Chapter Text
Gan’s phone rang, the classic iPhone jiggle echoed from her kitchen and she crossed her small studio apartment to retrieve it. She looked down at the screen and frowned a little. Cody was calling, Cody never called her. He communicated mostly in texts or in person.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hey, Gan, how are you?” he asked but she caught the edge that was on his voice, the slight tension on the other end. Immediately she was alarmed.
“I’m great but I’m guessing somethings wrong,” she said, as she leaned against the counter and brushed a few crumbs from her baggy pajama shirt.
“Sort of, I haven’t been able to get a hold of Logan since yesterday and I’m a little more than concerned,” he said, his voice dropping a little in volume.
“Really? Has Molland or Felicity heard from him?” she prodded and Cody sighed on the other end.
“Felicity's gone with her mother out of town, they drove up to Duluth for the next four days. Something about a conference there. Molland said he hadn’t heard from him either but would check after work but I don’t think I can wait that long. You know I’m in Fargo with dad and you’re the only one off today,” this was true, Gan thought. It was her day off and Molland and Evey were at work training a new hire. They wouldn’t be able to get away from the shop unless they closed it.
“I can go check on him,” she offered.
“Could you? I know he wasn’t feeling well when dad and I left. One of the reasons dad made him stay at home and I’m just-”
“Say no more, Cody, I know your twin Spidey Senses are tingling. I’ll go and check on your brother,” she said, with a wave of her hand and a smile. He sighed on the other end of the phone.
“Thank you so much, Gan, I really appreciate it. Oh, and one more thing. You know that winter storm advisory?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it hit Fargo. Be careful, it’s ugly and I think we’ll be delayed getting back to Minneapolis, it just depends on if they shut down the highway. Which I think they’ll be doing,” he said, Gan looked out the large windows of her apartment and considered the gray sky.
“Have they named it yet?”
“Yeah, and get this… they’re calling it Gail ,” Cody deadpanned and she laughed.
“They couldn’t have been more on the nose about it could they?” she chuckled and Cody laughed with her.
“No, no I don’t think they could. I have to go, dad’s calling for me. Thank you again, Gan, I really appreciate it,” he reiterated.
“You’re more than welcome. I’ll go and make sure Logan is watered and fed,” she teased, and they ended the call. Gan looked down at herself. She’d spent the better part of the morning in her pajamas, half worn rags at this point, but they were comfortable and she had no one to impress with them but herself. “I guess I should shower,” she exhaled, exasperated, and did as she said she would.
Dressed, hair dried and loose, she made her way down to the train station. The rail was faster than the bus, at least on this end of town, and she moved with haste at the urging of the cold. The looming winter storm swept through the city, whistling through alleyways, and whipping down roads. No one paid it any mind. It was just another day at the office as far as anyone was concerned. Gan checked the weather on her phone and looked at the radar. She'd have enough time to cross town and make it back to her apartment before the storm hit. She could spend the last few days of her time off huddled in her home watching “I Love Lucy” on repeat.
Gan had only been to the Garriford home once and that had been several months ago. It was a quaint house, located off the main road, down a quiet street and nearly a mile from the nearest bus stop. She knew Cody well enough, and vice versa, that he wouldn’t have asked her to do this with the threat of the winter storm at her back given the time it had taken her to get here. Nearly an hour and a half between waiting for buses and transferring train lines. Her concern now reflected his. What if something really was wrong? She would risk getting snowed in if it meant making sure Logan was okay.
The brick steps up to the front door were covered in salt but it was evident that no one had cleared them of snow in a few days. The porch had a snowdrift slowly taking over the right side; it partly covered a dormant flower pot. Gan kicked some of the small drifts off the stairs as she ascended them and walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. She waited. The wind picked up and she hunkered down into the warmth of her scarf, hands shoved in her pockets, but when no one answered she rang it again.
Nothing.
Now, more concerned than before, she reached into her messenger bag and pulled out her phone to scroll to the last text Cody had sent her. The alarm isn’t set, I checked, and the code to the door is 3141 sent with a pie emoji at the end; Pi day. Gan didn’t like the idea of entering the home without someone letting her in, especially since she’d only been here once and she knew Logan was home. His car sat in the driveway, covered in snow, and untouched. Reluctantly she opened the storm door and then punched the numbers into the digital lock, the bolt rolled back, and she entered the home.
