2007-08-04: A Matter Of Ego


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Summary: It's not their strength that makes them similar: it's what makes them weak.

Dark Future Date: August 4th, 2009

A Matter Of Ego

Marriott Marquis

Do Presidents get days off? No, not really, as reports and documents that need his signature fill in the day. But it's as close as it comes, the closest of Logan's staff taking care of everything even more so than usual and right now? He is perfectly content in letting them run his country. Maybe they can be targeted for a change, WHO KNOWS. Either way. It's late night, and Logan is seated at a desk. Barefoot, casual pants and a slightly rumpled shirt, he's seen better days. Only one arm takes up a sleeve, the other side simply draped with the shirt, pulled over his sling to button once in the middle.

Incidentally? He's not left handed. Thank you, Molly Walker.

Staring blankly down at the official looking sheaths of paper in front of him, he's almost glad for the distraction when there's a knock in the door. Getting up, he makes his way across the room.

That knock? It's probably someone on the President's security detail letting him know he has a … "visitor". A visitor who knows exactly where he is.

That visitor would be none other than Jessica, who is currently in the process of convincing the agents in the hallway that she's harmless as a tiny fluffy kitten. Her hands are at the back of her head, just incase they'd like to be extra sure she doesn't have any threatening weapons on her. Where would she put them, if she did? The woman is a rather dazzling sight, let's not be modest: she's dressed for an elegant evening out in a silky black backless dress, diamonds around her neck and dangling from her ears. Tousled, her hair is free around her shoulders — which would be bare, save for an black shoulder wrap as elegant as her dress. Little do they know, could be the weapon if that's what she was here for. She's giving the government staff a friendly smile, a flash of white teeth. "We're old friends."

Logan looks blankly at the agent who knocked on the door, before his gaze slides towards Jessica, and he simply raises an eyebrow. Mostly at what she's wearing. "We are," he confirms, and both agents give him a dubious look. It's a look that reads 'look what happened last time you talked to someone without clearance', but he doesn't give them time to take control of the situation, left hand coming out to grip the edge of the door, pushing it open a little wider. "Very good friends." If that's not hint enough…! But it is. The agents glance at each other, then resume their positions, flanking the door. Logan's easy smile drops away and he lifts his chin to her, turning and moving back into the suite. "I wasn't expecting to see you so soon."

Turning an ever-so-grateful smile on the agents, sweet as pie, Jessica steps toward the door. As she moves between the two men flanking the door, she winks at one of them, before sauntering all the way into the suite. Her pleasant smile doesn't fade right away - instead, it lingers, becoming gradually more like its more typical smirk bit by bit as she looks Logan up and down. Slooowly. "What happened to your arm?"

Nothing. It's just a flesh wound! No, he can't pass off extensive bandaging and a tight sling as anything but serious, so he doesn't even attempt to lie about. "I got shot," Logan says, catching that look up and down and offering her a wry smile. "I apologise for my appearance, I didn't think this was a formal occasion." If he's in any pain, it only shows in the slightly pale tone to his skin. Otherwise, one can assume that if it really was a bullet wound, he must be on some amazing medication right now.

Jessica thumbs a fastener just under her collarbone, undoing the wrap around her shoulders. She lets it fall where it will, sliding silky-smooth over her shoulders. There, only half-hidden under the left strap of her dress, is a bandage, stained by a fresh bloom of red. Her arm isn't in a sling, but maybe it should be. "Mirror, mirror," she says, reaching out to trail a finger down Logan's bandaging. She's a little paler than usual, herself, but it's mostly disguised by good cosmetics. There's just a faint sheen of sweat on her skin. "We need better security, you and me."

His gaze is drawn to the bandaging, that bloom of red, and he actually lets out a laugh, a short rasping chuckle. It's halted when she touches the bandages, and he shakes his head. "I'm sick of mirrors," Logan tells her, good hand reaching up to brush his fingertips down the edge of her her bandaging… but quickly dancing away to trail up the curve of her throat. "What happened?"

"A ghost." Hello, bitterness. You know that saying 'the past comes back to haunt you'? This leads her around to business. Jessica turns away from Logan, striding a few paces into the suite. "I need you to redo our contracts. We have a … problem." Before he can say anything, she adds firmly, looking over her shoulder — the uninjured side with the black helix visible outside of her dress, "I'm taking care of it." Well, that's nice and vague. The woman's tone turns casual on a dime. "That's part of the deal, right? I'll watch your back, you'll watch mine."

Business, not pleasure. What a shame. Logan slides his good hand into a pocket and strolls after her, eyes narrowing. "Oh you are?" he asks dryly, rhetorically, a stronger emotion breaking through the otherwise slightly drugged haze he'd been enjoying and adding a certain snap to his tone. "Yeah, that's the deal, but the idea was that it stays between us. Who the hell knows enough about it to give us trouble?"

