Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Logan would be the first to admit that his relationship with Nat had not started in the usual fashion. 

Well, calling it a relationship may be getting ahead of himself. But he’d like to think they were friends. Good friends, even. If he was being honest, he knew he wanted to be more. But for the life of him, he had no idea how to get there from here. 

What had started as keeping an eye on his beloved home from afar had morphed into something else upon the builder’s arrival. His mission to get to the truth of his Pa’s last words had never changed, but it didn’t take long for his fascination with the builder - Nat - to become just as much a reason for his vigil. 

She had been quite obviously nervous when she arrived, often fidgeting and jumpy, biting her nails more than anyone who works with their hands should. But well before the end of her first season, her nerves had settled, leaving behind a confident woman who appeared at ease in the desert, no matter what obstacles were placed before her. 

Something people who were born in dangerous environments like the Eufaula learn at some point in their lives is that not everyone is cut out for it; some people are simply incapable of making the adjustment. Nat, on the other hand, made it look effortless, like she was meant to be there from the start. The fact that as an outsider, she stood firm not only against the natural dangers but the series of misfortunes that befell the city one after another left him in awe. 

Seeing her interact with the people in town he missed so dearly, he could see how genuine she was with everyone she met. It was clear they had warmed to her nearly as fast as he had. Once she had gotten to know everyone, she began handing out personalized gifts frequently. At first it was nothing especially extravagant, but it was clear that each one had been considered carefully, and none of them were simple surplus trinkets. Even when she gave Rocky or Hugo base materials, he could make out the impressed looks on their faces at what she handed over freely. 

He quickly became enamored with her, watching how she came to care for and love Sandrock as much as the locals. Seeing all the ways she poured her passion into projects that improved their home, both large and small, made him feel a connection to her even before they ever had a chance to interact. 

Embarrassingly, he found himself reveling in every new detail he learned about her, whether from observing her himself or the bits and pieces he managed to pry from Grace. Much to the woman’s amusement, subtlety had never been one of his strengths, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind the knowing looks that would accompany any new information about the builder. 

From his perch atop the Grand Mesa, he was captivated by seeing her progress from next to no martial prowess to being able to hold her own against nearly anything the desert could throw at her. He watched as she cycled through different weapons in experimentation before settling on the greatsword, to his surprise and delight. It was truly something else seeing the diminutive woman wield a sword nearly as big as she was, but she made it look like the simplest thing in the world. Watching her venture from her workshop every day with a sway in her hips and a massive sword on her back stirred something in him he was hard-pressed to ignore. The first time he saw her handle an assault rifle with sure hands and a strong stance, he fully acknowledged that he was in deep trouble. 

Grace had relayed with clear distaste that Pen had taken to initially calling her ‘Skinny Arms’, but later gleefully gave Logan and Haru the blow-by-blow of Nat defeating Pen in a sparring match. He was sorely disappointed he didn’t witness it himself. 

Logan could barely sleep the night before they planned to kidnap Matilda. His nerves always got the better of him before he had to act his Bandit King part, but if he could stop lying to himself for a minute, he knew it was more than that. He had a feeling Nat would be accompanying the corps on any rescue efforts, and the idea of crossing paths, let alone crossing blades, left him exceptionally on edge. 

It ended up being everything he hoped for. He almost didn’t mind that they hadn’t managed to get anything useful from questioning Matilda. 

If Nat had seemed fierce when he faced her the first time, she was downright feral the next, venting her frustrations throughout their fight in both her swings of the sword and breathless, snarling words. Not that he expected for it to happen a second time, but he made a mental note to not face her again after she’d been flung off a cliff. 

Every time they fought side by side was exhilarating. If it hadn’t been such a relief to finally remove all traces of Duvos from Sandrock, he might have been sad it ended. 

All along, he had intended to face justice for his actions; it had never occurred to him to run or try to evade what he felt he deserved. When all of Sandrock convened for his trial, he actually felt sick with all the talk of a complete pardon. While he knew some part of him should probably be touched, it just didn’t sit right with him. He understood that people generally thought he had redeemed himself, but the scales didn’t feel balanced. After all, he may have helped save the town, but he would’ve done the same even without his deeds as a bandit hanging over him. Was doing the only thing he ever would’ve chosen to do really enough to cancel out the hurt he had caused? 

In the end, everyone said their piece, but Nat’s words would probably stick with him forever. 

