Title: Viscosity: Seven Towers
Author: Sare Liz Gordy
EMAIL:TeknoVamp@yahoo.com

Series: Viscosity. [I think this is a prequel to 'Burning Incense', which just proves that I can't write a standalone to save my life.]
Rating/Codes: R for language. Logan POV, [L/R]
Archiving: lists, teknovamp
Disclaimer: They're not mine, of course. Title from U2's "Running to Stand Still': "I see seven towers, but I only see one way out."

Dedicated: To Jenn, for the very much appreciated help with this little darling, and for the wonderful encouragement.
Author's Note: Yet another written with the quadruple inspiration of A) Social and Political Theory (see Foucault on power) B) Three or Four choice specimens of DeeJay's work C) Some crazy ideas of love I gleaned from watching 'Someone Like You' D) 'Strung out on U2', the string ensemble tribute to U2 which I cannot possibly recommend enough. No, seriously.

*****

Some things just come right out and bite you on the ass. There's just no ignoring some things. Some stuff sneaks up on you. And it's not even like there's a definitive line between them - you see the important shit, and everything else falls by the wayside. Life ain't that easy, which if you asks me proves the existence of a higher authority, but that's just a whole 'nother pond to fish in. No, even in the simplest of lives, there's shit you're going to miss the first time around and it's going to be the most important shit of your life. If you're lucky - and I mean really damn lucky - you'll get another free pass at it and hopefully your luck will last long enough for you to actually get some mileage out of it, meaning of course that you're luck won't run out before you're able to pull your head out of you ass and see A - what you missed before, B - how damn important it is, and C - have the wherewithal to snatch it up while you can because maybe you won't get another try at it.

And now I'm making lists. I'm starting to think in terms of lists.

I'd say I've been here too damn long but then saying it out loud would be completely negating items B and C of said list. I'm just gonna have to find a way to annoy the hell out of Scotty boy that doesn't involve hitting on Jean, because let's face it: Jeannie's a good kid and for some godforsaken reason she's taken it in her head to stick by him and while that makes no sense to me on principle, there you are. Not the 'sticking by' part, but the 'him' part. That part makes no sense to me. Monogamy's a fine idea, I say. Granted, I'm all for orgies and having a woman on each arm, but when you've finally realized you can't live without someone, the idea of a different someone just doesn't seem to appeal so much anymore.

So yea, like I said. Somethings you just don't catch onto right away. It's like in a movie when the music is just starting to creep up on you, little bit at a time and you're so involved with what's on the screen you just take the music for granted. Then all the sudden it's the big fight scene and you're all worked up and somewhere between critiquing the stunts and yelling at the people to do what obviously should be done, you realize the music is at a crescendo as you're growling. It catches you a little off guard because the music just fits it, but who ever heard of techno for a fight scene? And you're just not sure what to do about that music that's weaseled it's way into the feel of the scene so that it's just about perfect but there it is and you can't take it out and have the scene be the same, not anymore.

Fuck, that's not it either.

It's just that… Somethings you don´t see. That's just the way life is. You don't see them because you think it's normal for life to be acting that way, but it's not. It's not the normal run of the mill attitude to a normal run of the mill situation but you just don't see that at the time. It's only later, much later - some may say too late - when you realize that shit, if it had been someone else instead of one of us, it wouldn't have gone down like that, any of the times.

Some people are particularly happy when these little revelations dawn themselves upon them. Some people are damn stupid, too. Count me wherever you think I fall.

It might not have been so bad if I'd figured it all out on the road, or back up North. I could have kept in touch a little, made sure she had any damn thing she wanted, but I would have stayed away. Even if she felt the same, the law of averages has got it that she'd find someone else to be in love with at some point, someone to make her happy because there are just hell and gone too many complications to make it work. So, yea. Somewhere outside of New York State, or possibly the continental US would have been a great place to have my epiphany.

As fate would have it - that conceited, conniving, wonderful bitch that she is - my epiphany dawned while sitting on a bench on the grounds of Xavier's mansion with her head resting on my leg. One minute everything was fine. She had her legs dangling off one of the arm rests at the far end and she was reading a book. I was stroking her hair, her head, as I watched some kids play basketball, not thinking about a hell of a lot, just remembering some shit that had gone down and how she'd handled it all so damn well and how proud of her I was.

