As cryptic as his directions are, Kurt knows a little about the way Logan's mind works. He's on his way home from the party as it is, wandering through the quiet night as it wraps Deerington, when impatience overtakes caution. With a bamf of air and a billow of smoke, he disappears from one place and reappears just outside the front door of the cabin. He could have landed further away to try and hide it from Logan, knowing the older man disapproves of his using his teleportation while it's still a risk, but at close quarters he knows his partner will sniff it out anyway, so he doesn't bother.
As he comes through the cabin he stops at the kitchen cupboards to root out a bottle of whiskey that has somehow gone untouched by the rest of the cabin. With it dangling from one hand, he heads up the newly installed stairs, his steps a little wearier than usual.
The cabin smells faintly of fresh cut cedar, and though the fire smoulders just enough to cut the damp of spring, it's not enough to warm the place too much.. At least not into the upper reaches of second floor where the the earthy smell of the woods is so heavy it seems a window must have been left open.
Instead, there's a whole new window up there. A pair of glass doors tall enough, from floor to ceiling to let the moonlight over the lake pour into bedroom and Logan, with one foot on the floor, rocks himself in a hammock hung from the ceiling joists there in front of those balcony doors.
"If I knew you were gonna 'port home, I'd have come get you in the truck," he says. Despite his chiding, his smile is warm and welcoming as he takes in at the sight of Kurt with that bottle in hand.
"I was impatient," Kurt points out, wandering slowly into the room, "and tired".
In their newly desaturated world, he's almost invisible in even the briefest shadow, and practically disappears in the deepest parts of the dark room. But the moonlight runs a silver edge over his fur as he steps into it, drinking in the sight of Logan in the hammock. He raises his eyebrows, a smile threatening but not quite finding his expression.
"If I'd known you missed my pirate themed Danger Room programs that much I would have dressed for the occasion."
He's not an easy man to bring to all out laugh, but there are specific little sounds of amusement reserved for different people. Like when Kurt takes it upon himself to sass him. The quiet little laugh rumbles in his chest, inspiring him of course, to give as good as he gets. "Was that the first thing you did when you landed here? Made sure your swashbuckling outfit was in order? Whatchu got to drink there smart-ass?"
"Come make sure this thing can hold the both of us."
"Something tells me you've already made sure of that," he points out, but does as he's told. Even with Logan's considerable weight, the hammock is clearly sturdy, and at a comfortable height from the floor; it's not difficult at all for him to climb on, settling for a seat in Logan's lap with one leg either side and his bare feet on the floor. Once comfortable, he uncorks the whiskey, takes a long pull, shudders lightly at the heat blooming in his chest, then offers it to Logan.
"For your information," he continues, "my swashbuckling outfit is always in order."
Unsurprisingly, Kurt finds a seat on top of him with a lot more grace and ease than Jean-Paul managed to. And Logan makes absolutely no modest effort to conceal the way he watches the other man move, reaching out for the thighs that straddle him like the attraction is magnetic and raking the fur on his belly into every which direction while his partner tilts that bottle up for drink.
"Priorities," he grumbles as he swallows a drink that leaves his throat feeling warm and dry.
"Two truths and a lie. You guess it, I drink. You miss it, you drink." He smiles with one hand on Kurt's thigh and the other on their bottle. "I'm gonna assume I actually pulled this off without you figuring out what I was up to unless you tell me otherwise. I mighta texted some threats to your mom. And this is the first drink I've had all day."
The warmth of the alcohol is matched by the furrows of heat that Logan's fingertips draw through his fur under his shirt. He raises his eyebrows, amused, as the older man outlines the game, but as he continues something slides ice cold into the pit of his stomach and freezes the expression on his face.
"I watched you drink a beer this morning, Logan, this is too easy," he manages after a moment. He's able to do the math on the rest, and picks up the bottle even though it isn't his turn. After another long swig, he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, then rubs his palm across his face. "I can't believe you did that. You know what she is capable of and here you are provoking her! Gott! And you lecture me about responsibility!"
He manages to hold on to a little of his gracefulness as he climbs off of Logan again, stalking out onto the new balcony.
The realization that something that feels so insignificant —so second nature— has inspired in Kurt such honest upset is not just one that comes over him more slowly than it should, but puts a weight upon his chest that leaves him looking as much confused as he is concerned.
"Whoa, whoa, hey c'mon now. It wasn't like that—" he scrambles to try and capture what little hold he can secure on Kurt before he slips out of reach. "I wasn't provoking anything! And I don't recall lecturin' you about nuthin' least of all responsibility." It's not so large a balcony that the man gets terribly far, but sitting there alone again watching Kurt's back easily feels like there are acres between them.
