Part 3 of Not Everyone Has Claws
Golden sunlight filtered through the frosted windows, turning the fresh snow outside into a sea of glittering white. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, leaving the cabin wrapped in a peaceful silence.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was.
He tensed automatically, years of instinct telling him to expect danger.
Instead, he smelled coffee.
The memories from the night before slowly returned.
The yellow blanket was still draped over his shoulders.
No one had tucked him in since…
He couldn't even remember.
Across the room, Loren stood at the stove, humming quietly to herself. A mixing bowl rested on the counter beside her while a waffle iron hissed softly.
She noticed him watching.
Logan rubbed a hand over his face.
There was no mention of the nightmare.
"I've got clean towels if you'd like a shower," she offered.
"Bathroom's down the hall."
Logan looked down at himself.
His flannel was stiff with dried blood.
His hands still smelled faintly of metal and whiskey.
"Then it's probably overdue."
A faint huff escaped him.
It almost sounded like a laugh.
She handed him a neatly folded towel and a spare sweatshirt that looked much too large for her.
"You need it more than I do."
Logan hesitated before taking them.
Nearly half an hour later, steam drifted from the bathroom as Logan stepped back into the cabin.
His hair was damp, hanging around his face.
Not because his past had disappeared.
Because, for the first time in years, he didn't feel like he had to wear it on his skin.
Loren was setting two plates on the table.
Butter melting into the squares.
A small bottle of maple syrup.
"I ain't had homemade food in..." He shook his head. "Long time."
"Well," she said, pulling out a chair, "today seemed like a good day to change that."
The first bite stopped him cold.
Only he wasn't sure he'd ever really had one.
Loren watched him carefully.
"Where do you plan on heading?"
The question hung in the air.
Logan stared at his plate.
He hadn't planned that far ahead.
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Loren nodded as though she'd expected that answer.
"You're welcome to stay."
"You know I get nightmares."
"You've been nothing but respectful to me."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I've got more baggage than anyone should."
Silence settled between them again.
Logan looked around the little cabin.
The yellow blanket folded neatly over the recliner.
Someone had cared whether he was warm.
Someone had sat beside him through the worst parts of the night without asking him to explain.
He realized something that hurt almost as much as it healed.
He had spent nearly two centuries surviving.
He had never really known comfort.
Not the kind that asked for nothing in return.
"If..." he began, clearing his throat, "if the offer's real..."
"...Then maybe I'll stay a while."
Loren's smile was gentle, never triumphant.
Outside, snow continued to blanket the Canadian wilderness.
Inside, for the first time in longer than Logan could remember, he wasn't thinking about where he had to run next.
Several days passed before either of them mentioned the subject.
Life settled into a rhythm.
In the mornings, Logan would wake before sunrise to split firewood while Loren brewed coffee.
She moved carefully through the kitchen with practiced precision, using the counter for balance when she needed to and her cane when she didn't.
Logan noticed everything.
Not because he was judging.
Because he had spent nearly two centuries watching people survive.
He saw the stiffness in her legs when the mornings were cold.
He noticed the way one hand sometimes refused to cooperate when she buttoned her sweater.
He watched her take longer climbing the porch steps, then laugh under her breath when she finally reached the top.
He noticed she never complained.
One afternoon, Loren reached for a mixing bowl on the highest shelf.
Without thinking, Logan stood and took it down.
"Thanks," she said with an easy smile.
"But I also like doing things myself."
If she asked for help, he was there before she finished the sentence.
He let her do things her own way.
It wasn't long before Loren noticed.
"You stopped trying to help."
That evening, they sat on the porch wrapped in blankets while snow drifted across the clearing.
"I've been wonderin' something."
"You were born with cerebral palsy?"
"You don't gotta answer if you don't want."
She looked out toward the trees.
"Cerebral palsy wasn't the only thing."
"My birth was complicated."
She folded her hands together.
"The doctors didn't act quickly enough."
She spoke without anger, only honesty.
"My brain was without oxygen long enough to cause permanent damage."
"And nobody answered for it?"
"There was a medical malpractice case."
"It couldn't undo what happened."
Silence settled between them.
"I spent most of my childhood in hospitals."
"People telling me what I'd never be able to do."
"And yet..." Logan said quietly.
"I've lived with people underestimating me my entire life."
"I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me."
"I need people willing to walk beside me."
Logan thought about those words for a long time.
For the first time in years, Logan realized he wasn't the only survivor sitting on that porch.
They had survived very different battles.
They understood each other anyway.
snowghoul
germansingergirl
tangentwithtanner
titsay