“I know we’re all grateful to Logan. I get that it’s ironic that I’m saying this about a ‘bandit’,” she scoffed, unable to hide her disdain for referring to him as such, “but he’s got a helluva sense of right and wrong…and he thinks a full pardon is wrong. If you’re that grateful to him, if you respect how much he cares about this town and everyone in it, all that he’s done for every one of us…you should be willing to consider his desires here. He wants to make amends and do what he believes is right. Let him. Thank him by putting aside your feelings of justice and trust him to follow his.” 

Her words silenced the murmurs of the crowd, striking to the heart of what he’d been trying and failing to get them all to hear. 

She understood him, perhaps better than anyone but his brother. After watching her for as long as he had, he could read her signs of unease as she spoke. He could hear the quaver in her voice, could see the way she shifted minutely in discomfort she couldn’t quite hide, occasionally looking down before meeting his eyes again. 

He was humbled that this amazing woman was putting aside her own feelings to advocate for his. 

And in that moment, he could finally admit to himself just how hard he had fallen for her. 

No one would ever know whether her impassioned words were the tipping point, but he was convinced they were. He’d be eternally thankful she had managed to sway their hearts where he alone could not. 

But to his dismay, when the dust had finally settled, he didn’t know how to be around her. Without a crisis or the excuse of community service, how was he supposed to do this? He’d never been the social sort. Prior to his time on the run, he wasn’t one to chase women; they usually came to him and if the mood struck him for company, that was enough. If the prospect of pursuing a friendship had him unsteady, the idea of full-blown courtship left him shaking in his boots. 

He could barely find the words to thank her for her speech at his trial, how was he supposed to tell her the depth of his feelings? And Light forbid, how was he supposed to carry on if she rejected him? Either he’d have to bury how he felt and hope his love for her would fade enough to be tolerable or he’d lose her presence in his life entirely. He wasn’t sure which idea pained him more. 

So while he wrestled with his feelings and worked up the nerve, he did what he’d been doing for so long now…he watched. No one could say that he didn’t do his job as a monster hunter, continuing to keep the town safe. But if the areas he patrolled happened to be in whichever direction Nat rode off in each morning, he’d swear that was just a coincidence. 

It was enough for him to watch and wait for the right moment, doing his best to keep everyone safe and try to forget about the heart knot that had taken up residence in his pocket. 

~ ~ ~

Since she had come to Sandrock, Nat had developed more than a few favorite places to complement many of her moods. 

As far as ruins to dive in, her favorite had to be the ones under Eufaula Salvage. The first old world ruins she encountered captivated her imagination like no other place she had ever been. What had they been like when they were bustling? Just how many people would come and go each day? What had life been like in a world where this space was not the encapsulated oddity it was now? She rarely needed the ores found there anymore, but she would still go from time to time, searching for new bits and bobs to reassemble. These puzzle pieces may never make a proper picture, but she didn’t care; each trip was both a comfort and a small, yet nostalgic and rewarding adventure just a short way from home. 

When she wanted to unwind - but also enjoy some good-natured competition - nowhere beat the Golden Goose. While Heidi preferred the Punch-O-Tron and Nat would forever cherish the memory of getting Fang to try Whack-a-Mole, her favorite game would always be Mahjong. She found it to be so much fun, she’d invited the whole town to play at least once, but the person she requested to play with the most was Logan. She secretly adored the way he would look at her pleadingly after every round asking if they were done, even when he was winning by a mile. Yet he’d be there any time she asked…until recently, at least. She knew he could be a bit too selfless for his own good, but she liked to think he enjoyed their time together as well, so she didn’t think he had finally tired of humoring her. She had her theory as to his sudden withdrawal, but it didn’t make it easier to bear. 

After a smothering childhood, she loved that there were plenty of corners in the desert she could tuck herself into when she needed to be alone and think. From places with grueling climbs that yielded wondrous views to so many cliffside caves she would likely never be found, her favorite spot was much simpler: tucked into a literal corner up on the tram deck of Gecko Station. The view of the Shonash Canyon was pretty nice and she had yet to run into another soul up there unless she brought them herself. And while most people wouldn’t care for it, even the machinery running nearby was calming for her. Rhythmic and predictable, only softened occasionally by gusts of wind, it made fine background noise while she was left to her thoughts. 

On this particular day, she had spent an hour with her back pressed into a railing, enjoying the view in the fading dusklight. Her thoughts had been a jumble lately, and she kept coming back to only one thing that had changed recently: Logan. While she still saw him around town plenty, he seemed distant. She had initially chalked it up to him working through his feelings now that his community service was over, but as time went on, he hadn’t bounced back. It would probably be going too far to say he was avoiding her, but he was certainly making himself scarce. It left her feeling something she fought against describing, but she could admit she didn’t like it one bit. 