The front door opened into the living room where a TV played the local news channel. Gail was well on her way and the anchors were announcing safety measures for everyone to adhere to as the winter storm bore down on them.
“Logan?” Gan called, as she reached down to unlace the first few strings of her boots to kick them off. She wasn’t about to track snow and slush over the Garriford’s hardwood floors and rugs. Out of her boots, mittens shoved down in them, and with no answer she walked deeper into the home. The living room was open to the dining room and, despite all of the residents in this home being bachelors, they decorated very nicely. Mildred likely had something to do with it. “Hello?” Gan called again as she began to round the corner into what she thought would be the kitchen.
Logan appeared like a spector a moment later. He startled her and she froze, heart in her stomach, as he loomed, like death, before her. A glass of water clutched in one hand, hair a ruffled mess, cheeks flushed, and he looked exhausted as well as confused standing there in his hoodie and sweatpants.
“How’d you get in?” he asked, voice hoarse and weak.
“Cody gave me the code,” she explained, and he rubbed his eye with his free hand.
“What? Why’d he do that?” Logan patted the pocket of his hoodie and Gan finally read the graphic on it, “Pilots, looking down on people since 1903” and she nearly rolled her eyes, as he pulled out his phone.
“He was worried. You haven't answered any of his messages… you look awful, Logan ” she said, and he sighed, exasperated.
“Phone’s dead… and I know,” he said, and put the device back in his pocket before he sluggishly stepped past her to the sofa. He stumbled as he moved, spilling water with the misstep, hand on his head, and Gan reached out for his arm.
“How sick are you, Logan?” she asked, and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, he was burning to the touch. “Breath in the Deep, even I can feel your fever,” Gan took his water and sat it on the coffee table then helped him sit. He waved her off.
“I don’t know but you really shouldn’t be here. You’ll get it too,” he argued, and lay back against the couch and closed his eyes.
“I can’t leave you like this,” she said, and unzipped her parka and shrugged out of it, then crossed the room to hang it by the door. “If it’s the flu, I’ve already had it this year and I’ve been vaccinated for it too. Even if I get sick again it won’t be that bad,” her knit cap removed, she fluffed her curls with her fingers and turned back to him. “Where is your medicine cabinet?” she asked, half-way across the room, heading the way she’d seen him come.
“The cabinet above the dishwasher,” he groaned, and Gan followed his instructions.
The kitchen was a bit smaller than she anticipated and a sliding barn door divided it from the dining area and living room. The Garriford’s militaristic nature showed in how clean their house was, nothing was out of place in the kitchen. Not a single dish in the sink or cabinet left open. She flipped on the light and found the cabinet that Logan had indicated. A plastic basket labeled “Medical Kit” sat on the second shelf and she had to climb onto the counter to retrieve it. She filed through it and found an ear thermometer as well as some Tylenol then returned to the living room.
Logan was slack-jawed where she left him and she frowned. Why had he not reached out to anyone? Was he really that stubborn? Probably. Though she couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t sure she would have called anyone besides Molland. The only reason she’d reach out to him would be to make sure her shift was covered at the cafe. Who did Logan have other than his brother and father? He had no co-workers to fret over him and if he didn’t reach out to friends… what was there to do?
Gan leaned over and touched his shoulder to alert him that she was near before she pressed the thermometer into his ear. Logan rolled his eyes open and looked at her but his vision didn’t seem focused and the growing knot of concern in her gut tightened. The thermometer beeped and she looked down to the digital reading. That didn’t seem right. She tried again and when it came back the same number she reached to try a third time.
“ Don’t put that in my ear a third time,” Logan met her eyes and she lowered the thermometer. 103.1°F flashed black against a green lit background.
“103.1 degrees, you’re burning up,” she exhaled, and sat the device aside.
“I’m freezing, what are you talking about,” he grumbled, and she stood up from having leaned over him.
“When was the last time you ate anything or took any pain medication?” His silence spoke volumes and Gan crossed her arms. She wanted to be upset with him, to berate him, but he was home alone and had been for over a day. His fever was high and, the truth was, she wasn’t sure how well she would have managed in his situation. It didn’t matter how strong you were, illness could bring you to your knees without hesitation and eating while sick was often an unwanted task.