"I just... I just told her to keep her distance," he mutters, shoulders rounded with the defeat of feeling damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. "And I'm tellin' you. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Though it's not an especially cold night, Kurt feels only the chill of the air outside as he leans against the new wood of the balcony railing, his head in one hand, the whiskey bottle in the other. Logan's words sting against his back like tiny stones; the smell of the freshly worked wood is all around him, a reminder of the older man's quietly tireless efforts to create a space for him in his life.
"It is," he agrees softly. If there was any fight or fire left in him, it doesn't have the energy to be sustained very long. He straightens up a little and turns back to look at Logan, then pushes himself off the rail to return inside.
"I know, I'm sorry." With a flick of his hand, he gestures for Logan to lie back down again so he can return to his previous position. "Two truths and a lie, ja?" He raises the bottle, his golden eyes glittering with unshed tears. "This is not the first drink I've had all day, I definitely knew what you were up to up here, and there's nothing that frightens me more than the idea of losing what we've made together. What you've made. That's what scares me more than the idea that she might hurt me. That she might hurt you instead."
Jean-Paul warned him of this. But it was too discouraging a notion to want to believe it. That even in doing what'd been asked of him Kurt would be upset. It's not the possibility of being wrong that casts such doubt on his capacity to make any of them happy as it is the sinking feeling that every effort to get it right has only driven something else between them.
The desire to understand his own missteps burns at him from the inside, but when instinct only seems to lead him astray he swallows the urge to press for explanation or anything that runs the risk of fuelling Kurt's frustration.
"I'm not gonna do nothin' to make her," he promises. "I'm not lookin' to make more enemies here than we already got." He doesn't lie down exactly, but he sits himself back again, reclining in that swing like a chair and offering the space next to him like he's uncertain if Kurt will take it.
Kurt takes to that offered space like a man looking for a bit of driftwood to hold on to. He folds himself into it, tucking his feet under himself and leaning the side of his head against Logan's shoulder with a sigh, maybe a little too eager to repair the hole he's torn in the other man's honest attempt to please him.
"I wish I knew what to do," he murmurs, looking out of those wide windows at the bowl of the night sky above them. "I know I shouldn't feel.. responsible for her, Logan, but I can't ignore her presence here. Or what it might mean for us." He gazes down at the bottle in his hand, rubbing the glass with his thumb. The words don't come easily. "She.. I've tried so hard to find a way to forgive her, to find that forgiveness in myself, but no matter how much I pray for guidance, no matter what I do, all I can feel is anger. And.. I don't know how to deal with that."
The more missteps he makes the more he struggles to feel capable of the kind of consolation he knows Kurt deserves. But even if caution punctuates his gestures he hangs his arm around Kurt's shoulders, hoping the man knows him well enough to fashion whatever comfort he needs around the rough edges of a man who's never been much known for his warmth.
Of all the troubles he's fit to deliberate on though, anger, he imagines, has to be high on that list. "She's... got a long list to atone for, Elf. I know you're not most people, but most people wouldn't have it in'em to forgive that many trespasses." He pushes the hair back from Kurt's face just enough to be able to see the brightness of his eyes. "I'm not sayin' you shouldn't forgive'er. I'm just sayin'... who's insisting that you do? That's a standard you're holdin' yourself to, darlin', that no one else is."
"You got a right to be angry. That's what's left when trust burns up."
Logan's words more than make sense. Kurt knows, if their positions were reversed, he would be giving very similar advice. But, as is often the case, it's far more difficult to apply those lessons to himself than to offer them to others; from the inside, it feels like something heavy and complicated, a weight he's grown too used to carrying. Part of him wants to argue against what his partner offers, to shape something that will allow him to ignore those careful words, but he can't quite find the energy, so he pulls himself in a little closer under that strong arm and sighs instead.
"I know," he mutters finally, knowing that it doesn't sound particularly convincing. He glances around at the supports of the hammock, trying to bring his focus back out of the muddy pool of his past.
"I'm sorry I ruined your surprise with my family drama. This is really very lovely, it will be so nice in the summer."
He's no stranger to being on the receiving end of well meaning but less-than-impactful advise. In fact, it's why he largely avoids trying to advise anyone on anything. Here though, the desperation and helplessness in everything from Kurt's words to the way his tail coils up around him makes him reach for all the useless platitudes he has in the hopes something, anything, might be used to dress a wound. Even temporarily.
Tilting towards Kurt he buries his nose in the younger man's hair. "Don't be. I know it don't fix nuthin'."
"And try not to feel like this is a you problem, sweetheart. It's not. If it's family drama, then we're family, ain't we?" As soon as the words leave his lips he realizes there's a way to answer that which could very well take a toll on him he wasn't anticipating this conversation would and rather than wait hopefully for the answer he wants, he talks around it until it doesn't matter so much. "Anyway, I known her a long time, Elf. Longer than you been born. She wasn't much different when I first met her than she is now. So how can you tell yourself you're the one saddled with tryna change her? S'just not fair. And I don't have a habit of lettin' people get away with bein' unfair t'you."