She couldn’t help but heave a wistful sigh. She knew she’d need to start her descent soon if she wanted to do so before dark truly settled in, but even time alone with her thoughts hadn’t left her feeling any more at peace the way it usually did. Taking a deep breath and holding it almost long enough to hurt, she tried to smooth her furrowed brows into something more neutral and began heading downward. As always, she would ‘fake it ‘til she made it’, pretending to be unbothered until the things that troubled her no longer held her in a stranglehold. No point ruminating on them; she was better off putting it all out of her mind and following her routine. It had gotten her this far. 

Unfortunately, following her routine meant planning for tomorrow and with her mind occupied, she wasn’t fully paying attention to where she was walking, missing the start of one of the many flights of stairs. Where she was expecting a solid metal platform, her foot instead found empty air, leaving her tumbling down the stairs with a yelp. Panting and cursing, Nat took stock of her injuries. Banged up for sure, definitely going to end up with some bruises, but nothing major. 

Grateful that it wasn’t anything that would slow her down, she climbed to her feet…only to discover that she had somehow not noticed the pain in her ankle until she put weight on it. Damnit. Just spectacular. 

As she continued down the rest of the way, each step sent a shock of pain through her ankle and up her calf. Halfway through the descent she had stopped swearing. It wasn’t helping anyway. She clenched her jaw and focused on her breathing. The exertion through pain was making her sweat despite the cooling temperature, leaving her more uncomfortable with every step. 

When she was finally standing on sand again, she pondered her options: get it over with and limp over to Merle, or collapse for a bit of rest, knowing that getting up again would be hell. In the end, her exhaustion made the choice for her, and she attempted a controlled collapse to the ground. It went about as well as could be expected, resulting in sand lightly coating her exposed skin in a miserable grit. 

She was tempted to just lay down on the spot and simply regret her life choices tomorrow, but if the Civil Corps found her again she’d be lectured for weeks. With a sigh and a rueful shake of her head, she reached for her bag to search for the herbs tucked inside. While she trusted Fang’s medicine completely, her body reacted better to the medicinal herbs she was used to from Highwind, so she kept a small supply for situations like these. Unfortunately, the downside was that they tasted awful. Steeling herself against the horrible taste to come, she took a pinch and threw them into her mouth, chewing quickly and holding them in her mouth like she’d been taught as long as she could bear, just barely able to keep from gagging. 

“Ya know you’re supposed to put those in tea or somethin’, right?” a familiar voice she’d missed so much recently called out to her. 

It was a testament to her pain-addled mind that anyone had managed to sneak up on her, let alone a towering yakboy leading an overgrown goat. Yet there he was, now only a few steps away from her. She tried not to focus on the fact this was the closest they’d been in weeks, but quickly gave in to the flutter in her stomach his presence always seemed to bring. 

“I don’t carry tea with me in the desert, do you, yakboy?” she asked with a huff of a laugh she was hoping wouldn’t highlight just how out of breath she was. 

The shade of his hat made it hard to see, but the twitch in his eyebrow told her it had not escaped his notice. After a beat too long he simply shook his head. “Nah, can’t say I do. I much prefer salves over a mouthful of leaves anyway.” 

“Fair enough,” she acquiesced. She was still trying to sound nonchalant, but it was clear Logan wasn’t buying it. As his eyes roamed over her searching for injuries, she tried to draw his attention away. “What are you doing out this way anyway?” 

After a long beat of silence, he responded, “I’m doing my job. Ya know, monster huntin’? Protectin’ the town? The outpost’s a stone’s throw from here.” His worry was clear on his face and in his tone, his eyes sweeping over her yet again in increasing concern. 

Great, Nat thought, now he probably thinks I hit my head, too. Which I did, but not that hard. Get it together!

“...so, uh, you comin’? It’s gettin’ late,” Logan said, breaking her from her typical self-deprecating inner monologue. No matter what she went through, some things never changed. 

Her eyes darted back up to him. She could tell he was winding up into his usual protective, taking-charge mode, so she needed to act normal…but she also wasn’t ready to stand up yet. So in a desperate attempt to give herself some time, she patted the sand next to her in invitation. “It’s not that late. Sit with me for a minute.” 

