Eeeee! For your prompts would you be up for a Logan(Wolverine)/Darcy Awkward meetings #5?
Yes!! For the incredibly lovely and patient @ragwitch, for whom this prompt fill is reallly late. I changed some things from the prompt but I hope you enjoy it anyways :)
Prompt: Awkward Meeting Themed, #5, ““I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3 in the morning and when i asked you what the hell you were doing you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet and then fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that’s why you’re here right now also what the fuck is your name and why were you patting a dog in a stranger’s backyard in the middle of the night.”
Pairing: Logan x Darcy
Rating: T, for language.
He wakes to the tinkling sounds of the dog’s collar, to his happy snuffles. This wouldn’t be unusual, but the sound is coming from outside and he knows the old mutt doesn’t leave his warm pillow by the couch for anything but food and walks. The doggie door was installed as a precaution really, and he’d never even seen him use it. Until now.
Logan is up like a shot from the bed, shoving his feet into boots, and he extends his claws for good measure. He creeps, as slowly as he can, into the kitchen and looks out the sliding glass door.
There’s a girl in the backyard.
She’s…playing with the dog?
She’s a dark bundle of puffy parka and darker hair as she reaches into the mutt’s fur and pets him.
“Aren’t you a handsome, handsome pupper! You’re so great and cute and sweet!” she croons, and the damned dog just takes it ecstatically, his snout pointed towards the sky exposing his neck for more scratchings.
“What the fuck,” he says to himself, blinking a few times to make sure he’s not still dreaming.
The digital clock above the stove reads 3:14am and he has no idea what the hell’s going on.
He sheathes his claws – judging by her complete lack of self-preservation (a parka and jeans for a night in the mountains, playing with some random dog), she is definitely a civilian.
The mutt knocks her over in his exuberance and she laughs uproariously, pulling the dog down with her.
He slides open the door and glares at the intruder.
“Who the hell are you?”
She weakly pushes his dog away and shoves herself upward with what looks like great effort.
“Darcy Lewis,” she answers, slightly unsteady on her feet. “Whoa…Heyyy, muscles…” she reaches over with her index finger, poised to poke his bicep.
He steps away, giving her a speculative look.
“You on somethin’, lady?”
“Rummmm!” the girl declares, lips stretched wide into a smile. “Mon Capitan Mooorgann!”
“Jesus Christ.”
“We’re camping for Janey’s pre-wedding shenanigans,” she explains, tripping and slurring over the last word. “Can you b’lieve?! Camping?! I tol’ her we should get Avengers themed strippers but she said no.” Darcy pouts, plump bottom lip jutting out. “Wanna see Fury in a thong!” she giggles, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue.
“We’d better get inside, it’s cold as fuck out here.”
“M’fine! I’ll just go back to camp, sorry ‘bout wakin’ you, Sir Beardly Man.”
“It’s Logan. And you’re not going anywhere like this. You’ll get lost and die of hypothermia before anythin’ else.”
“Hey! I can make it back! I’m a stong, independent, woman who don’t need no – uh-oh.”
And then she vomits. Right on his shoes.
Then there’s a horrible lurching sound he realizes is coming from her, and she’s on her hands and knees on the pine needle covered ground and she’s puking again, just a millisecond after he manages to step away.
Not that the damage isn’t already done.
He looks down at his ruined boots. “Fuck.” He grimaces.
“Fuck,” Darcy repeats, voice croaky. “I’m so sorry, I – “
“Just - just get in the house alright?”
She takes his proffered hand and with some effort, ends up upright again.
“Sure you don’t have a lady or gentleman friend in there who’d be mad at me?”
“What? No.”
“You sure? A big, brawny manly man like you?”
He leads the way, toeing off his boots outside the kitchen doors.
“Not for a long time,” he mumbles under his breath. To his horror, she hears it.
“Oh no!” she giggles, huge blue eyes slightly unfocused as she peers at him. “A dry spell, huh?” She stage-whispers, “Or…don’t tell me you’re a vir - a virge – “ Her brows furrow. “A Virginian?!”
He’s unable to help his burst of laughter. “I’m not a Virginian.”
She nods. “Okay. Oh, hey, is your buddy coming in?”
Logan lets out a short, high whistle and a ball of shaggy brown-black fur trots in after them.
Darcy smiles. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Dog.”
She peers at him disgustedly. “You named your dog, Dog. Not even Spot, but Dog?” she asks.
He shrugs and begins leading her to the bedroom.
She uses his bathroom (“There’s ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet!” he calls through the door) and he gets an extra blanket, then lays it at the foot of the bed.
“Gets cold up here at night. Or early morning,” he tells her gruffly, when she ambles into the bedroom.
Dog pads in after him and sits by the door, tongue lolling out while he watches them.