It's always business with Jessica; it's just that sometimes, pleasure is the means to the end. "Someone who's supposed to be dead," she answers, managing to express her extreme displeasure into her voice, eyes narrowing. "So we'll rush the paperwork," she says with a little smile, as if it's that easy. Swiftly, her jaw sets hard. "He wants to ruin everything I've worked for. Bet he doesn't much like you, either."

His other arm goes out in a gesture, a sort of shrug. "Find someone who does," Logan says, voice as casual as you please. Possibly bravado, but if one hangs around Logan for long, one gets the sense that he genuinely doesn't care who likes him and who doesn't. "There'll be no 'rushing' the paperwork, but I'll see what I can do. In case you didn't realise, I have a lot on my plate right now." He manages, though, to push the irritation out of his voice, and puts on a smile for Jessica, walking back up to her at a slow saunter. "No one can touch us. The world's at our feet, remember." And yet, they're both bandaged. But still standing.

"You'll have more on your plate without my resources." Battle of egos. Battle of alter-egos? Jessica turns to fully face Logan. "The world," she mimics. No one can touch us. She thinks of D.L. He's the one who can't be touched. She pulls out of her literal thoughts to regard the President evenly. That's all she does for a moment, watches with her intense stare, as if gauging his expression, his thoughts. If her critical look is any indication, she does a good job of reading him like a book. Who's to say.

Nathan was the readable one. Logan? Less so. Things that are shown are superficial - lingering pain from his injury, weariness, frustration, as well as that careful blank apathy that is almost his signature state of mind. "And what will you be without mine?" he states, coldly. You're the one who needs me. No, you are! Let's get out a ruler, shall we. "I'll have the contracts when I have them. Until then, you'll have to watch your own back until everything is signed off like it should be."

"I'd survive." Jessica's lips curve up into another smirk, broader and more devious - and also the kind that tends to mean she's holding something back, a hidden amusement. She glances sidelong, seeming thoughtful behind her cool eyes. "You face off against all kinds of… threats. What would you do," she tips her chin up, brow furrowing by a degree. "To get rid of someone who could walk through anything?"

They all have cards they keep close to their chests, no doubt, even if they're on the same side. Team. Something. Logan's eyes narrow a little at her smirk, but he doesn't pursue this. Ultimately, it won't matter. It's this next question that poses a problem, and his own mouth twists into a smile. A sort of 'oh ho, you are in trouble' amusement. "You turn up to the fight first," he suggests, casually. "Give me some info on this guy and I can hand it off to Homeland Security." Because he may want contracts and paperwork done before they can use each other, but if this is the guy that'll give him trouble too…

Find her predicament funny, do you? One of Jessica's brows rises, a challenge for Logan to look more amused. As much as she would like the satisfaction of dealing her blast-from-the-past annoyance herself… "His name is D.L. Hawkins. He has a record."

No room to look amused now. None at all. Logan stares at her, incredulous, before that expression is quickly frosted over into stoicism. Mostly because smirking isn't going down well. "Yes he does. I'll see what I can do. You need to cut your losses a little better in the future or this little partnership isn't going to work out so well."

"I cut my losses a long time ago," Jessica replies, a defensive edge to her voice. She crosses the space to Logan, little distance though it is, and looks daggers up at him (… little distance though it is). "Are you still paying for Nathan's mistakes?"

He remembers, vividly, hitting the wall. Waking up from it again. Goddamn Peter. Logan opts for a lie. "The loneliest place in the world is when one is standing on top of it," he says, with a detached smile. "You don't get to be President of the most powerful country in the world without making a few sacrifices along the way. Don't worry, Jessica, you'll get there."

There's a certain look Jessica gets in her eye just before she tears someone to pieces. A dangerous flare that's usually the last thing they see before red. Logan, now, is the lucky recipient of this glare of death-but death is not a certain thing in this world they've come to know. "I'm not running for President." If America thought they had problems with Logan at the helm… "You should stop talking like you know everything, Mr. President."

A tense silence ensues, and either Logan will keep pushing and maybe end up in a few pieces scattered across the room, or he'll back off. Survival instinct kicks in, allowing him to nod once to her. "Point taken," he says. It's a wonder they even got through the contract process at all. He turns his shoulder to her, walking around to place himself further within the suite. "The paperwork will be drawn up soon, and we'll take care of this ex-ex-problem of yours." A dismissal, in a way, or an olive branch.

For several long, stretching moments more, Jessica is silent, watching Logan's trek through the suite with a slow turning of her head, predatory. She follows ex-Nathan; her approach is obvious due to the click of her shoes, but she seems casual, not murderous, as she moves to take his elbow. His right elbow, in fact. "I'll have some new contracts sent from the Syndicate." Since the originals are ash. She eyes him carefully and slowly begins to grin and turn away. "Sweet dreams."

Nnnggh. Logan bites back the rough, pained grunt he'd otherwise would have given, expression twitching as he turns a cold look to her, stopping his stride towards the bedroom quickly. "Glad to be doing business with you yet again," he says, flatly, as she turns away. This time, he watches her go.

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