Work Text:
Mike Logan
Every good story should start on a beach. This one starts in five feet of snow on a day cold enough to freeze the nuts off a squirrel. It was late January, and we were snowed in. Bobby and Alex seemed okay-- they were getting ready for the baby who was due sometime in June, and Zach was determined to reread the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy by March, but only one day into our imprisonment and I was already going stir crazy. I tried to keep busy, I swear! The cabin had been left to Alex by her mother when she'd passed away last May. It was surprisingly big: it had a small library, two bathrooms, a kitchen and three decent sized bedrooms. Alex and Bobby had the master bedroom, Carolyn took the single in the back, and I shared a room with Zachary “my goal in life to be the strangest police officer in the history of forever” Nichols. Megan had done the smart thing and went to live with her mom and kid after we escaped from that freaky medical facility. We still don't know what the hell that was about. None of us do. Before we got snowed in we took turns driving to the city to check up on the rebuilding process. The final death toll was estimated to be about half the population. As it turned out, two thirds of everyone else was magically transformed into some kind of mythical creature. Speaking of which, being a werewolf wasn't that bad. The first full moon was a little tough, but I got through it. My roommate was actually pretty helpful; he was the only one with any experience in that area.
“The first transformation is always the hardest.” Zach told me. “At least, that's what I've heard from my theriathrope buddies.”
“Ther-what-what?”
“Therianthrope. Shapeshifter. Werebeast. Whatever you want to call them.”
“Ooookay.”
“You'll want to transform outside-- that's, ah... so you don't knock anything over. Mass translates directly, so you'll probably be about...” he trailed off and raised his hand a few feet off the floor.
“What the hell are you implying?” I asked. Zach's big buggy eyes got even buggier.
“Nothing! I'm not... implying anything!”
“Alright, alright, calm down. Anything else do I need to know?”
“Leave a bathrobe on the porch.”
Alex Eames
I am going to kill Mike Logan. He's been driving us all crazy with his cabin fever. Some days I wonder why Bobby doesn't just toss him out the window into the snow. He could handle it. Zach told us that werewolves and the like can change whenever they want to, but during a full moon it's not a choice. Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like if I had married him instead of Bobby. We slept together a few times when we were partners, but I suppose it was Bobby captured my heart. We'd been through so much together, and there had always been an undercurrent of attraction that neither of us could acknowledge until after Bobby retired and I became captain of Major Case. I don't regret marrying him, though. The larger I get the more affectionate he becomes. Most nights I wake up with him curled around my stomach, his large hands resting on my sides.
I don't think Bobby has a lot of good memories of winter. He told me once that Christmas had been a trial instead of a celebration thanks to his mother's schizophrenia. That's gotta change. We managed to have a pretty nice holiday this year, despite the whole “end of the world as we know it” thing. I got Bobby a book I'd bought back in August that he'd had his eye on. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry was a book he'd remembered from his childhood, one of the few good memories about his mother and the man he'd thought was his father he retained. He practically burst out crying when he unwrapped it Christmas morning. Instead he'd given me an enormous Bobby Goren-style hug and kiss right in front of my sister and her kids.
Sigh. Beautiful or not, the damn snow better melt soon. Logan's not the only one getting bored.
Bobby Goren
Being snowed in was never a good thing when I was a child. Any reprieve from my mother's illness was a blessing, even if it meant getting shoved in a snow bank on my way there. Still, I can't deny Alex's delight at the snow. And it is beautiful-- pure and sparkling like a fresh sheet of paper, unmarked by the pencil marks of snow plows, shovels and people trudging through the cold and frost to get the mail. Like so many other things, it was Alex who helped me appreciate the beauty of winter.
I still can't believe she fell in love with me. It was a long shot. I was quitting the force for good and I wanted to let her know how I felt before I left New York for good. I ended up staying, not only because she'd asked me to marry her. Sometimes I still have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. Like the day she told me she was pregnant I nearly fainted and had to sit down. I was going to be a father! If you'd told me a couple years ago that now I'd be married to the woman of my dreams and that she would be carrying my child I would have laughed in your face. Or punched you. Depends on when and where you asked.
Even though we're both looking forward to being parents, I can't help wondering whether the baby will eventually develop symptoms of schizophrenia. Hell, I worry about a lot of things. Alex and me getting older, for one. She's nearly fifty and I'm already fifty-one. Although, now that we're immortal fairies, that may not be as much of a big deal. I can already feel myself getting younger. I spotted a black hair lurking in the front half of my scalp the other day. The liver spots I swore I saw on the side of my neck are disappearing. My bum knee doesn't hurt as much any more either. For the first time in years I can go up and down the stairs without stopping to rest the damn thing. And Alex! She's always been incredibly beautiful, I noticed the crow's feet on her eyes are mysteriously shrinking.
Also, I never had a good father figure, as a kid or an adult. The man I thought was my father was a gambling womaniser, Declan kidnapped Alex and murdered the only family I had left, and the less said about Mark Ford Brady the better. Alex keeps trying to reassure me I’ll be a great parent. I suppose she's partly right-- at least I know what not to do as a father.
I need to get out of this cabin. I worry too much when I stay in one place too long.
The snowstorm lasted three days. When they finally got out of the cabin, Mike was the first to volunteer to drive up to the city. As it turned out, New Yorkers were doing what they'd always done after a disaster-- they'd adapted and thrived.