The Black Boots

A Wolverine horror fairy tale parody fanfic.

By Yezra

Summary:

This is a way mangled, yet still basically recognizable version of The Red Shoes, By Hans Christian Anderson, so that makes this another addition to the Pappy Logan's Flamin' Fairy Tale Series. In order to do this, I borrowed plots from the movie, the cartoon, and many of the comic titles, from Wolverine to Ultimate X-Men. Hey, if Marvel can screw with every time line known to man, then so can I. :p If you haven't read the original tale The Red Shoes, it ain't no bedtime story.

Okay, standard disclaimers. I don’t own these characters, Marvel does. I’m using them without permission. Please do not sue me. Not only am I broke, but I'm hearing the word 'downsizing' too often as of late. I have no idea who now owns the characters or original fairy tale. I’m using them without permission. I’m giving this an R rating for violence, drinking in front of children, frightening said children, and using bad language (nearly all of it mine and in front of the children).

Thanks to Ice Princess Deluxe, for inspiration, and for letting me use her in this fic. Oh, and THANKS ICE for totally lettin' me mack on your particular flamin' fairy tale style. I promise I won't ever do it again…

Pt 1: The Prologue Part.

"Prologue"

I'm sitting at home one night, in front of my computer, reading fanfic. I realized I became addicted to it a while back, but I don't give a flamin' rat's ass.

One of the things I like about being an unmarried adult is that I can do precisely what I want with my free time. I love my solitude. I love living in the country. And I love the fact that I chose early on never, ever to have kids.

I hate kids.

There, I said it. I love my dog, but I hate kids. They are noisy, needy and sticky. They cost a bundle of money when they are little and cute, and sometimes even more when they get big and ugly like the rest of us. They constantly seek your approval, yet they out-do themselves trying to get away with murder right under your nose. Can't stand 'em. Didn't ever want 'em. Don't got 'em now. Happy that way.

I would like a muse though, so I can be like Ice and Sparklagal and Lateo and WolvieGal. A muse is good because then I can get rid of him without the guilt trip. He (preferably a black-haired, blue-eyed protective 'he') can always go back to his real existence, while I stay here in mine, listening to the music I like to listen to, watching the movies I like to watch, keeping the hours I like to keep. No complaints when I toss my used panties on the floor and they stay there for days. Why, you ask? Because no one else sees it.

Am I a recluse, you ask?

Maybe, I reply. What’s it to you?

I realize that with my luck, I'd likely get a girl muse, and one I can’t stand to boot. So no muse is okay, too.

I'm kicking back now, drinking a beer, putting my feet up, and watching the Monty Python's Meaning of Life on DVD, when a knock comes at my door.

"Shit," I mutter. Who the hell figured out where I live? Maybe if I keep quiet they’ll go away.

"Slyphia! Open up! I can hear Michael Palin saying "It's an ocarina, Sir!" So I know you are in there!"

Well, well. It's me buddy Ice P. D. come to visit. That's cool. She's a great little gal. Not that she's short, I mean she is taller than me, but I say little cuz she's a lot younger than me.

But I digress.

I get up to go open the door and what do I see there? Ice, all right. Her hair in curlers, in a fuzzy green bathrobe… and the (it is to feel your heart plummet) X-Babies all around her. Oh, God in Heaven. I've waited forever for the X-Men to come visit me like they do the other fanfic authors. Hell, I'd even let Jean in my home. Well, maybe not Jean… Anyways, I wait forever, and what do I get?

Kids.

I get the kids.

I hate kids.

"What the frick is this, Ice?"

"Slyph, look, don't get pissed, but-"

"No, uh-uh, no way. I know where you are going with this young lady, and it ain't gonna work!"

"But come on!! I already had to turn down that cute date I had once before because of this shi- er, I mean stuff." She pauses to lean in closer to me and whisper, and I curl my lip and back away. "Can't say the f-word or the s-word or the d-word or the-"

"Oh! Shut the hell up already and get inside! Yer scaring the neighbors."