I remember thinking that I couldn't have been more proud of her if she'd been my own daughter, but that thought was all mixed up with the idea that if she had been my daughter I'd probably have messed up somewhere along the line 'cause I probably wouldn't be able to do that sort of thing by myself from scratch. Which made me realize that it wasn't so much a 'me a father and her a daughter' kind of thought but 'me a father of her daughters', and if ever there were a thought transition to scare the hell right of out of you, that would definitely be it. So one minute everything was status quo, the next minute my perception of reality shifted and shifted good.

I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't been right there, if I hadn't been touching her right then, but I was. As I see it, that's the most important thing. Not what you would have or could have or should have done, but what you did.

And I didn't know what to do, not at first. I just sort of looked at her, as if by just staring I could see something magically transform right before my eyes to explain the thoughts in my head, give them a basis. I only saw what I always saw. Marie.

It was enough to just look at her then, to absorb all the little things I never really noticed, or at least not in the ways I was noticing now. And I couldn't get enough of her. I don't think I've ever wanted to touch a woman as bad as I wanted to touch her right then, on that bench. But my hand had stilled from that one minute to the next and she apparently took issue with that, because her eyes rose from her book and her head shifted a little on my leg and there was my basis. Right there, in her eyes, was all the proof I'd ever need about any question of who would father her children.

It was the same look she always gave me; one part whatever it was the moment called for, one part adoration, but I swear I never got it till right then. Until then it was just… Just Marie. That's just the way she was. She was open and trusting and caring and she could pout among the best, at least with me. And right about then I realized too that not only was she not quite like that with everyone else but she was distinctly not like that, even with her closest friends. All that was reserved just for me, for some reason, and now I knew the reason.

First among my thoughts was 'how long?' Seriously, how dense could I have been? Or was now just the right time for me to know, a time when I could deal with it and she could deal with it and everyone could deal with it or alternately go fuck themselves.

Chief among my other thoughts was 'how permanent?' And that was the easiest to answer; Pretty fucking permanent - permanent, stable, commitment-worthy, the whole nine yards. Start thinking of names if it's a girl, kind of permanent, and please God, while you are it, let the little bugger have her temperament because the world just isn't ready for a replica of me, kinda permanent.

And it wasn't even like I was getting ahead of myself. I really only felt like I was catching up, and shit if there wasn't a lot to catch up on. I still needed a place to start though. I needed a way to tell her that I was finally on the same page and it was a fine place to be. Didn't have the faintest clue how do that, either, so I didn't try, not exactly.

She was looking up at me, waiting, and I suppose she said something but I was damned if I knew what. Probably wanting to know why I stopped with the caress. Point taken, darlin'.

My gloves were resting on her stomach and I snatched them up and put them on without a second thought and she arched an eyebrow at me and I couldn't help it. I smiled, just a little. Which in turn made her smile, albeit suspiciously.

I started at her throat, my thumb making gentle circles until she sighed and closed her eyes and let the book drop onto her stomach where my gloves had lain. I wondered how many times she sighed like that when I was touching her before, how many times I thought it was just her enjoying touch from someone who didn't fear her on some base level. And how many times had my mind glossed over the scent of her desire after a back rub? Was all of it any different from how she'd been right then? I had the distinct feeling that the only thing different was me.

I stroked her neck up and down the sides, just so, then her jaw line, then the tip of one finger down her nose and she giggled at me. She could flip like that sometimes. One minute so… Well, sensual is what I'd say now, but serious I probably would have called it then, and the next minute I'd have found that ticklish place just on the sides of her ribs and she wouldn't be able to breathe she'd be laughing so hard, pushing at me and begging me to stop. Sometimes she'd cuddle up to me afterwards, like a cat and I'd stroke her like one because it was just so natural. I never had the faintest clue, not in all that time. It does all make a hell of a lot of sense in retrospect, I have to admit.

