[ Dubious honor, huh? Logan smiles, brief, but the air's taut with an energy he can't place. It's nothing that Karen's done, nothing that he's done, either, he thinks, but it hovers between them regardless. Her fingers tighten around his. He glances down, then back up. ]
Karenā€” [ He exhales through his nose, stopped short of saying something that doesn't make it past his lips. ] Be careful.
[ He leaves. In between everything else, he searches for her mannequin, a process that frustrates the hell out of him. He's a damn good tracker, has hunted down targets in bigger cities than this, but these things are differentā€”their scent, the way they melt into a crowd and move around without rhyme or reasonā€”and it puts him on the back foot in a way he hates. A couple of times, he pinpoints it. Once Karen gets a new phone, he texts its location. And each time, it narrowly slips away.
Until it doesn't.
He's perched on his motorcycle, pulled over on the side of a bridge overlooking the hazy neon lights below while he waits for an update. When his phone buzzes, he taps out a single message:
you home?
She doesn't say no. Logan doesn't plan on crowding her, doesn't mean to hover after everything she's been through; his plan's to head off to the bar down the road, have a few drinks, wait 'til tomorrow to see how she's doing. She can take care of herself, hasn't ever been shy about asking him to come over when she does want him there, and for all he knows, whoever helped her take down her mannequin for good's with her right now. But he can't shake the feeling that's clung to him ever since he left her place that night, a sense of...that she doesn't want him to leave her alone, that she's surprised each time he's worried enough to check up on her. Is he kidding himself? Is he just the biggest goddamn idiot on the planet? He might be, but he turns around and rides west.
At her door, he lifts his hand. He can hear her inside. A beat, and then he knocks, two gentle taps. ]
no subject
Karenā€” [ He exhales through his nose, stopped short of saying something that doesn't make it past his lips. ] Be careful.
[ He leaves. In between everything else, he searches for her mannequin, a process that frustrates the hell out of him. He's a damn good tracker, has hunted down targets in bigger cities than this, but these things are differentā€”their scent, the way they melt into a crowd and move around without rhyme or reasonā€”and it puts him on the back foot in a way he hates. A couple of times, he pinpoints it. Once Karen gets a new phone, he texts its location. And each time, it narrowly slips away.
Until it doesn't.
He's perched on his motorcycle, pulled over on the side of a bridge overlooking the hazy neon lights below while he waits for an update. When his phone buzzes, he taps out a single message:
She doesn't say no. Logan doesn't plan on crowding her, doesn't mean to hover after everything she's been through; his plan's to head off to the bar down the road, have a few drinks, wait 'til tomorrow to see how she's doing. She can take care of herself, hasn't ever been shy about asking him to come over when she does want him there, and for all he knows, whoever helped her take down her mannequin for good's with her right now. But he can't shake the feeling that's clung to him ever since he left her place that night, a sense of...that she doesn't want him to leave her alone, that she's surprised each time he's worried enough to check up on her. Is he kidding himself? Is he just the biggest goddamn idiot on the planet? He might be, but he turns around and rides west.
At her door, he lifts his hand. He can hear her inside. A beat, and then he knocks, two gentle taps. ]
Karen? It's me.