"Or the H-WORD," she finishes, glaring at me. The look might have worked had she not had the fuzzy slippers on as well.

The kids pile in behind her, and I notice they start looking at all my things. The things I bought with my money that I earned on a job. Breakable things. Electronic things. Nice things. Well, I know enough about kids - especially these kids - that lookin' is followed by touchin' and in Queen Yezra's domain, that won’t do.

"Don’t touch anything or I'll… Niiinaaaaaa!" I shout, and my Great Dane comes galloping into the living room. "Or I'll tell Ninotchka here to eat you, got it?"

"Yikes!" shouted the creepy one, and he vaulted to the ceiling. Well, at least he was off the floor and away from my angel statues.

"Gumbo, Ah'm scared of the big doggie, hold me!"

"Yuck! Yer a femme! An 'sides, you kill peoples wit de touch!"

"Waaaah!" wailed the one called Sugah, "Nobody wants ta be mah friend!"

I look at Ice and narrow my eyes as they continue yelling, crying, touching things behind my back and becoming… sticky. Nina hates kids too. One hundred and thirty pounds of pure canine muscle, and she's scared to death of 'em. So she leaves me there for greener pastures.

You ain't gonna be getting a bone for a looong time to come, you bitch.

"Pleaseeee?" Ice begs as I turn back to her. "I can't crap out on this guy twice – I'll never get another chance! I'll let ya borrow Wolvie for a story, I promise!"

"Oh - Like you own him!" I counter.

"Okay - I'll tell Wolvie that he has to come pick them up later tonight. You can meet him alone, in your own home, where I know you like it best… maybe he'll even stay and have a beer with you? Huh? Please?"

"Well… What are the X-Men doing tonight that none of them can baby-sit these… creatures?"

"They're at a baseball game."

"That's just peachy. You get to go on a date, they get to go to a game, and I get to watch these brats. Fine. Perfect."

I feel a tugging at my shirt. I do not want to look down because I know I am being touched by an urchin. I blanch, swallow hard, and turn to look at whatever it is that is touching my clothes. It's the little one-eyed one.

"Lady?" he asks, tugging away. "Lady?" I do not want to talk to him. I do not want to hear that god-awful lisp of his. A secret of mine is that while I kind of lust after Scott Summers a little bit, I hate this particular X-Baby worst of all. "Lady? Lady? Lady? Lady? Lady?"

I'm gonna pop.

I pop. "What?!? What do you want?"

Now he's pouting, and I feel bad for a second, until I hear the little hairy one laughing at him. That kid - now he has potential.

I smile through tight teeth and say, "What is it, 'Cyke'?"

"Do you have any ithe cweam?"

I look to the Heavens for a second, shutting my eyes to the horror of the night that is to surely follow. Then I look back at Ice's face. I swear the sweetie's gonna cry.

"Get out of here before I change my mind, Ice."

"Oh, man, Slyph! I swear, you won't regret it! I'll tell Wolvie to be re-"

"Get. Out."

She squeals her thanks and runs out the door, slamming it tight.

It's gonna be a long, long night.

***

I finally shut them up, cuz I have a homemade ice cream maker, and I content myself with a very strong Gin & Tonic while I make them some French vanilla with chocolate chips and caramel swirls. Heh… sure hope I cooked the eggs thoroughly. It'd be a damn shame if they died of salmonella. Heh.

They are drawing pictures with my crappy newsprint sketchpad on my dining room table. My solid cherry, Amish-country, made to order by real Amish Peoples, dining room table. The one that took me eight months to pay off. Every now and then I see one of 'em miss the newsprint and the crayon marks end up on my table. I grimace, bite my tongue, and pour more Gin in my Tonic. By the time the ice cream is done, it's nearly all gin.

They eat it in relative silence, cuz I am a damn good cook, and they all have seconds. Should I have let them only have one serving? I do not care. I won't make them brush their teeth either. Hell, I won’t let 'em.