Gan exhaled, more of a sigh than she meant it to be, and reached for his hands. “Let’s get you in the shower, you’ll feel better once you’re clean and I’ll make you something to eat, okay?” she tugged on his arms and he leaned forward. A lifetime ago, when she was known by another name, her nanny would make her do this when she was sick. Showers always made her feel better and she slept better, even with a fever, once she was clean.
Logan didn’t say anything but he did stand up and used her to steady himself. When he motioned that the shower was upstairs, Gan wilted. Of course it was on the second floor. She helped him up the steps, his breathing labored despite his fitness, and he paused at the top of the stairs to gather himself. Her heart ached to think he would have been here, by himself, in the middle of a snowstorm feeling as sick as he did.
“I’ll go get some clothes for you,” she said, as he stepped into the washroom.
“That door, left side of the room,” he croaked, and motioned to the door that was to their right, the one that stood immediately at the top of the stairs.
Entering Logan and Cody’s room felt like an invasion of privacy but Gan tried not to think about it. It was a large loft, big enough for each twin to have a bed, desk, and a small lounge area. Cody’s side of the room was cleaned and tidied, do doubt done so that he came back to a fresh space from his time away. Logan’s half was organized save for the unmade bed and the trash can by the head of his bed. He must have been nauseated enough to justify the relocation of the bin though there was no evidence of illness within the container. She found his dresser and pulled open each drawer. Sweat pants, a soft undershirt, a University of Minnesota sweater, warm socks, and underwear.
She knocked on the door to the bathroom, the sound of the shower running told her he’d at least gotten things started.
“It’s safe,” he announced, and she opened the door just enough to put his things down by the sink.
“Call if you need anything,” she said, though it sounded silly in retrospect. What would he even need from her while he was in the shower? Force of habit, she thought, and then headed down stairs.
The news station chatted about highway closures and the emergency shelters that were open to for the homeless. Gail was panning out to be more of an issue that she’d given it credit for. The anchors spoke about the impact it had already had on the western states and it’s “path of destruction” as it blew in from the west. Gan stirred the small pot of chicken noodle soup she’d managed to put together. Nothing exciting, really, but she’d found a rotisserie chicken in the fridge with a good date on it. The other ingredients were all commonplace and well stocked in the house. Onions, carrots, celery, and chicken stock along with the spices needed. She kept it simple for the sake of Logan’s stomach.
She sighed and heard the door shut up stairs and the sound of slow footsteps. When had she become so comfortable with all of this? A year ago she would have stuck her head in the door, saw that Logan was breathing, and then left. That would have been it but now she was fixing him soup, in his home , making sure he was taken care of and risking being snowed in with him. Yet, it didn’t feel wrong, maybe a bit awkward, as this wasn’t just Logan’s home, it was also Isaac’s and Cody’s. Isaac still intimidated her and she wasn’t completely sure he liked her. However, she did have a good idea about why. He did not like his boys fraternizing with the opposite sex.
Standing in Isaac’s kitchen, fixing Logan chicken and noodle soup after declaring she’d take care of him - almost felt like an insult to their fathers authority. Maybe it was. The knowledge that Isaac kept the twin’s from pursuing romance made her bristle and she thought of Cody and Felicity. They were two people that deserved the world and one another and she was loathed to think that they were being kept apart. Not knowing the real reason why drove her mad.
“Smells good,” Gan jumped, startled out of her thoughts, she slung several egg noodles onto the glass top stove. Broth hissed angrily as it struck the element and she turned to look at Logan, heart racing, stomach somewhere on the floor. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you,” he said, and she noted he looked a bit better than he had before.
“It’s fine, I was just thinking way too hard,” she admitted, and reached to turn down the heat to “low” so the soup could simmer. “Do you feel a bit better?” she asked, and he nodded, rubbing the back of his head. He stood a little straighter, though his shoulders still sagged, and his complexion still screamed of fever. She didn’t like to see his wet hair coupled with that.
“I do. I even brushed my teeth,” he said, rubbing his mouth thoughtfully.
“Do you have a hairdryer?” she asked him as she ushered him to the dining room table. He sat down without protest.
“Upstairs, in the bathroom, under the sink. Why?” he asked, and she blinked at him then gestured outside to the heavy snowfall, Gail was on them now.
“It’s cold and you’re sick,” she said, as if it were the most obvious answer.