Darcy sits on the bed and begins to toe off her boots and take off her parka. Underneath, she’s all soft mossy-green sweater and even softer curves. He looks away and begins to fuss at Dog.
“Alright, Lumberjack McScruff, tuck me in.” She wiggles expectantly under the cover.
He swallows.
“Ain’t tuckin’ you in,” he rumbles, and adjusts the plaid blanket at the foot of the bed so it’s covering her feet.
“Thanks, guy,” she says, already halfway to sleep.
He grunts and runs a hand through his hair.
Darcy pats the spot next to her in bed. “C’mere, buddy,” she says in a lilting, sweet voice and something in him clenches.
“He’s not allowed on the furn – “
But it’s too late, because Dog sees his chance and happily bounds up on the bed and stretches himself alongside the girl. If he’s not mistaken, when the mutt cranes his head to stare back at him it’s with two big, brown, smug eyes.
He scowls. “Fine. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.” He turns to leave and thinks of one other thing. “Remember. Bathroom’s across the hall, please don’t puke on my bed.”
Darcy’s groan is muffled by blankets and dog fur from where they’re burrowing in next to each other. “I said I was sorry!”
He wakes up with the sun.
He pads to the kitchen sets up the old Mr. Coffee (“Yesss,” Darcy says when she wakes and sees what he’s made. “You’re a god among men.” And he raises a brow because no one can really think that, can they?). He sticks some frozen waffles that he forgot he had into the toaster.
They’re halfway through their meal when he looks at her, suddenly alarmed.
“When you were… “
“White girl wasted?” she finishes for him, stuffing an obscene portion of waffle and syrup and butter into her mouth.
He coughs. “Drunk. Did you happen to tell people where you were headed? ‘Cause…”
“Oh shit!” Darcy exclaims, and Dog, who’s back on his trusty pillow twitches his ears. She pulls out her phone. In a minute, she’s on the line with a woman who immediately screeches out a series of indecipherable exclamations.
“Nooo, Helen, no pterodactyl noises,” Darcy whimpers, and brings her free hand to rub at her temple. “My brain is trying to chisel its way out of my skull.”
They talk for a bit and then -
“I’m here with…Luke? I think?”
“Logan,” he corrects, taking orange juice out of the fridge and pouring himself a glass.
She pauses and turns to give him a very…thorough once-over, then her eyes round.
“Uhh. I’m pretty sure I’m here in a cabin with freaking Wolverine,” she intones into the phone and he nearly drops his glass onto the floor.
The woman on the phone chatters back excitedly and Darcy taps her foot. When she can get a word in, he gives Darcy directions (he’s not even a blip on a GPS) then she relays it to Helen.
“They haven’t left camp yet, so they’ll be here in ten,” Darcy says, tapping her phone off and taking a hearty gulp of the coffee.
“No problem.” He drinks his orange juice and licks the corner of his lip. “…Kinda nice talkin’ to another human, actually.”
“Yeah? You ever come back to join civilization every once in a while?”
“Nah.”
“You sure? Because I know where all the fun bars are and I’m pretty sure there a hot dude under that dead thing clinging to your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and glowers.
She smirks at him, not at all affected.
“Absolutely nothing,” she replies, words dripping sweetness and he has to remind himself that he should bring the glass to his lips.
Eventually, the crunch of tires on dirt and gravel interrupt them.
Two sharp honks sound outside, and Darcy winces. “Helen, I’mma kill you,” she gripes, and zips up her parka.
Darcy then turns to him with two big luminous eyes and a wickedly sharp smile.
She takes a random piece of paper from her pocket and hurriedly scribbles something onto it.
“My number,” she tells him, pinning him with a look from under her long lashes that makes the skin on his arms tingle. “In case you need ideas for new dog names.”
He nods once, brusquely, and takes the slip of paper from her. He shoves it into his back pocket without even looking at it.
“Darcy! Come on!” the lady in the car calls out. “We’re gonna be late for Spa Day!”
Darcy leaves.
He goes back to his life for a while; takes Dog out for walks, makes dinner for one. Studiously ignores any communications from Xavier.
It’s two weeks later, and Logan is staring at himself in the slightly streaky mirror above his pedestal sink. The bare bulb flickers.
He angles his head to the side, takes a pair of small scissors and begins trimming.
She picks up after two rings.
Logan doesn’t even bother with a greeting. “Spot,” he begins, “is clichéd as hell.”
Darcy Lewis doesn’t miss a beat and he can hear the smile in her voice when she responds.
“How about Rex, then?”
“That’s okay.” He pauses, runs a hand over his newly shorn beard. “Was thinkin’ Captain Morgan, though.”
Her answering warm laughter alights sparks all the way up his spine.