Then they agree to shut up, leave me alone, and go to sleep if I tell them a story. I only have the one bed - mine - and I don’t feel like sharing it with a bunch of babies, X or no. I mean, Little Wolvie is kinda okay, cuz he swears like I do… but what I really had in mind when it comes to my bed is big Wolvie.

And yet… I said 'yes' to Ice… and they are minors… so I really have no choice, now do I? So I sigh aloud. Big Wolvie better have that beer with me. And he better kiss me good night, just like he does Ice. And I better get some tongue.

"You want a story? Okay, I can tell you a story. And it's gonna star the adult versions of you little twe- eh, I mean, lovely children." I so smile a saccharin smile.

"Goody!" shouts Sugah, crawling across the mattress on all fours with her sticky hands pulling up my fitted white linen sheet as she moves. That's just totally gross. She better not wet my bed.

"But it isn’t gonna be like the other fairy tales the other authors have told." I cross my arms and watch as the rest of them settle onto my bed.

"Wha… whatcha mean?" asks the drippy one with the white hair. She loves rain and all things water. She better not wet my bed either.

"Well, when I started doing research for the next fairy tale I wanted to cover-"

"You do research? What are ya? Some kinda *bleepin'* nerd?"

I glare at the little hairy one. The rest of them giggle.

Okay, that did it. The gloves are coming off, no offense to Big Rogue. These kids wanna play that game? I can play that game. An' I got no qualms about damaging their precious little X-Baby psyches, neither. Brats! I even made them homemade ice cream, the little ingrates. They asked for it.

I clear my throat. "As I was saying, when I started doing my research, I came across a Hans Christian Anderson web site."

"Whath a Hanth Crithshun Annersthon?"

"What's a webbsyte?"

"Shut up. I came across a web site that had a bunch of summarized version of his tales. Now, you kids may not know this, but most fairy tales have been cleaned up so as not to frighten modern children. If people would tell them the way they were actually written, they'd be considered horror stories.“ Ain't gonna talk down to 'em. No way. They think I'm a geek? Fine. The little clicksters can deal with my twenty-five-fricken'-cent words.

"Like… scary stories?" asks the little drippy one.

"Yeah - hey, have you gone to the bathroom?"

"Yes."

"Okay, fine. Anyway, yeah, they're pretty gross and frightening and shocking even, in their original form. And I'm gonna tell ya one of 'em."

They all seem to grow a little smaller and huddle a little closer together. Except for Lil' Wolvie. He grins, and he crosses his arms, and he looks over at me and says, "Great, do it gots gore?"

"Gore a-plenty." Drippy looks scared.

"Language?"

"I'll add it in." Now Cyke looks worried.

"Sex?" he raises his eyebrows up and down. Now Creepy looks worried.

Damn, that Wolvie's been rotten since day one. I think I like him even more.

"Nope," I laugh, "Not in this one."

"Well if it don’t gots any sex, it ain't gonna be a romantic one then, is it?" Sugah's eyes brighten and she looks very hopeful. The poor, deluded kid. She likes that romance shit. That's cuz she can't have the actual sex, or so I hear.

"Only a little bit at the beginning. It has a moral in it, though. And your large counterpart is gonna be the star."

"Now we're talkin'! What's it called?"

"The original is title is "The Red Shoes". But in honor of Logan, I'm calling it "The Black Boots"…"

"The Black Boots"

Once upon a flamin' time there was a fine, stand-up young lad named Logan. He was short and very strong and he had beautiful blue eyes, not brown like some people at comic book companies seem to think, but blue eyes, and wonderful black hair. His father was a mean thing named Sabretooth, who beat him up a lot and never approved of his native girlfriend named Silver Fox. Logan and his father were very poor, and Sabretooth spent what little money they had on booze and loose women.

