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‘Mmm, that was good.’
Logan glanced up from where his eyes had been boring a hole into the floor of the van and turned his gaze towards his Active.
‘Enjoy yourself, Chuck?’ he asked dryly.
Charlie – because whoever this was it sure wasn’t Charles, and Logan would be damned before he called him by whatever goddamn twinky name that the afternoon’s Client had picked for him – merely smiled knowingly at him.
‘Absolutely,’ he purred, throwing Logan a sultry look from under his eyelashes. He raised his arms and stretched, tipping his head back in a way that deliberately called attention to his long, pale neck and the stretch of skin that showed from between his mostly-unbuttoned silk shirt.
Logan’s jaw tightened and he deliberately turned his eyes back to the floor.
Charlie pouted.
‘Oh don’t be like that,’ he cooed, pulling himself off the seat of the van and slinking over towards Logan until their sides were pressed together. ‘A boy’s got to have a good time now and then, right?’
Logan’s nostrils flared slightly but he said nothing.
Charlie watched him for a moment before letting out a sigh.
‘Pity,’ he said, raising a shoulder in a delicate shrug. ‘We could have had some fun, you and I.’ His eyes traced over Logan’s arms and chest. ‘I could find a lot of uses for a strong, manly man like you.’
Logan’s eyes narrowed and he scowled, a flicker of revulsion momentarily crossing his face before he could stop it.
Unfortunately, Charlie saw. His face fell.
‘What?’ and – horror of horrors – he actually sounded upset. ‘What is it?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ He nervously began twisting his fingers, his coy expression replaced with one of confusion and dismay.
Logan sighed and rubbed at his temples. Fucking fantastic.
This was one of his main troubles as a Handler: he kept forgetting that his opinion mattered to his Active. He kept forgetting that even his most careless and thoughtless behaviours affected and influenced Charles, who unconsciously put all his faith and trust in a man whose name he often forgot on a day-to-day basis.
Logan grimaced at the thought and pulled his hand away from his face.
‘Nah, you’re okay,’ he said gruffly, forcing himself to turn and smile at his Active, who returned the gesture hesitantly. ‘Just got a headache is all.’
Charlie, reassured by Logan’s words, immediately shed his uncertainty and reverted back to his previous flirtatious behaviour.
‘Well, it just so happens that I know a trick or two that’ll help you forget about this nasty little headache of yours,’ he murmured, his eyes heated and his smile sinfully wicked. He reached out with a pale arm, his fingers snaking out towards the waist of Logan’s trousers.
Logan’s hand darted out and caught the wandering fingers just before they brushed against him.
‘Nu-uh, bub,’ he said grimly, shaking his head. ‘That ain’t gonna happen.’
Charlie retracted his arm and hunched in on himself, pouting.
‘Why not?’ he whined, and Logan made sure to avoid the wide blue puppy-dog eyes that were being aimed in his direction. ‘Don’t you think I’m attractive?’ His lower lip stuck out petulantly. ‘Don’t you like me?’
And well, fuck, because how was Logan supposed to answer that?
‘Yeah, I like you,’ he settled on, speaking before Charlie’s lip could protrude out any further. ‘I like you plenty. You’re my favourite goddamn person on the whole fucking planet. Satisfied?’
Charles gave him a cunning smile and sidled closer.
‘You didn’t answer my previous question,’ he murmured, tracing the hairy line of Logan’s jaw with one finger.
‘What question?’ Logan gritted out, his voice coming out in a growl as his hands clenched into fists. He threw a quick glance at the front of the van and couldn’t help but be secretly relieved that the driver’s seat was separated from the rest of the van by a thick opaque-glass divider. He didn’t know what he and Charlie looked like at the moment but he was pretty damn sure that the image would be … compromising.
‘My first one,’ Charlie whispered, still pressed indecently close, his lips barely a hair’s-breadth away from Logan’s ear. ‘Before I asked you if you liked me.’
‘Yeah?’ Logan was finding it very hard to concentrate, and Charlie was only the half of it; it was very difficult to focus on something when the majority of one’s brain wanted to bludgeon the rest of it for being a complete fucking idiot.
