Title: Elated
Paring: Logan Howlett X Reader
Warnings: none!
Spoilers: none!
Author's note: this was a request! I hope the requestee likes it (I can't seem to find your comment, I've lost it!).
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Under no circumstance whatsoever did you maybe ever leave the lab you and Dr Banner underwent experiments within. It was almost a rule: don't come out for anything, and if the world is ending, wait until someone comes to get you then. But today, when Stark buzzed through on his new video-holo intercom ("Now I can see you when you're focused and all cute-" "In your dreams, Stark!") all he said was four words.
"Wolverine's here for you."
At this, you frowned to your curly haired superior, lowering your clipboard. Dr Bruce Banner never got visitors; Betty Ross was as busy as him, and S. H. I. E. L. D. were no longer on his case anymore.
"________, would you mind turning all the Bunsen burners off, and accompanying me to see my guest?" Dr Banner asked you. "I have a feeling you would find an interest in him."
As you go to turn all nine burners off, you can't help but wonder, "Him? Who - who's Wolverine? Is he a superhero like the Avengers?"
Dr Banner hesitates. "Logan is a part of the X-Men; he's a mutant with a very specific skill set. I'm surprised you don't know about him already, with your current area of study for your PhD thesis."
You hesitate at the glass exit. "I'm an evolutionary biologist with extensive knowledge in applied physics to the human body, Dr Banner, not a fangirl ogling over a one-man soldier."
The scientist chuckles. "So you do know about him, ______?"
At this, you falter. "I hear stories, Dr Banner - he's quite the hero."
Your curly haired superior turns his lips into a wan smile, and turning, beckons you to follow. "Don't allow Mr Howlett to hear you say that. Now, let's not keep him waiting, we've a reputation to uphold."
Of what, being unsociable, reclusive nerds? your mind sasses, and thankfully, your mouth withholds.
Down in the foyer, Logan waits with an air of visible irritability. The leather-wearing hot-shot grated his teeth methodically, eyes flicking between the three visible Stark security cameras. He was no message boy - and he was no dog on a leash. The ashes of his vanquished enemies could back him up on that; Logan was not a piss-poor excuse of a runner.
But, today, he was.
With the flu catching at the X Mansion, all the regular kids, Warren, Kitty, hell, even Ororo down in the hospital wing with a wary Hank keeping an eye on them, the immune Wolverine was the last on the list to go...and for the first time, a considered candidate.
"The things I do for Charlie X," he grumbled under his breath.
Although, Logan couldn't argue with the decor. This Stark sure had an eye for style, and the place was one big window. What better policy for transparency than to physically display it? Logan chuckled. There was no freakin' way he would work - or forbid, live - in a place like this. He liked the smell of bears, and the woods and mud on the underside of his boots. When he finished his time teaching at the school, he'd build a nice little cabin on the border, hunt his food, stay away from annoying kids asking for extensions on homework and cocky villains.
"Logan! It's been too long!"
He's startled out of his revere by the familiar scent and voice of Bruce Banner - the recipient of the news. Why couldn't Professor Xavier just hurry up and sign up for Facebook like the rest of the world so he could sleep in and stay away from the Hulk?
He tilts his head, and slides from his perch. "I tend not to come back to people I fight too soon after," he reminds the scientist. As if anyone would forget the fatal fight, Wovlerine versus the Hulk? "Besides, it's Charles who got me out to give the news."
Bruce Banner nods. "I see. I suspect it's to do with the..." Logan doesn't know what the heck that word is. Too sciency. Too smart. He's too old to learn something that complex. "He said something about sending codes with you?"
Logan nods, but just as he's about to withdraw the thick wad of paper, he notices the figure beside the scientist. She's in a similar lab coat, with a kind smile and tired eyes as if they've been open and awake for far too long for a non-mutant, non-superpowered human. But there's no denying it: this girl is beautiful. And not in the hot-pant wearing, wicked barmaid way he's used to. It's...different.
She's beautiful.
"Who's your gal, doc?" Logan wonders.
She steps forward, and taking a hand from her coat, goes to him to shake it. "I'm ______ ______, soon to be Dr ______." Her face is dusted in a bright blush, a few strands of flyaway hair flying into her eyes. "It's good to finally meet the man behind the stories."
Logan raises a brow.
"I've told her of you at times," Dr Banner nods over her shoulder, "She's soon to be the first expert in mutant and human evolution in this century," he adds, "since it's become a tender subject, and all."
Logan harrumphs, and takes this as an opportunity to check you out, "Aint it so, doll."
For a moment, the flash before of Logan's dream home disappears from the eye of his mind. Sure, he'd love to live in the throes of nature, in a cocoon of trees like a hug, but now, he can't seem to just see flannels hanging in the wardrobe beside the work boots. He sees dresses and a labcoat and a photo above the wood-fireplace of -
"Would it be alright if I take the codes from you, Logan? Not to be rude, but I'm quite busy at the moment." Dr Banner interrupts his daydream.
Logan nods, and finishes fishing the papers from the depths of his leather jacket. "Sure, bub. Take care."
Fifteen minutes later, Bruce Banner's lab is not filled by only himself, but his assistant. She comes in as if on wobbly, unstable legs, breathless. For the first time, maybe ever, Bruce can see she is elated; not happy, not overjoyed. Elated.
"You're making oxytocin," he comments, methodically turning the burners on, walking the lab's length.
Wordlessly, _______ smiles, and from her pocket, withdraws a small slip of crumpled, yellowed paper. From where Bruce stands, he can tell it is an old docket from a grocery store, but he can't understand why ______ would be so worked up over a receipt.
"So?" he probes.
"He's going to call me when he gets back," she whispers. Her voice is shaky, but not the kind of shaky that has Bruce wondering if his coworker is of frail nerves. He was right in his initial assessment; she seems to be...simply in love.
"That's nice," he comments.
Almost an hour later, with all the experiments bubbling away under observation, he hears _______ mutter something under her breath.
"I'm going out with Wolverine!"