Logan had pretty large feet. He had pretty large everything for being a short fellow. And because boots in his size did not grow on trees, he would've had to gotten them custom-made for a decent fit. Custom boots were very expensive, so he went without. Now, Logan had a mutant healing factor like his father, but that did nothing for the pain of his bare feet freezing in the snow in the winter. Silver Fox loved him very much, and she couldn't stand to see him suffer, even though he told her he'd recover just fine. Her man was in pain, and that meant she was in pain, too; so she decided to do something about it.

***

Gumbo: "Yech, she doin' a mushy one. I don' like de mushy ones."

Sugah: "Ah like 'em Gumbo." *bats her eyes at the tiny Cajun*

Yezra: "Shut up or I'll kill you both."

*Silence*

Yezra: *clears throat*

***

One day, Silver Fox came to Logan's cabin and brought a present with her. She had fashioned moccasins for him out of the finest cowhide, and stained them black, Logan's favorite color. He tried them on and they fit perfect. Logan was very grateful to her, and he kissed her and asked her to run away with him.

They ran away to a different part of the Canadian Wilds, hoping to forever leave Sabretooth behind them and live happily in a new cabin that they built together.

But, Sabretooth had a great sniffer, just like Logan, and he sniffed them out. He waited until Logan had gone out for something, and he stole in the cabin. Silver Fox tried to scream but it was too late. Sabretooth manhandled her, and then he killed her, leaving her dead body on the floor for Logan to come home to.

***

Shower: "I don’t like this story!" *ducks her head under the covers*

Yezra: *thinking: One brat down, five brats to go!*

***

When Logan found Silver Fox dead on the floor, he went crazy. He vowed to get even and sought his father out. When he tried to kill him, Sabretooth (who had experience on his side) toyed with him and left him for dead in the snowy forest.

But Logan did not die. Logan was very strong, you see, and he was very determined. But he was still, unfortunately, a little crazy. He wandered around the countryside, hunting things down and eating them raw, until spring had broke. Then he went into town and got butt-ugly wasted on hard cider, and was promptly arrested for being drunk & disorderly in a public place. You can add to that resisting arrest, assaulting an officer of the law, and destruction of private property.

Logan's broken heart had turned him into a numero-uno supremo bad-ass with a bite. And he was hot-looking, too.

***

Cyke: "Thay! Yer droolin' juth like that Ithe Pwincess lady does!"

Yezra: "I thought I told you to shut up."

Lil Wolvie: "It's true, yer droolin'. Wait'll I tell Big Logan."

Yezra: "Go ahead an' tell him! What the fuck do I care?!"

Sugah: "Oh my! Ya'll said the f-word! I cain't listen no more!" *crawls under the covers to where Drippy is already cowering*

Yezra: *smiles evilly and continues*

***

Now they were a small town, the place that had Logan locked up. And one day the Canadian Federal Government came calling.

"You have this mutant incarcerated here?" They showed the local sheriff a picture of Logan.

"He's a mutie?! Well, yep, we shore do!"

"If you will give us the man, we will take care of him."

"Suits me," said the sheriff, as he stood up. "He's a pain in the ass. Keeps howlin' and bitin' stuff. And he popped out some claws from his hands the other day and started ripping up his bed."

The agents looked at each other for a moment but did not say a word. The sheriff waited until the federal men shot a tranquilizer dart in Logan's perfect ass, and then he opened the door to the cell, where the agents dragged him out.

They took Logan away and no one saw him for a really, really long time.

The men were part of a covert operation in Canada called Weapon X, and they were going to conduct experiments on Logan and make him the perfect killing machine. And then they had to get him the proper wardrobe. No self-respecting Canadian mutant killing machine could go around wearing moccasins for crissakes.

***

Creepy: "Vas? You blasphemer! I vill have to go to confession now!"

Yezra: "There's plenty of room under the covers, stinky."