‘Yeah,’ Charlie breathed, and by now he was fully pressed up against Logan’s side, the steady motion of the van creating a gentle rocking sensation between them. Logan’s breath hitched involuntarily as a bump in the road jerked them closer together, causing Charlie’s mouth to brush enticingly against his skin. Charlie sighed. ‘I asked you if you thought I was attractive.’
Logan didn’t answer.
Charlie rolled his eyes and leaned closer, until he was suddenly biting gently on the lobe of Logan’s ear, tugging it playfully.
‘Well?’ he murmured, pulling away until his lips were just brushing against the ear. ‘Do you?’
Logan’s eyes narrowed and, moving his arm out from under Charlie’s body, he grabbed his Active by the shoulder and shoved him away.
‘Would you lay off?’ he snapped, glaring over at where Charlie was staring at him with wide blue eyes. ‘Yeah, I can see that you ain’t bad lookin’. Congratulations, you’re the fucking bee’s knees. You happy now?’ He glowered down at his Active, resisting the urge to reach over and shake him.
Charlie was looking up at him with wide eyes, and for a moment it seemed as if he would open his mouth and say something. But then that slow, teasing smile returned and, for some reason that he was unable to explain, Logan found himself letting out a sigh of relief.
‘Yeah,’ Charlie smirked, pulling himself up and edging closer along the seat, ‘I am happy.’ He paused, before throwing Logan another sultry look from under his eyelashes. ‘And I could make you happy too, if you wanted.’
Logan scowled and had just opened his mouth to snap at Charlie to sit down and shut up when the van came to a stop.
‘We’re here!’ came the call from the front seat.
Logan slumped in his chair.
Thank fuck for that.
‘Come on, Charlie,’ he said instead. ‘It’s time for your treatment.’
Charlie’s seductive expression immediately disappeared, replaced instead by one of honest, innocent enthusiasm.
‘My treatment?’ he asked hopefully, jumping up from his seat. ‘That’s wonderful! I’ve really been looking forward to it. Do you know, I can’t remember the last time I had one?’
Yesterday, Logan thought dourly. You had one yesterday.
‘Come on then, lover’ Charlie said, jumping out of the van and turning back to look at Logan with a flirtatious smile. ‘Don’t leave me hanging here!’
Logan rolled his eyes.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he muttered, before getting out of the van.
*
Logan watched, his face inscrutable, as Charlie – no, he was Charles now, he was back from his Assignment, after all – moved his brush happily over the piece of paper in front of him, his painting a childish mixture of bright, bold colours and thick, firm lines. He looked completely at peace, like a sweet-faced cherub who knew absolutely nothing of the horrors of the world.
Logan grunted. Charles actually was a sweet-faced cherub who knew absolutely nothing of the horrors of the world. They all were, the inhabitants of the Dollhouse. It was what made people like Logan so necessary; someone needed to look after the Dolls, after all. And Logan needed to look after Charles.
He grimaced as he remembered what had happened inside the van. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, of course. It seemed the seductive, flirty, sex-kitten type was a popular choice among Clients.
Logan hated it. Sure, Charles was always appealing, whether in a three-piece suit or wearing full-on leather bondage gear, but the whole arrangement always made Logan feel incredibly uncomfortable. His body sometimes reacted, yes – he wasn’t a goddamn monk, Jesus – but his mind was firmly set; Charlie wasn’t Charles. Charlie wasn’t Charles, and Logan would rather tear off his own arm than cross the line between them and accept something that wasn’t being knowingly offered. So that was that. End of.
It didn’t stop it from being a really fucking shitty position to be in, though.
Logan cast another glance over at Charles, who was still happily mucking around with his paintbrushes, and scowled. What the fuck was wrong with him? He had more sense than this, surely. It was like crushing on a goddamn child, for Chrissakes.
Charles chose that moment to look up at him and smile. Logan stared back, his expression unreadable. The moment that Charles went back to his painting, he closed his eyes and turned his head away.
Logan had never been a man to place any real importance on feelings and emotions but he could freely admit that what he really needed right now was to go somewhere quiet and sort his head the fuck out.
He felt strongly for Charles. He couldn’t deny it. Charles was more than just a Doll to him; more than just a charge. Logan thought about him constantly, he worried about him, he monitored him almost obsessively … He had to. It was his job.