Tracing the line of her eyebrow, smoothing away the tension in her forehead, soothing the temples and she was sighing again, deep things and I could tell the stress was draining away little at a time, just like every time I touch her, seriously touch her. It had always been the way. If I made any sort of serious effort at all of touching her - holding her hand, rubbing her arm, stroking her hair, much less the rarely missed after workout rubdowns that included oil, two towels, a pair of latex gloves and not much else, and she was just so much more calm. I really liked the brand new knowledge that it was me. It wasn't just about getting touch, but getting my touch that mattered so much to her, that seemed so vital.

Then, because I couldn't not, her lips. So tender, so soft, gently, so gently and she gasped a little and her eyes flew open, apparently not expecting that from me. Like the first time I came back and she must have known when I passed security because wherever she'd been in the mansion she'd bolted out from the gardens and met me in the drive. I remember seeing her and slowing down and no sooner getting my feet on the ground than getting hit full force with her, my little girl, my Marie. She was a bundle of very happy energy just then as she clung to me like letting go would mean me leaving again which was an idea she apparently wasn't fond of, so I pulled her up and over, half on my legs, half on the gas tank so she'd realize it was okay to let me breathe again. But the surprise in her eyes was the same as on the bench when she opened my pack to get her present and found a soft pair of brown leather gloves that couldn't possibly go an inch past her wrist, if that. It took a look and a growl to get her old gloves off. She was afraid but it was bullshit unless she decided she wanted to elbow me in the chin and afterwards she just glowed. The surprise -no, the dismay- had been worth it then, to see her glow like that.

Her heart was going faster now that my fingers were on her lips and the look was still in her eyes. She had to be wondering exactly how I'd meant it because my track record hadn't been so great thus far.

"Logan?"

Wouldn't want to keep her in suspense or anything.

"Yea, baby?"

That was a new one, and if her heart rate is anything to go by, a winner. She just sort of looked at me with a half smile, like she was trying to figure it out, maybe consulting with her inner me. The point was obvious though - something more was needed. Anyone else and I probably would have just kissed them by now, but my first thought was that kissing Marie - a thought I'd never really entertained before - would be a bad idea. With my second thought I wondered how she'd feel through that scarf around her neck. Not as good as the real thing, definitely, but it was something. Maybe it could be something that was good in its own right.

One arm slipping under her head to support her neck and one arm reaching over and down under the small of her back, lifting her up while I slid under her, bringing her up so she was sitting in my lap, her legs still dangling off over the arm bar of the bench, and she still had that crazy little half smile only now she was a little breathless to go along with it. Not bad. Very smooth. A glove came off with the aide of the teeth because what better excuse to raise the free end of her sheer scarf over my fingers?

It was good like this, her snug on my lap with her arms around my neck and my hand cupping her face with just this transparent silk between. So much nicer to trace her lips this way. But how would it be to kiss her through it? I leaned slightly and found out that it was both a miserable replacement and quite possibly the best feeling I've ever had.

It sucked because it wasn't her skin, it didn't feel like her skin, and under no stretch of the imagination could the now all too rough material ever be mistaken for something as sensual and ode-worthy as Marie's lips.

It was the best feeling in the world because I was kissing her and there was power in that. There was power in me doing it and power in her letting me do it. And there was certainly power when she started to kiss me back, as much as one can kiss between a cloth barrier, which is not a hell of a lot, considering a mouth full of cloth isn't nearly as intoxicating as a mouth full of your lover, but it was something, a great big huge something, right there, out in the open just waiting to be taken note of by every gossip mongering child in the house, particularly the ones over thirty.

It was nice too when I followed the cloth back down her neck and just sort of settled in there, nuzzling and nipping and generally enjoying her quiet moaning and the feel of her fingers on my shoulder and in my hair. It was a little surreal that she was taking it all in stride, thought I'm not sure what I would have done if she hadn't, but she did. It wasn't really like she'd been waiting though. I really hadn't gotten any sense of relief or resentment or anything similar off of her. Just earnest. Love in earnest. The very thought sent shivers down my spine and that sure as hell wasn't something I'd felt in a long time.