Creepy: *bamf!* *disappears under the covers*

Yezra: *thinks: Ahh, Monty Python has taught me well. There is no one I cannot offend!*

***

Logan protested bitterly as they removed his moccasins and left him floating naked in a tank filled with electrolyte liquids with only a breather on his face for a few years. He was used to suffering, so the tank was no big deal, but the moccasins were the last thing he had left to remind him of Silver Fox, and he wanted desperately to keep them.

At least I shall have my memory of her.

He comforted himself with his thoughts, but what he did not realize was that part of the experiment required them to take away his memories, and before he knew it, Silver Fox no longer existed to him.

They bonded strong adamantium metal to his skeleton, and gave him a code name: Wolverine. He didn’t even know that his real name was Logan anymore. They taught him all sorts of combat techniques and how to kill people efficiently. He learned how to spy, and fly and dive. And then they gave him his new wardrobe.

Black silk jockey shorts. Which looked damn good on him. Black T-shirt, black leather coat, and black leather pants.

And the kicker: black steel-toed boots.

When he put them on, he felt amazingly good. They were tight, but they did not pinch. They gave him confidence. They made him feel secure.

Obviously, they were special boots, because they had to be fiddled with by the Weapon-X Scientist that was in charge of all the secret stuff they had done to Logan in order to turn him into Wolverine. The scientist leaned down and patted the black boots, and said "Wow, these look really good on you." And when he was about to turn them on, he spoke to them ethereally. "Hold fast to him… when he kills…" Then he flipped the switch.

Wolverine jumped as heard the black boots speaking to him.

~anger~

Wolverine tilted his head. Boots couldn’t possibly talk.

~aggression~

He was getting mad. Just like the black boots told him to. He wanted to rip something apart with his new, metallic claws. The black boots made him so strong, and they let him get mad like he wanted to, and he decided he wanted to wear them forever.

~kill~

He did. Every man in sight, including the one that flipped the switch on the black boots. He killed the federal agents and all the other Weapon-X and government representatives there, by slashing at their major organs, or ripping their heads off, or ripping out their esophagus's. Or combinations thereof. There was blood everywhere and he was more angry than he had ever been in his life. He saw red, and it was called a berserker rage, and no one but him left the complex alive that day.

***

Cyke: *lip quivers*

Yezra: "Are ya scared?"

Cyke: *nods*

Yezra: "Good!"

Cyke: "Yipe!" *crawls under the covers and holds Shower's hands*

Shower: *muffled* "Yer a big fraidy-cat!"

Cyke: *muffled* "Am not!"

Shower: *muffled* "Are too!"

Cyke: *muffled* "Am not!"

Shower: *muffled* "Are too, nyaaaaah!"

Yezra: *kicking them* "Shut UP!"

*Silence*

***

Logan walked away from his prison that day, safe in his black boots, and vowed to be mean and horrible for the rest of his life, and to live in the woods with the animals and disown man and mutant-kind. He would kill whomever he felt like killing, because the black boots told him it was okay. He became a feral cave dweller, and rejected all things not found in nature.

One day he realized that he was going to live a long, long time. Because it was fifty years later and he looked and felt the same. With this knowledge, he knew he would never be able to stay a total feral. So he decided to become a man again, but a mean one that killed people for a living.

After he civilized himself a little (but not so much that he still wasn't totally drop dead sexy), he decided to go to New York City and look for hit-man work. There was tons of it there. He killed many people, always with the black boots cheering him on. He killed and killed, and was more creative and sadistic each time he did it. And just when he thought he had killed enough, all he could hear were the black boots.

~kill more~

So he did, for the black boots were his life now, they were his only friends, and he never took them off.

One day he went to meet a man named Magneto. Magneto was a meanie, just like he was. He hired Wolverine to kill a man named Xavier and told him where he lived. Wolverine infiltrated Xavier's mansion and became like a son to him, all in the plan to kill him later.