"Not even when the person being unfair to me is me?"
He cracks a font and somewhat wry grin in Logan's direction and shifts slightly against him, curling up more along his side. The breeze from the open windows ruffles over his fur; he lifts his face a little to feel it, then chases the question with a swallow of whiskey. Offering the bottle to Logan, he finds the words to continue.
"It's like you said, we're family." He sighs softly, absently reaching up to stroke Logan's arm, running his fingertips along the invisible lines above his claws. "And so is she, whether I like it or not."
"Especially when yer bein' unfair to you," the smile that graces his features to say so is a slight but hopeful one. Optimistic that while he hasn't solved a god damn thing he can still maybe be a pleasant distraction from the questions and concerns that plague him.
Nothing goes better with unsatisfying conversations than liquor. He helps himself to a substantial drink when Kurt offers him the bottle— realizing then it's not a bottle he recognizes and wonders briefly where Kurt's been squirrelling it away. A thought that's quickly interrupted by the echo of his own mind trying to replay those words, Kurt's voice, over and over again, as if to commit them to permanent memory as soon as possible. He obscures the smile it puts on his face with the neck of that bottle when he takes another drink.
"Blood's a matter chance, darlin'. She's family. Just so far as you wanna let her be.
"Well, if anyone knows what that's like, it's you, Liebling," Kurt points out, his tone much drier than the fond look in his eyes as he studies what he can see of Logan's expression.
A conclusion apparently reached on that front -- or as much of one as he has the energy to find -- he sighs and rubs a hand around the back of his neck, then winces and makes a face as his palm comes away with more than a few loose strands of indigo fur. He brushes it away on his leg.
"Ugh, see? Now I'm stress shedding. This is what she does to me."
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You're her son. Not her keeper.
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I know you'd say something similar if we were talking about Daken.
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That's different. She's the parent.
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I need to get drunk. can we do that please?
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Yes. Come here and get sauced with me. I got somethin' for you.
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where is "here"?
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action
As he comes through the cabin he stops at the kitchen cupboards to root out a bottle of whiskey that has somehow gone untouched by the rest of the cabin. With it dangling from one hand, he heads up the newly installed stairs, his steps a little wearier than usual.
"Logan?"
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Instead, there's a whole new window up there. A pair of glass doors tall enough, from floor to ceiling to let the moonlight over the lake pour into bedroom and Logan, with one foot on the floor, rocks himself in a hammock hung from the ceiling joists there in front of those balcony doors.
"If I knew you were gonna 'port home, I'd have come get you in the truck," he says. Despite his chiding, his smile is warm and welcoming as he takes in at the sight of Kurt with that bottle in hand.
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In their newly desaturated world, he's almost invisible in even the briefest shadow, and practically disappears in the deepest parts of the dark room. But the moonlight runs a silver edge over his fur as he steps into it, drinking in the sight of Logan in the hammock. He raises his eyebrows, a smile threatening but not quite finding his expression.
"If I'd known you missed my pirate themed Danger Room programs that much I would have dressed for the occasion."
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"Come make sure this thing can hold the both of us."
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"Something tells me you've already made sure of that," he points out, but does as he's told. Even with Logan's considerable weight, the hammock is clearly sturdy, and at a comfortable height from the floor; it's not difficult at all for him to climb on, settling for a seat in Logan's lap with one leg either side and his bare feet on the floor. Once comfortable, he uncorks the whiskey, takes a long pull, shudders lightly at the heat blooming in his chest, then offers it to Logan.
"For your information," he continues, "my swashbuckling outfit is always in order."
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"Priorities," he grumbles as he swallows a drink that leaves his throat feeling warm and dry.
"Two truths and a lie. You guess it, I drink. You miss it, you drink." He smiles with one hand on Kurt's thigh and the other on their bottle. "I'm gonna assume I actually pulled this off without you figuring out what I was up to unless you tell me otherwise. I mighta texted some threats to your mom. And this is the first drink I've had all day."
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"I watched you drink a beer this morning, Logan, this is too easy," he manages after a moment. He's able to do the math on the rest, and picks up the bottle even though it isn't his turn. After another long swig, he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, then rubs his palm across his face. "I can't believe you did that. You know what she is capable of and here you are provoking her! Gott! And you lecture me about responsibility!"
He manages to hold on to a little of his gracefulness as he climbs off of Logan again, stalking out onto the new balcony.
