve laughed out loud at the other men in the holding cell. They were all on the complete opposite side, lounging there, as if fifteen men always stood, sat and leaned on one side, while one short, stocky, hairy man had the other completely to himself.

Logan reached in his shirt pocket in a vain hope that he still had an unbroken or not confiscated cigar. He sighed, as he found nothing. He leaned back against the wall behind him, habitually stretching his neck muscles until he heard the bones pop. Closed his eyes again, ignored the other men in the cell and wondered how long Xavier was going to leave him in this time.

It was the sound of angry voices coming down the hall that woke Logan this time. His headache had faded to a dull, painful memory and his back, though still stiff, was healed. An annoyed looking deputy sheriff appeared at the cell door, his keys jingling. Two men followed him, one dressed all in black, the tails of his leather coat swung as he walked, and his hair was an unlikely shade of platinum blonde. The other dark skinned, bald and wore a suit that looked like it cost more than Logan’s borrowed Harley had.

They were the ones that had brought the noise as the argued with each other. Logan looked at them with interest, inhaling reflexively. His eyebrow arched as he realized that the blonde man wearing the leather coat was not a man. He recognized the smell, his fists flexed and he tensed as the jailer unlocked the door. The two stopped arguing as they looked into the cell and straight at him. Logan stood up slowly as the black man entered.

“Mr. Logan?” The tall man shifted his briefcase and offered his hand, a gesture which Logan simply ignored.

“We’re here to bail you out. I’m Charles Gunn, from Wolfram and Hart. I’m your lawyer.” Gunn put his hand back down, not bothered that Logan hadn’t accepted it.

Logan leaned back against the wall. He looked relaxed. His body, however, was anything but that.

“I don’t have a lawyer.”

“You do now.” The blonde spoke, he shifted restlessly and stayed in the open doorway of the cell. It was clear to everyone that he hated being here.

Logan snorted.

“A lawyer and a vampire. Last time I checked, I didn’t have either one of those things on retainer.”

Neither one looked surprised that Logan knew about the vampire, so he assumed that they both knew what he was, also.

Gunn turned to the guard.

“Is there somewhere we could speak with our client? Somewhere a little more private?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Logan spoke to the guard.

“When do I get my phone call?”

Gunn held out a cell phone.

“Here. Call whomever you’d like. It’s on me.”

Logan took the phone, but didn’t open it.

“Who sent you?”

“Charles Xavier.”

Logan grunted at Gunn’s answer. Not proof, but getting better. He flipped open the phone and quickly dialed the Mansion. Apparently Chuck was expecting his call, because he answered before it even rang once. Their conversation was monosyllabic and brief and Logan erased the number before he handed the phone back to Gunn.

“What are you two waiting for? I need something to smoke, eat and drink, not necessarily in that order. And a shower would be nice. Maybe a change of clothes.”

He brushed past them both and the guard, waved to the men left in the cell. Spike and Gunn looked at each other, then followed the mutant out of the police station.


*smooches you*
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