Now, Xavier had a house full of mutants, and they called themselves the X-Men. They were do-gooders. Wolverine had a hard time with this, not because he hated it, but because he felt compelled to do good too. But the black boots, well, the black boots told him otherwise. They argued with him and wore him down. They were in control and he could not change that.

One day he decided it was time to do his job and get out of there. He went on a mission with the X-Men, and was going to kill Xavier. They were in a land called Australia. He went out with the team, then hung back, so as to lose them and go back to the plane. When they were alone in the jet, he would kill Xavier and take the plane, leaving the rest of them stranded in the outback.

On his way back, he saw a little man with an afro, wearing a diaper, sitting on a hill, and spinning a rock around him as it was tied to a string. The little man's name was Gateway, and Wolverine heard Gateway's voice talking to him in his head. It was just like the black boots, only this voice had a human soul.

~Kill you shall! You shall murder as your black boots tell you to, until there is nothing left inside of you but the hollow voice of the black boots! You are a slave to them; just as you were to your father's rage; just as you were to the men of Weapon-X! The black boots have made all of mankind fear you, and that is the legacy you shall leave! Kill, I say! Kill as the black boots tell you to!~

***

Gumbo: *pale and shaken* "Non, don' say no more, you are scarin' Gumbo!"

Yezra: *lifts cover up with one big toe to give him access underneath it, where he crawls in quickly*

Lil Wolvie: "Looks like it's just you an' me now, babe!"

Yezra: "What, you ain't scared like the rest of them ninnies?"

Lil Wolvie: "*Bleep* no! This is *bleepin*' great! Keep goin'!"

***

Wolverine growled, and then yelled, and then screamed bloody murder at the voice of Gateway in his head. He pressed his hands to his head, and he fell to the ground. All the X-Men came running up to him to see what was wrong and to try and help him.

All he could do was scream that he couldn’t get the black boots off. He was in torment. He told them that the black boots were evil and that they would make him go into a berserker rage. He screamed that he could not get them off, and that if they did not help him, he would surely kill them all. Wolverine began to weep, because for all his manly strength and power, for all his years of killing, he did not want to hurt the X-Men.

So Bishop and Colossus, the strongest of the bunch, each tried to yank and pull them off, but that did not work. Jean Grey-Summers, the telepath, tried to remove them telekinetically, but that did not work. Scott Summers, the leader of the X-Men, tried to blast them off with his visor, but that also did not work. None of them could help him.

Wolverine was losing control and he unsheathed his claws. He growled and he raged and he was going to kill them all.

They backed away from him and did not know what to do. Then little Jubilee, the youngest of the X-Men, ran forward to Wolverine and clasped her hands about his strong neck.

"Oh Wolvie!" she cried, frightened only for her friend and not herself. "Please try to fight those ugly black boots! If you make 'em weak, then they can't hurt you!" She clung to his neck and he was sure that he would slice her to ribbons if she did not let him go. But Jubilee was a brave girl, and she held fast to him, just like the black boots.

Then a remarkable thing happened. Jubilee's innocent, gentle touch had made Wolverine calm down. His claws went back into his knuckles and he unclenched his fists. The berserker rage had stopped. He wrapped his strong arms around the young girl, and whispered in her ear, "Thank you, Darlin'."

Jubilee cried for him and was very glad that he felt better, and she gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. But Wolverine knew, that even though he was in control of himself at the moment, the black boots would talk to him again, and would make him do terrible things.

"Jubilee, please help me!" She looked up at him and asked him what she could do for him. "Use your powers an' destroy the black boots, 'cuz I can't remove them myself."

Now Jubilee knew that she would hurt him when she used her power to paf and destroy the black boots. But Wolverine was special to her, and she saw the goodness in his heart, so if he wanted this from her, she would not hesitate to do as he asked.

Jubilee paffed the boots, and Wolverine cried out in pain. The black boots were destroyed, and the voices that drove him to kill were now gone. But Wolverine's legs were badly damaged, and he could no longer stand.