Logan looked torn but shrugged and settled down next to her. Before she could think of something to say that wouldn’t cause him to worry even more, he asked, “What d’ya do up there, anyhow?” 

She looked at him with slight alarm. He didn’t ask her what she was doing just now but in general, meaning that he knew she was up there somewhat regularly. She wasn’t sure why she was so overcome by a simple question. Perhaps because it meant he had observed her enough to know her habits? 

As nosy as people tended to be in the small town, she was used to a certain amount of scrutiny, but the respect she commanded for all she had done as a builder made most of the town give her the illusion of privacy in her day-to-day comings and goings. The idea that Logan had taken notice made her feel both anxiety and warmth.

After searching for the words, she decided the simplest way to answer was, “It’s a good thinking spot. I like going up there when something is on my mind.” 

“What’s on your mind? Everythin’ seems fine these days, at least.” She caught the way he was looking at her out of the corner of his eye as he said it and tried not to squirm.

Because her mind immediately supplied the answer, You. The longer she let herself think about it, the more she realized she just plain missed him, but she wasn’t sure how to tell him that, or if she even should. She wasn’t even ready to admit to herself how deep that feeling ran, or what it truly meant. 

Their relationship was strange. There was a level of trust between them that she couldn’t explain. Frankly, it was an unprecedented level of trust in her life, made all the more absurd by the fact that they hadn’t properly met until six months ago. She trusted him with her life and had unwavering faith that he’d risk his own skin to have her back…and she was fairly sure he knew she’d do the same. But going through the gauntlet like they had didn’t leave a lot of time for actually getting to know someone. 

It left her feeling unbalanced. She considered him a good friend, but it confused her that she felt like she both knew him so well…but also barely knew him at all. 

There were little bits and pieces of him that she’d discovered in the last month or two since things had settled down. Learning those little details that made him more human than hero were some of her most cherished memories between the two of them. She knew he liked his hot chocolate with a pinch of salt, his meat well beyond well-done, and had a fondness for fluffy socks. She knew that he was a protector to his very core; it was woven into everything he did and everything he dreamed of doing. She could tell that he didn’t know how to cope with the town’s forgiveness, which was likely why he’d been distant since finishing his community service.

But what she didn’t know was how to get him to slow down. Didn’t know why this distance had grown so great between them, or how to bridge it. Didn’t know if he was feeling the same magnetic pull she was feeling and was choosing to fight it instead of leaning in like she wanted him to, or if it was one-sided. 

One thing she was sure of, however, was that this was not the time or place to talk about their feelings. So she deflected. “I dunno. Stuff.” 

“‘Stuff’,” he scoffed, giving her a healthy serving of side-eye. “Right. I hope stuff was worth all those bumps an’ bruises.” 

She sniffed in exaggerated offense. “Quiet time to think is very important. Besides, I’m not that banged up.” 

“Uh-huh. So you’re sayin’ you won’t be black, blue, an’ unable to walk tomorrow?” he countered with a nod toward her outstretched leg, an almost comical level of skepticism dripping from his words. 

“Please. I’ve had much worse,” she reassured with a smile, knowing he was well aware of at least some of the more severe injuries she’d suffered just in the time she came to town. While many of those were objectively worse, it wouldn’t do much to sway him from his worry, but it wasn’t going to stop her from trying. 

He shook his head in clear exasperation, but let the subject drop and stared off into the distance with her for a few minutes. From where they were sitting it was basically just dunes as far as the eye could see, but she pretended to be engrossed if it would prolong the moment. After a while spent quietly side by side, he broke the silence and climbed to his feet. “Alright, I think it’s ‘bout time to be gettin’ back.” 

Looking up, she saw him offering his hand to help her to her feet. She weighed her options between the pain of standing or waiting a bit longer before facing the music. The latter was especially tempting if it meant she could do so without an audience. 

But she should have known it wouldn’t be as simple as just waiting for him to leave. Logan narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. “You can’t get up, can ya?” 

“Of course I can,” came her immediate and mildly affronted answer. She was nearly certain it was true, too, she just wasn’t keen on testing it yet. “Just don’t want to.” 

Breaking out an unimpressed look likely honed by Andy’s unending antics, he clearly conveyed that he didn’t believe her one bit without saying a single word. 

“Humor me,” he insisted. 

“Logan, I’m fine, I’ll head home in a bit,” she deflected. She could see his protective nature fully kicking in and really didn’t like the way this was going. Yes, she missed him lately, but as her friend, not whatever this was. She didn’t need a protector over a simple sprain; she wasn’t the helpless child her family always believed and she damn sure wasn’t going to let Logan treat her like one. 

