The Universe's Mixer

Thanks to Alfred, breakfast at Wayne manor was usually served hot, on a tray, with a glass of juice. But sometimes Bruce Wayne didn't want anything for breakfast but cereal and milk. There was only one breakfast cereal that he would eat: Cheerios. There was only one type of milk that should be used with Cheerios: pasture-fed, organic whole milk. It reminded Bruce of his mother. He didn't remember why, but there was some connection between that simple breakfast staple and his mother. And lately, Bruce Wayne had been thinking a lot about family.

As he chewed whole grain oats pressed into O-shapes, he looked sidelong at the woman sitting next to him. "You know," he said, a little sheepishly. "You don't have to have Cheerios if you don't want it. I'm sure Alfred could make you an egg white omelet or pancakes, if you wanted it."

She really deserved better than who she was with, but he was glad she settled for him. He didn't think she needed to settle on breakfast, however.

The cabin, for the most part, had been relatively quiet. Logan tended to like it that way considering the fact that just about everything else behind the doors was chaotic and noisy. Not that he wasn't a man of action when the situation called for it, and he had been known to start a fight or two in his time, but now that Giselle was around Logan found himself trying to hold on to the quieter moments. That was not the first time in his life he had felt that way, Japan had brought a lot of solace to him as well when it could. It almost felt like home in a way, the familiarity of it touching him some.

Logan was settled on a chair in the kitchen, the newspaper spread out before him. He was browsing through it, trying to keep up with current events. Beyond the random appearances of dinosaurs, something he was used to by now with time spent in the jungle, there was not much else that captured his attention. If the dinosaurs got out of hand...well, this place did have its share of heros that would probably stand up long before Logan had to. Which he didn't mind.

Somewhere about Logan could hear Giselle getting up to whatever it is that had taken her heart. She did so much around the cabin as far as cooking and upkeep. Logan appreciated it.

He had things of his own that took his attention, people that needed tending to and assistance when he could give it. He had yet to bring up the subject of Melody, not that he wanted to discuss it with Giselle. He would keep it to himself for as long as he could not wanting to burden the woman with what he had been up to. Logan wanted nothing more than for her to be happy and he would not dampen her spirits if he could help it. At least, he would try his hardest not to.

From out of nowhere came a knock at the door. Then another. The very wood itself seemed to groan with the impact, which had Logan narrowing his eyes in distaste. The paper was folded neatly and set upon the kitchen table for later before the mutant rose from his chair. "Better be good..." Logan mumbled, heading for the door.

It swung open and already his fingers were clamped down, biting against his palm ready to strike when he saw a familiar face. That was not a face Logan cared much to see. "Help you?" He was trying to be polite for Giselle's sake. He really was.

There was no excuse for it.

Rose knew better, and was trying to hide it from everyone, even from herself. But today...

The sun was bright, the air was clean, and there was something about the City streets today that made her want to run -- run, the way she used to run, hand clasped in long fingers, laughing all the way (even when there was something chasing them). She missed it. She couldn't bring herself to even think the rest of the thought (she missed him), because missing the running was quite enough.

It could have been the season. The body kept a time all on its own. This would have been around the time of year when she'd last seen The Doctor. Not his copy, and not the older one that came after him, but her Doctor. She didn't want to miss him. She didn't want to even think about him. So she thought about the running, when she admitted to thinking about anything other than the work in front of her at all. She thought about the running.

And that's why she'd frozen between file cabinets, her hands full of hanging manilla folders, as if she'd forgotten why she was standing there at all. How long? She shook herself and opened the file cabinet, riffling through the listings with an elbow.

"One of these days, we should move all these paper files into an electronic format," she said, trying to be cheerful. Her voice was too bright. She screwed on a smile and nudged the first file cabinet closed, then moved to the second to finish filing what was in her arms.