When they returned to Xavier's mansion, everyone was very concerned that he get better, but the big blue team doctor named Hank said that the damage from Jubilee's pafs was so bad, he didn't even know if Wolverine would ever walk again.

Everyone was very sad to hear that news, but most especially little Jubilee. She felt responsible for crippling him, and she came to his bedside and cried on him for forgiveness. But Wolverine would have none of it.

"Darlin," he said, tears of joy shining in his eyes as he smiled at her, "Ya saved me! I wasn't a man before this Jubes – I was a beast. I ain't gotta be that way anymore, and I got you ta thank for it." He kissed her forehead and bade her stop crying, and she promised to visit him everyday and sneak cold beer and cigars into the infirmary for him.

***

His healing factor was remarkable indeed, because for all he had done wrong, the powers that be had granted him the mercy he wished for, and his feet & legs had repaired themselves anew, right over the damaged parts. He stayed with the X-men and learned of their ways and became a proper member of the team. Part of his memory came back and he told them all that his real name was Logan and that was what he wanted to be called from then on.

"It was right of you to join us, Logan," said Xavier.

"It was yer mercy, and nuthin' else," said Logan.

And the sun continued to come up, and he put on a different pair of boots every day just because he could. He saved lives with the X-Men. He played basketball with little Jubilee. His soul was finally healed. And no one remembered the black boots or the mutant killing machine named Wolverine, they only knew of their friend; a man named Logan.

And he lived happily ever flamin' after.

The end.

"Epilogue"

"Well, whadja think of it?" I ask the only remaining audience member that was visible, Lil' Wolvie.

He grins from ear to ear and says, "Miss Yezra, I *bleepin'* loved it!"

I smile at the little gutter mouth. He could come back and see me anytime. He didn’t get crayons on my cherry table.

The rest of 'em are still under the blanket, which I can see shaking. I roll my eyes and ruffle his hair, and I tell Lil' Wolvie to get under the covers and protect them all before my mattress is soaked through with X-Baby pee.

Ahhhh… Peace, quiet… all that great shit I treasure. I go back to my DVD player and my beer and my remote control and I press play.

No sooner had I done that, when a puff of smoke appears out of the corner of my eye. I turn to face what fresh hell this is, and lookie what I find…

Wolvie. Not Lil' Wolvie, but the big one. The sexy one. And standing right next to him? Remy LeBeau. In tight bike shorts, no less.

"Hi," I say, smiling wickedly. Not much of an introduction, but what the hell.

"Hey, Darlin'. Kids asleep?"

"Yep, just got 'em there. Scared the crap out of 'em with my story, too. 'Cept for the little hairy one."

Logan smiles at me and comes closer. It's true, I can tell you all now, that he really does smell great. LeBeau edges a little closer, too, and gives me a heated stare that could melt ice cubes.

"Um… Ah… Ain't you got something goin' with the Cool Miss Kate tonight? A ball game or some such?"

Logan grins. He doesn't say a word. LeBeau drags an expressive hand through that gorgeous hair of his and I think I'm gonna faint for a sec. Nah, I'm too reasonable for that. I wanna remember this. All of it.

"That's only when I'm in Ice's fics, or bein' Ice's muse," he says, growling sweetly.

"That Flippin' Marvel timeline again…" I mutter, standing up on shaky legs. "So… what are you right now?"

"I'm here to drink a beer, an' pay my respects to Queen Yezra." Again with the evil grin and the beautiful blue eyes. He crosses his massive arms over his massive chest and I swallow real hard. For some reason I'm salivating a lot.

I turn to LeBeau, who gives me the same wicked grin. I swallow again, and my voice cracks in spite of it,

"And you? What are you here for Cajun? A beer as well?"

"Oui, Chere. And Remy goin' to help de feral pay respects to de Queen."

I shake my head, grinning madly, and close my eyes.

Two-fer-one.

She was paying attention after all.

Thanks, Ice. ;)

fin.

story index