They stared each other down for another moment before he withdrew his hand and sighed, instead rubbing it over his face in the universal sign of someone really tired of dealing with something. “Ya really gonna make me do this?” 

“...Do what?” she asked, suspicion and worry drenching her tone. 

In response, he pointedly offered his hand one more time. When she shook her head at him in exasperation, he sighed. “This,” he answered cryptically, then let out a particular tone of whistle Nat didn’t recognize. But apparently Merle did, because she bleated once and set out at a trot towards home. 

Nat’s jaw dropped. How dare he? “You’re really going to make me walk home to prove a point?” 

He sighed and rolled his eyes in response, looking like he was torn between exasperation and offense. “Course not. I’m givin’ you a ride home myself.” 

Without waiting for her surely indignant answer, he stooped down to lift her up. She instantly bristled and leaned away. She’d be lying if she said she’d never imagined him picking her up before, but it was under entirely different circumstances unrelated to injuries. And usually involved more consent, too.  “What do you think you’re doing?” 

The look on his face was priceless as he straightened up; she barely held in a giggle. It was a bizarre mix between chastisement and being on his last good nerve. “Fine, go ahead. Stand up an’ climb on Rambo. I’ll wait.” He even whistled for Rambo to come closer from where he’d wandered off, as if to really drive the point home. 

No longer amused, Nat was thinking that if looks could kill, Logan probably would’ve dropped dead from the glare she was aiming his way. She may miss him eventually, but she was getting really sick of being the target of his overbearing brand of protectiveness. 

When she didn’t make an immediate attempt, he held out his hand again. Defeated, she reluctantly took it this time, wincing when she put weight on her injured ankle. 

“That looks like it hurts,” Logan murmured, uncharacteristically soft. She had fully expected an incoming I-told-you-so, but she couldn’t see or hear a hint of it in his face or words. Clearly having learned his lesson, before reaching for her, he asked, “Can I give you a hand?” 

She could feel the fatigue of injury on top of an already long day of work settling over her, leaving a slight embarrassed flush on her cheeks and no remaining energy for fighting. Bracing herself for the flood of feelings she knew would hit her when she was in his arms, she nodded her assent. She only barely held in the involuntary squeak when he effortlessly scooped her into his arms and she pointedly looked away, unable to trust herself if she looked him in the face this close. 

Before she knew it the moment ended as he helped her into Rambo’s saddle, then climbed up behind her. If being carried had her in her feelings, his warmth against her back and his arms loose around her to hold the reins felt nearly unbearable. It was getting harder and harder to avoid putting a label on these feelings, but she was resolved not to face it while exhausted and pressed against him. 

By the time Rambo reached the bridge, the silence was driving Nat up the wall. It wasn’t actually uncomfortable - Logan was usually easy to share a companionable silence with - but she felt the need to fill it anyway. She could tell him what was truly on her mind: how much she had missed his presence lately. Or she could go with casual small talk, ask about his day, or how Andy was doing. 

Pure petulance came out of her mouth instead. “I could’ve made it home on my own, you know.” 

Logan snorted behind her. She could feel his exhale in her hair, feel his contained laughter in the way his chest moved against her back. “I know you could, Nat.” Despite his amusement from just a moment ago, the words were soft and sincere. The way he said her name so gently made her breath catch in her throat. “But you didn’t need to. I’ve gotcha. ‘Sides, we both know ridin’s bad for a sprained ankle…it is a sprain, right?” 

“It’s definitely not broken.” A thought occurred to her, filling her with dread. “You’re not taking me to the clinic, are you?” 

“Should I be taking you to the clinic?” he asked in a warning tone she was positive Andy was very familiar with. Nat groaned and threw her head back, forgetting for the moment that he was right behind her, resulting in bashing it into his chest. He let out a nearly inaudible oof but otherwise didn’t react. “I’m kiddin’. We can just wrap it when we get you home.” 

Nat bit back a sigh in response. She supposed it was too much to hope that he’d simply drop her off. Perhaps the universe was getting back at her for missing him so badly, but she’d wanted his company, not to be babied and protected like she was made of glass. This kind of treatment was exactly what she had moved away from home to avoid, and she’d worked so hard in hopes the people of Sandrock would not see her as some helpless babe. Even knowing deep down that wasn’t the reason for Logan’s actions wasn’t soothing her rankled nerves. 