“I really don’t have the energy to do that right now,” he admitted, and sank back in the hard, wooden, chair.
“Then let me,” she walked away before he could protest.
Gan found the dryer exactly where he said it would be and when she came back down stairs he’d moved his chair to the closest outlet. He sat, slumped over, elbows on his knees, looking out at the ever growing storm. She paused on the bottom step, the house growing dim as the sun sank and the clouds became thicker, and she looked at him. Her chest tightened. An emotion she’d felt before, unnamed and uncomfortable but not unwelcome, coiled in her gut. Here she was standing in her socks, holding a hair dryer, about to dry his hair, in his home and he’d allowed her to be here. He could have kicked her out. Could have insisted that she leave and go back to her apartment before the storm hit. Yet, he didn’t and she didn’t entirely think it was because of his illness.
He looked at her, met her eyes, and warmth washed over her in a blush. She’d been caught staring. Attempting to recover, she crossed the distance between them, and knelt to plug in the dryer. Logan bent his head again, without asking, and she turned on the device. The TV was drowned out and she was faced with how intimate this gesture was. Her hands were in his damp hair, gently fanning it with her fingers so that the heat could do its job. Logan visibly relaxed under her touch, shoulders slumped, back sagged, and he almost seemed to teeter on his elbows.
It made her smile.
She ran her nails carefully over his scap, lost in the monotony of the task and how soft his hair was. Satisfied that it was dry from this vantage point she took her hand and tilted his face back and worked on the damp ends of his bangs. His eyes were far more intense this close and he watched her through a half-lidded gaze as she worked. He looked so tired like this and oddly content under her attention. Then he closed his eyes completely and she stole the opportunity to look at him. The scar above his eye brought back memories of the summer in the forest and she resisted the urge to touch it. It tempted her but she didn’t give in. Instead she ran her fingers through his hair, carding it, and watched his fever-flushed features relax more, if it were possible. Had he always been this handsome, she wondered? Yes, she thought, he had, but she’d been too bullheaded to see him as such. She’d been blind to anything beyond friendship - she stopped herself.
They were just friends and when had anything more ever entered her thoughts? Just now. Her hands in his hair and him at complete peace under her attention; that was when.
She turned off the dryer and lowered it to the ground by its cord. Logan didn’t immediately open his eyes, instead, he leaned his head into her fleeting touch. A sigh passed his nose and she wondered just how exhausted he was. Then he looked at her, eyes red rimmed, and sunken but a small smile touched them all the same.
“Let’s get you something to eat and some Tylenol in you as well,” she said, and stepped away from him, her face burning with a blush.
“Bowls are in the top cabinet beside the stove, silverware in the drawer on the same side,” he announced, voice groggier than it had been a minute ago. She retrieved the bowls and spoons, dished out the soup, then turned off the burner.
“It’s very hot,” she announced, as she sat his meal down before him, along with her own in front of her. He took the spoon and stirred, almost disinterested. Gan watched him for a moment, hair fluffy from the styleless blow-out she’d given him, before she returned to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and a smaller one with ice cubes in it. “For your soup,” she said, as if it were not blatantly obvious.
“Thanks,” he said, and disarmed her with a smile, before he plucked some ice from the cup and placed it in his soup.
They ate for several minutes until the weather came back on and both she and Logan glanced back to the living room. A female anchor announced the closing of highway 10, the main interstate that ran from Fargo to Minneapolis. Gan looked outside, the wind had picked up, it bowed the trees across the street, and snow fell in furious flurries.
“I think I missed my window to get back home,” she said, and Logan looked back at her, concerned.
“I could drive you,” he offered, and she chuckled.
“Logan, you can barely walk up the stairs, and I live almost an hour away from here…” she blinked, realizing with growing concern that maybe she couldn’t stay here. “I’m sorry, unless it's not okay if I stay. I didn’t even think. The bus is only a mile walk and-”
“No! Sorry, that was loud. No, no it’s fine that you stay and you’re right. I don’t think I could drive you home and back,” he ran a hand over the back of his neck, embarrassment evident in his manners though she wasn’t quite sure why he would be embarrassed. “Were you prepared to stay?” he asked her.
