Chapter Text
Logan growled and clenched his fist, preparing to strike a blow against his enemy. But before his punch could land home, a smaller hand caught his and a familiar voice said, "Do you need another dollar?"
He took a deep breath and turned away from the vending machine. "Laura? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Community service hours." Laura gestured at a "volunteer" badge hung around her neck on a lanyard.
"Oh. Here? I thought you were doing them at the, uh, the…"
"I did a few hours at the Boys and Girls Club, but it…didn't work out," she said. "So one of Mamá's old coworkers said I could volunteer here."
Logan scowled at her vague statement, unsure if she'd failed to tell him about the change of plans or if he'd failed to pay attention. Who was he kidding? The error was undoubtedly his. Just one more way he'd fucked up since becoming Laura's guardian six months ago. He was trying his best, but it had been a big jump from "not even knowing that a one-night stand fifteen years ago had resulted in a child" to "suddenly moving across the country to assume sole custody of aforementioned child following her mother's unexpected death."
In response to Logan's scowl, Laura added, "I told you about this. You signed the form."
He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Yeah, okay, sorry."
It turned out that, despite growing up without his influence, Laura was similar to Logan in some ways. Notably, she'd gotten in a fight at school--to defend another student, not that the school's bullshit Zero Tolerance policy cared about that--and now she had to do a fuck-ton of community service hours to make up for it. That asshole principal had said that normally Laura would have been expelled for her behavior but he was "making an exception" given Laura's "tragic circumstances." Logan was inclined to just tell the school to fuck off, but Laura asked him not to "cause a scene" and said that the volunteer hours would look good on her college applications. (There were some ways that Laura was very different from Logan, who'd just barely managed to graduate high school before joining the Army.)
She handed him a dollar. "Here. Just get another one and it'll knock it down, you don't have to break the glass."
He pushed the money back toward her, embarrassed. "Yeah. No, I--I just lost my temper." He pulled out his own wallet and paid for a second Slim Jim from the vending machine, which fortunately did succeed in knocking down the first, stuck one. Logan offered one to Laura. "You hungry?"
"I'm okay, thanks."
"Well--here, get yourself a drink, or, uh, whatever." He looked back in his wallet and realized all he had left was a $20 bill, but he handed it over.
"No, it's okay, Wade gave me money."
"Wade? Who's Wade?"
"He's a patient here, I'm volunteering with him." She turned to the soda machine and successfully purchased a bottle of ginger ale.
Logan felt his scowl returning. "Your volunteer work is to get soda for some guy at the Veterans Affairs hospital? Is this--is he--is this aboveboard?"
She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to make up for fifteen years of radio silence by being aggressively protective, Logan. I can handle myself. Especially since I'm volunteering in the cancer ward and I'm bringing him ginger ale while he does his chemotherapy session."
"I didn't--" Logan cut himself off, knowing he deserved her harsh words. "Well, I just…I've been to my share of VAs, I know how a lot of these guys are, so…" He cleared his throat.
"You don't have anything to worry about with Wade."
"Uh, can I meet him? If I don't have anything to worry about?"
She shrugged, which wasn't a "no," so Logan followed her down the hall, into the Maria Stark Memorial Cancer Ward. Logan blinked: it was much nicer than the dingy all-purpose room where his social worker-mandated AA meetings met, and yet he felt much more uncomfortable in this space.
But he'd asked, so he followed Laura past a reception area, down a hallway, and through a curtain into a small, clean cubicle, where a man sat alone on a fancy hospital recliner, intently playing a video game. If it weren't for the IV peeking out of his shirt, Logan wouldn't have thought he looked sick. He still had a full head of hair. In fact, he was…pretty attractive, not that Logan needed to be distracted with that right now.
Laura silently handed Wade the soda. He paused the game and said, "Thanks, kid! Keep the change."
"There wasn't any change."
"Wow. Inflation, huh? And this is Canada Dry, you'd think the price would be adjusted to Canadian currency--ooh, who's this?" he asked, abruptly noticing Logan.
