Where the Winds Come Sweeping Down the Plains

DISCLAIMER: Logan belongs to Marvel, Fox, etc. I'm pretty sure Hugh Jackman and everyone else in this story belong to themselves.

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OFFICIAL WEBSITE ADDRESS: http://www.wxfonline.com/hominus

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Blame this on watching Oklahoma! too many times in one week.

Jean shifted restlessly in her seat as Scott valiantly stifled another giggle. He'd been alternating between chuckling and giggling ever since he'd heard that Logan's job as a security double was going to land him on a stage in the middle of London. He'd even managed a guffaw. Until that moment, Jean hadn't been certain it was humanly possible to guffaw. Now she knew.

"Scott, please."

"But Jean, this is Logan we're talking about, Mr. I'm-Gonna-Punch-You-In-The-Face-And-Then-Kiss-Your-Girl. He's going to be up there, any minute, singing and dancing-" Scott devolved into a quivering mass of chuckles.

*God grant me the serenity to live with the fact that I'm dating a man with the emotional maturity of a gnat*

On the other side of Scott, Jean saw Emma Frost's lips part in a feline grin.

*Listening to other people's thoughts isn't nice, Emma*

*Jean, lighten up. Besides, he'll stop laughing soon enough.*

*You aren't really going to take his money, are you?*

*Count on it.*

Jean and Emma's telepathic exchange was cut short by a snigger from Scott.

"Scott, he's protecting that man as part of his job. Who knows what could happen to him during that fight scene. Someone might slip in a real knife. Deranged fans aren't funny."

Scott stopped laughing and looked at Jean apologetically.

"I'm sorry."

"I know," Jean said. "Let's just watch the show."

*Emma, whatever the bet was, get him to double it before Logan appears on stage.*

* * * * *

"Mr. Logan"

Carefully hidden behind the scenery, Logan looked over his shoulder at his employer. What the hell did she want? Didn't she know he was busy?

"Lady," he said, his voice a harsh whisper, "what the hell are you doing? My cue is coming up." He frowned and adjusted his suspenders. The damn things never stayed up.

Lindsey, the publicist, started at the broad expanse of Logan's bare chest, her ability to think coherently temporarily impaired. It was quite a sight really. On opening night it had received a standing ovation.

"You wanted something," he said, his lips curling in a cocky grin. It happened every damn time.

"We-," she said, her eyes following the narrow path of hair that trailed down his abdomen and disappeared behind the waistband of his pants. "Ahem. That's to say that I have your next assignment."

Logan frowned. This job had ended up okay. His double was happy to go home early to see the wife and kid every night and Logan got most of the night off. But, he still wasn't feeling confident about the projects the guy was choosing. Hell, next he'd probably have him running around in some bodice ripper of a chick flick.

"You don't have to look so grumpy about it," she said playfully. "You'll like this one. It's very macho."

Logan nodded. He'd believe her concept of macho when he heard it.

"Hugh's been cast in his first American film. Isn't that fantastic. It's called X-Men, and-" Logan stopped listening as the woman droned on and on. Someone was filming a movie about the X-Team? Chuck was gonna shit. So much for their cover. "-uy named Wolverine. He has things that come out of his hands."


"Like these?"

Lindsey stared at the six blades of glinting metal in rapt fascination.


"Um," she said, swallowing against a lump in her throat, "he might not be that well endowed."

Logan shook his head. The woman was insane. And, that was a lot coming from a guy with memory implants and PTSD nightmares.

"Logan," a tall brunette in a floral dress walked up quickly to join them, "that's our cue."

"Leave my itinerary in the dressing room," he said as he walked through the prop door and out on to the stage. "I'll find it."

* * * * *

Scott silently handed Emma Frost five hundred dollars. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. Logan had actually gotten a standing ovation for walking out on stage without a shirt on. He-

"Scott, your mouth is hanging open."

Scott drew his lips together, teeth clicking loudly. The muscle in his jaw pulsed rhythmically.

Logan was laughing at him. Somehow, some way, he knew that Logan was laughing at him.

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