He growled under his breath and rubbed at his chest. There was a certain heaviness that sometimes grabbed hold of him there when he looked at Charles, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand what it meant. In a way, it was almost easier to deal with Charlie – at least when they were out on Assignment Logan knew that the person in front of him wasn’t real. The line between them there was clear-cut and well-defined … even when Charlie tried things like he had just the day before. All the flirting and come-hither looks in the world couldn’t overcome the feeling of wrongness that overcame Logan when his thoughts so much as brushed against the idea.
No, it was when he was with Charles that things became difficult. He’d begun to realise that he’d been letting his guard down whilst at the House, and not just physically. Charles had managed to work his way into Logan’s affections faster than anyone ever had before; a remarkable feat, Logan thought dryly, for someone who essentially had no personality.
He sighed and rubbed at his head. It would do no good to think on these things. Trying to figure out your feelings was always a tricky business and, Logan had found, was more often than not more trouble than it was worth. Look at Doctor MacTaggart, for example. She’d allowed herself to develop feelings for her Active – for Charles – and look where that had got her. Logan simply didn’t have that luxury. He, for one, didn’t have a medical career to fall back on when everything went to shit.
No, he couldn’t be a friend to Charles. All he could do was his job; all he could be was a Handler. Not a friend, not a buddy, not a brother, and certainly not anything more than that. Not that he wanted to, of course. But yes, the easiest thing for Logan to do was to back off and ease up on his concern for Charles. The more you worried about a person, the more attached you got. All Logan had to do was keep his mind on the job when he had to and then forget all about his charge when he didn’t. Easy as pie.
Having cleared that up, Logan nodded to himself and straightened his spine. There was no real need for him to be here, watching Charles. Now that they were back within the Dollhouse there were numerous minders and monitors to look out for the Actives and keep them from harm. Only Logan’s ingrained sense of over-protectiveness (not to mention his lack of anything resembling a pastime or a hobby) had kept him within the House after-hours, watching over Charles even after his Assignments were over.
He was just about to turn around and leave when he noticed that Charles had set down his paints and paintbrushes and had detached himself from the group that he had been sitting with. Instead, he was making his way over to Logan, his hands clutched around a large piece of paper, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.
‘Hello, Logan,’ he coolly greeted his Handler, coming to a stop in front of him.
‘Hiya, Chuck,’ Logan nodded at him, shifting on his feet. He nodded at the paper in Charles’s hands. ‘What’ve you got there?’
Charles beamed and held out the paper, inviting Logan to take a look at it. Logan hesitated for almost a fraction of a second before leaning forward to take the paper from him. His face set, he turned the paper over.
It was Charles’s painting.
At first Logan didn’t understand what it was that he was seeing, as he was busy taking in the bright colours and the childish brushstrokes. Then his eyes focused and he felt something tighten in his chest as he realised what it was that he was looking at.
The painting was simple and childlike – certainly nothing to write home about. It wasn’t Charles’s skill with a brush that had caught Logan so off-guard. It was the picture itself.
There, in the centre of the painting, were two figures holding hands. One, with a mop of messy brown hair and bright blue eyes, was obviously Charles. The other –
The other had thick bushy eyebrows and wild hair and whiskers on his cheeks. He was wearing what could easily be a plaid shirt and a set of heavy black boots, and in his hand there was an odd oblong shape that was in all probability a cigar. Logan took this all in and swallowed. What he was holding was a portrait of himself and Charles.
‘Thanks, buddy,’ Logan forced himself to say, the words being pushed out through his surprisingly dry throat. ‘That’s – that’s great.’
Charles beamed at him, looking as thrilled as any child whose work had been praised by proud parents who had then stuck the picture on the refrigerator.
Logan coughed and rubbed at his face before trying to hand the painting back to Charles.
Charles, however, shook his head.
‘For you,’ he said softly, taking hold of Logan’s wrist and pushing it back towards him.
Logan swallowed and nodded. He watched as Charles beamed at him once more before turning and gliding dreamily over to where he had been sitting earlier with Havok and Darwin.
Tearing his eyes away, Logan glanced back down at the picture. It stared up at him, affection and innocence shining out of it with every brushstroke and paint drop.
Logan sighed and lowered the painting.
Shutting his eyes briefly, he turned and made his way over to the nearest comfortable seat in the room.
He was going to be there for a while, after all.