She sighed. "This is my biological father, Logan."
"Damn, Laura, you didn't tell me your dad was a certified hottie!" Wade cheerfully extended his hand to Logan. "Hi Laura's dad, I'm Wade."
Logan awkwardly stuck his Slim Jims in his pocket and reached down to shake Wade's hand. "Uh. Hi. I was just--I was here for something else, and saw her at the vending machines, so--"
"He wanted to make sure you weren't a pedophile," Laura interjected.
"Ah! A sensible concern," Wade agreed. "Well, I'm not, though unfortunately that is exactly what I'd say if I were one." He sipped his ginger ale with a performatively thoughtful expression.
"I didn't say that," Logan grumbled.
"It was subtextual," Laura said.
"Anyway, if I were a pedophile--which, again, I am not--I think she'd be a little old for me, right?" Laura buried her face in her hands. Logan glared. Wade said, "Again, since I'm not, she's a little young for me. But you, on the other hand…" He looked at Logan and licked his lips.
Outside the curtain, a nurse said, "Knock, knock!" and parted the curtain before getting a response. "Hi, Mr. Wilson, just wanted to see how it's going in here."
Wade smiled broadly. "So far, so good! It barely feels like my immune system is being destroyed at all."
"Yes, well." The nurse eyed Logan pointedly and then said, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to press the call button."
"Thanks so much, Rosie-Posie, but I've got my gold star candy striper here, so I'm all set."
The nurse said, "Of course, Ms. Kinney is a wonderful volunteer--and just so you know, we no longer use the term 'candy striper'--but she can't provide you with any medications, so if your discomfort becomes unmanageable, do let me know."
Wade saluted. "I'm not much of a strong, silent type so I'm sure you'll be hearing from me soon. But for now, I'm just as fine as anyone else whose lungs are trying to secede from the rest of their body."
The nurse gave a terse smile and added, "And also, if you have any other visitors in the future, make sure they register at reception."
"Oh, uh, I'm not really a visitor," Logan said. "I'm just…"
"He's my father," Laura said. "He was in the area and wanted to see where I was volunteering. But he was just leaving."
Logan nodded.
"I see," the nurse said. "Well, thanks for visiting, Mr. Kinney. If you wish to return, just please do remember to check in."
Logan gritted his teeth and nodded again, not bothering to correct her about his name. He didn't wish to return to the cancer ward. He hated the hospital in general--the weird smell, the harsh lighting, the memories…it was bad enough having to come to meetings here, he wasn't looking for any extra time.
Wade said, "You're welcome back any time, Mr. Laura's Dad! You are some prescription-strength eye candy."
Laura closed her eyes. Logan said, "Uh. Nice meeting you," and left the treatment room without waiting for a response from anyone. He'd already embarrassed Laura enough.
He looked at his watch and opted to walk home rather than cram himself onto the next bus. He could use the fresh air--although calling the air anywhere in New York City "fresh" was a bit of a stretch. Especially when he compared it to the clean crispness of Alaska.
But it had been bad enough for poor Laura to lose her mother in a sudden accident and to end up saddled with him. He couldn't, in good conscience, have dragged her up north to finish up high school in Alaska. And if he was being honest with himself, he didn't really have much to leave behind. A shitty trailer, an easily-replaced construction job, and his name on the blacklist of pretty much every bar in town.
He chewed on a Slim Jim while he walked. He rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the ache in his back. When he got back to their apartment building, he checked the mail in the lobby. Not much: the light bill (which had, after many hours spent on hold, finally been transferred to his name), a Chinese restaurant menu, and some political candidate asking Gabriela Kinney for money. He immediately recycled the latter two and brought the bill upstairs to their apartment, where he found a NOTICE taped to the door. He peeled it off the door and took it inside. His stomach fell as he skimmed it, then sat down and re-read it.
Then he crumpled it up, threw it vaguely at the trash can, and headed to the liquor store.