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"Whoa, whoa, hey c'mon now. It wasn't like that—" he scrambles to try and capture what little hold he can secure on Kurt before he slips out of reach. "I wasn't provoking anything! And I don't recall lecturin' you about nuthin' least of all responsibility." It's not so large a balcony that the man gets terribly far, but sitting there alone again watching Kurt's back easily feels like there are acres between them.
"I just... I just told her to keep her distance," he mutters, shoulders rounded with the defeat of feeling damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. "And I'm tellin' you. Isn't that what you wanted?"
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"It is," he agrees softly. If there was any fight or fire left in him, it doesn't have the energy to be sustained very long. He straightens up a little and turns back to look at Logan, then pushes himself off the rail to return inside.
"I know, I'm sorry." With a flick of his hand, he gestures for Logan to lie back down again so he can return to his previous position. "Two truths and a lie, ja?" He raises the bottle, his golden eyes glittering with unshed tears. "This is not the first drink I've had all day, I definitely knew what you were up to up here, and there's nothing that frightens me more than the idea of losing what we've made together. What you've made. That's what scares me more than the idea that she might hurt me. That she might hurt you instead."
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The desire to understand his own missteps burns at him from the inside, but when instinct only seems to lead him astray he swallows the urge to press for explanation or anything that runs the risk of fuelling Kurt's frustration.
"I'm not gonna do nothin' to make her," he promises. "I'm not lookin' to make more enemies here than we already got." He doesn't lie down exactly, but he sits himself back again, reclining in that swing like a chair and offering the space next to him like he's uncertain if Kurt will take it.
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"I wish I knew what to do," he murmurs, looking out of those wide windows at the bowl of the night sky above them. "I know I shouldn't feel.. responsible for her, Logan, but I can't ignore her presence here. Or what it might mean for us." He gazes down at the bottle in his hand, rubbing the glass with his thumb. The words don't come easily. "She.. I've tried so hard to find a way to forgive her, to find that forgiveness in myself, but no matter how much I pray for guidance, no matter what I do, all I can feel is anger. And.. I don't know how to deal with that."
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Of all the troubles he's fit to deliberate on though, anger, he imagines, has to be high on that list. "She's... got a long list to atone for, Elf. I know you're not most people, but most people wouldn't have it in'em to forgive that many trespasses." He pushes the hair back from Kurt's face just enough to be able to see the brightness of his eyes. "I'm not sayin' you shouldn't forgive'er. I'm just sayin'... who's insisting that you do? That's a standard you're holdin' yourself to, darlin', that no one else is."
"You got a right to be angry. That's what's left when trust burns up."
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"I know," he mutters finally, knowing that it doesn't sound particularly convincing. He glances around at the supports of the hammock, trying to bring his focus back out of the muddy pool of his past.
"I'm sorry I ruined your surprise with my family drama. This is really very lovely, it will be so nice in the summer."
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Tilting towards Kurt he buries his nose in the younger man's hair. "Don't be. I know it don't fix nuthin'."
"And try not to feel like this is a you problem, sweetheart. It's not. If it's family drama, then we're family, ain't we?" As soon as the words leave his lips he realizes there's a way to answer that which could very well take a toll on him he wasn't anticipating this conversation would and rather than wait hopefully for the answer he wants, he talks around it until it doesn't matter so much. "Anyway, I known her a long time, Elf. Longer than you been born. She wasn't much different when I first met her than she is now. So how can you tell yourself you're the one saddled with tryna change her? S'just not fair. And I don't have a habit of lettin' people get away with bein' unfair t'you."
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He cracks a font and somewhat wry grin in Logan's direction and shifts slightly against him, curling up more along his side. The breeze from the open windows ruffles over his fur; he lifts his face a little to feel it, then chases the question with a swallow of whiskey. Offering the bottle to Logan, he finds the words to continue.
"It's like you said, we're family." He sighs softly, absently reaching up to stroke Logan's arm, running his fingertips along the invisible lines above his claws. "And so is she, whether I like it or not."
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Nothing goes better with unsatisfying conversations than liquor. He helps himself to a substantial drink when Kurt offers him the bottle— realizing then it's not a bottle he recognizes and wonders briefly where Kurt's been squirrelling it away. A thought that's quickly interrupted by the echo of his own mind trying to replay those words, Kurt's voice, over and over again, as if to commit them to permanent memory as soon as possible. He obscures the smile it puts on his face with the neck of that bottle when he takes another drink.
"Blood's a matter chance, darlin'. She's family. Just so far as you wanna let her be.
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A conclusion apparently reached on that front -- or as much of one as he has the energy to find -- he sighs and rubs a hand around the back of his neck, then winces and makes a face as his palm comes away with more than a few loose strands of indigo fur. He brushes it away on his leg.
"Ugh, see? Now I'm stress shedding. This is what she does to me."