“Mostly, though, I didn’t pack much… would it be too much to ask to borrow a shirt or sweater to sleep in?” she inquired, now thoroughly embarrassed herself. In her haste to get out the door this morning she’d packed a pair of sweatpants and underwear but had failed to grab a shirt and her extra change of clothes. Which had been the whole reason she’d brought her large messenger bag with her in the first place.
“Um, no, it wouldn’t be. You’re welcome to whatever you can find and the washer and dryer too, if you need it,” he said, and then their meal descended into an uncomfortable silence.
Gan cleaned up their late lunch and packed up the leftovers knowing she’d likely heat up the rest later when they were both hungry again. She had Logan take the Tylenol she’d preached about and encouraged him to sleep in his bed. He, however, had settled on the couch and refused to move. Truthfully, she didn’t blame him. The LoveSac sofa they had was large and comfortable and she’d helped him arrange the ottomans so that he could stretch out a little more. Another thing he insisted she didn’t need to do but she did it anyway, partly to irritate him and also because she knew he’d be more comfortable. Then, before she excused herself to wash off the grime that came from using public transit, she plugged up his dead phone in the kitchen.
Using the shower was a bit awkward at first but, to her surprise and delight, the Garriford twins did not, in fact, use all-in-one products. A blessing, though she did step out smelling of cedar and pine, she at least was clean. She spared a few minutes to dry her hair, the diffuser end of the hairdryer had not been tossed, thankfully, and she was able to spare her curls from the disaster of a blow-out. Unlike Logan’s current predicament. Then, half dressed but confident that Logan could not see her, she darted to his room and hunted for a sweater.
Gan opened the drawer and saw, sitting below the sweatshirt she’d pulled for Logan earlier, a very familiar article. A dark heather sweater looked up at her, the lettering worn from countless washes, collar frayed and loose, and she recognized it as the one she’d given him back in late spring. “Harvard Law” with “Just Kidding” below it in smaller letters. It had been a joke and, at the time, he’d rolled his eyes at her when he’d gotten it. She’d laughed, so had Cody and Felicity, but Logan had seemed less than thrilled by it. Yet, there is sat, worn beyond reason in his drawer. She picked it up and pulled it over her head. It was soft, cozy, well loved, and entirely too big. A knot formed in her throat and she felt her eyes burn with tears. What did this mean? Why did she feel like this? Why did Logan make her feel like this? She felt silly for the swell of emotion, even more so when it had been triggered by a silly sweater.
Gan collected herself and her things and walked downstairs.
Logan lay on the sofa, curled up under a blanket with a throw pillow tucked under his head, appearing for all the world like an oversized child. He looked up to her when she stepped down onto the main floor. He didn’t say anything for a long while and she wondered what he was thinking.
“The washer and dryer are just down the hall behind the folding doors,” he offered, breaking the awkward silence. Gan shook her head as she sat her things down in an empty chair.
“I’ll do it later. Can I get you something else to drink?” she offered, seeing that he’d finished his water from before.
“Not right now… did you want to watch a movie?” he asked, partly sitting up. She wondered if the Tylenol had finally kicked in for him. He seemed a bit more lively. Maybe it had been a combination of medication as well as food.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked, and walked around to the opposite end of the couch. Logan took up most of it, though there was a seat open near his head.
“I was thinking Dr. Stranglove,” he said, and laid his head back down. Gan considered this.
“I’ve never seen it,” she admitted, as turned off the light in the dining room and turned on a lamp near the sofa.
“Really? I think you’ll like it. It’s in black and white though,” he said, and grabbed the remote to select the Prime Video application.
“Don’t you know?” she asked, as she settled in on the couch by him, grabbed a blanket from behind her, and tossed it over her legs. “Black and white films are the best,” she chimed, and Logan looked up at her from where he lay, his head nearly touching her thigh.
“I’d be inclined to agree,” he said, and turned back to the television and selected “play” on the screen. The film began and they settled into silence for a time. She watched the men on the screen discuss what they were doing, listened to the stretches of thematic silence, and drank in the witty dialog. “Gan?” Logan said, voice already lazy with exhaustion barely five minutes into the movie.
“Yes?” she responded and looked down at him.
“Thank you, I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, and she studied him for a breath. Her heart thrummed in her chest and, casting doubt aside, she ran her hand through his hair, brushed her fingers against his fevered cheek, and watched him unwind under her touch. He closed his eyes, a small smile pulling at his lips.
“I’m glad I’m here too,” she said, and she was.