The Universe's Mixer

"What if he doesn't remember how to get here?" Beauty asked, leaving the table for the third time in the last 15 minutes and crossing over to the door. She opened it anxiously and stepped onto the porch, wholly missing what Megan said back to her. It was Friday night at 4:52, and their dates - plus Beauty's special guest and his date - had 8 minutes left to make it here on time. The others - Errol, Peter - she wasn't too worried about. They'd been to the cottage more times than Beauty could quickly count. But Piotr...

Piotr last visited years ago. Yes, it'd been the place she'd insisted he stay - despite the fact that her bed was apparently way too small for the overlarge Russian - but that didn't mean that he really did remember exactly how to get here. It was a long time ago, after all, and so many things had happened since then.

After pacing a bit on the porch, she went back inside and closed the door again.

"Tell me more about this bowling," she asked Megan, to try to distract herself.

"Is there something that you're waiting on, Master Bruce?"

Bruce turned from the plastic covered armoire and the jewelry box within it. His butler - his surrogate father, and his dear friend - stood in the doorway of the master bedroom that so often remained sealed up, a polite smile on his face. Bruce looked back to the jewelry box, then to the smaller velvet box in his hand, and realized he'd been standing here for at least a quarter of an hour.

"I don't know," Bruce said, obviously at a loss.

The butler walked into the room as if it weren't sacred, as if it were only just a room. "The world is full of things that don't matter," Alfred said, coming to a stop beside Bruce and looking into the armoire as if he were checking for what suits needed pressing. "And it's easy to get caught up in them. But there's one thing that I've found, in all my years, that is always worthwhile." The old butler stopped, and stared blandly at the hinge of the armoire.

"What's that, Alfred?" Bruce prompted.

"Why, love, of course. I suspect it might be the only thing that matters at all, when all is said and done." The rheumy old eyes turned toward the velvet box and Alfred nodded toward it. The ring inside that box was well known by both men in the room. "Your grandmother was a very lovely woman. She had a fire in her. I think she would have liked Ms. Kyle very much."

Bruce tucked the box into his pocket. "Thanks, Alfred."

"I'll lock up here, sir."

Bruce let him, and stepped out into the hallway, leaving the door half-ajar as he did. Pulling on a suit jacket, he grabbed the keys to the Porche and headed for the lunch date he was only slightly late for. He made the time up on the drive there, tossed his keys to the valet, and hurried in to the table where Selina was waiting.

"Sorry I'm late," Bruce said, pausing briefly to kiss her cheek before taking a seat across from her.

Logan had been so busy lately putting the current finishing touches on the last part of the gym that needed tending to. The only thing left to work on was the name. He had something he had been toying with, an idea of what to entitle the place but he had no right to even attempt to name something with a title that didn't belong to him. The work he had poured into the facility showed; he was glad to see Steve Rogers utilizing it for its purposes on the regular. It pleased the Wolverine a great deal knowing his place was useful. That he could still amount to something.

But completion of the building meant that the time spent with Giselle working on the task was also done and she would once more need a task to occupy herself with. He enjoyed her company a great deal and he knew he could get caught up in his work, which he had. When Giselle retired from painting her mural and retired to the cabin, Logan often found himself working onward without her. On the promise to return soon, of course. Though some nights had turned into days and then nights again before he returned to the cabin exhausted and in need of a shower. The exhaustion never lasted, he was built with more stamina then anyone would know what to do with, but still.

It had paid off, though. And he was satisfied with it.

He waited patiently at the table in the kitchen for Giselle. Perched in the seat, Logan browsed the last bits of the day's previous paper though the sunlight pouring through the kitchen window dwindled. His keen eyesight allowed sharpness of the words despite the growing darkness. Logan had promised to take Giselle out, whatever she wanted to do, for being away from her so much. He felt he owed it to her and he wanted to ask a favor of her. That unfinished part of the gym commanded it. Steve Rogers needed a name to call the place he went to blow off steam. Logan would give it to him one way or another. But first things first.

"Hmm...intrestin'," Logan breathed softly to himself. He closed the paper, folded it gently and set it aside so that his hands were free to devour the last of the beer in the neglected brown glass bottle nearby. It was warm and bitter but it soothed him while he waited. Ever so patiently.