While she was lost in her stewing thoughts, they had reached her workshop and Logan was bringing Rambo to a stop mere steps away from her door. He hopped easily off the goat’s back, then turned and offered Nat a hand down. She knew she needed the help but the knowledge didn’t make a dent in her discontent. Taking his hand, she slid off Rambo, letting Logan steady her as she landed on her good foot. 

“How ya wanna do this?” he asked. 

Offering a small smile that he actually asked this time, she thought for a moment then answered, “I can make it to my couch from here.” 

“I betcha can, but I can hel-”

“Logan,” she cut him off, putting considerable effort into keeping her tone light. “Hobbling to my couch isn’t going to make this any worse. I got this.” 

He sighed at her stubborn insistence, but held out a hand in an ‘after you’ gesture. But when she simply opened the door, he apparently couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. “Now hang on, you don’t lock your door? Is that a good idea?” She wasn’t exactly surprised he had an opinion on the topic but she had reached the point of being too exhausted to protest as much as she ordinarily would. 

True to her word, she limped to her couch with minimal wincing and plopped herself down before answering. “I lock it while I’m sleeping. But Duvos is gone and I’m a builder; the most valuable things I have to steal are outside in my yard for the taking.” As she spoke, she managed to tug off her boot and sock. The swelling made it painful, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. After years of hiding pain to keep her overprotective parents from fretting over every tiny injury and illness, her pain tolerance exceeded what most would expect. 

Letting out his biggest sigh yet, he held his rebuttal back, likely knowing it wouldn’t make a difference. Instead, he looked around and took charge of the situation. First, he pushed the coffee table closer to where Nat was sitting, then snagged a throw pillow. After meeting her eyes in a silent request, he gently grasped her leg, laying her foot on top of the pillow on the table. 

“Where can I find your first aid kit?” 

She had hoped, in vain evidently, that he’d simply leave her be at this point. The part of her that had dearly missed Logan’s company had finally been dwarfed by the part of her that hated being treated like she wasn’t fully capable of taking care of herself. She was ready to be alone to sleep off what truly was a minor injury and hope tomorrow would be better. 

But she knew that this was a battle she would not win. Feeling defeated, she told him where to find it and tried to relax. She really didn’t want this to end with her biting his head off. It wasn’t his fault she was extra prickly when people tried to take care of her. Perhaps it was simply a miracle that he hadn’t seen this side of her sooner - all good things must end, and all that. 

When he returned with the already open kit, he silently lifted her foot, replacing the pillow it had been resting on with his lap. As he expertly wrapped the compression bandage around her swollen ankle with just the right amount of pressure, she couldn’t help the blush rising to her cheeks. The situation, despite being entirely chaste, felt intimate in a way she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the easy way he had inserted himself into her personal space, or the strangely domestic feeling settling over them in the privacy of her home. Maybe it was the fact that she knew she’d like him in her personal space more often, just under different circumstances…

She shook her head vigorously. Perhaps she had hit her head too hard, if having a good friend give her basic medical attention was getting under her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so ridiculous. 

Suddenly, she felt his eyes on her. When she looked up she realized he had finished tending to her ankle and was looking at her with an increasingly worried look on his face. 

She needed to get him out before she embarrassed herself more than she already had. In an attempt to distract with humor, she blurted out, “Thanks. If you’re going to insist on treating me like I’m some helpless damsel, there are crutches in my closet upstairs you can grab for me.” 

Immediately she winced. Instead of humor, her words and tone had raced right past the line into being flat-out rude. 

“Is that what ya think this is?” he asked in reply, his voice incredulous but soft, completely unoffended by her outburst, thank the Light. When she looked away from him, he leaned to the side to meet her eyes again. “‘Cause it’s not.” 

Something in her face must have betrayed every terrible thought going through her mind. In that moment, she felt like she may as well have been naked, with her tired mind laying every vulnerability she carried between them for him to read like a book. 

“Nat, I’ve never met anyone as tough as you. I ain’t helpin’ ‘cause I think you’re weak or any nonsense like that. Get that garbage outta your mind.” When she managed to meet his eyes again and give a small nod, he offered a small smile in return. “Good. Now, I’m sure ya can get up the stairs, but would ya let me give ya a hand, darlin’? ‘S no trouble.” 

Her heart seized for a moment when he called her ‘darlin’. He had done so before, but this time felt different. Less like casual banter, more earnest and heartfelt. Somehow that one little affectionate term changed how she felt about everything he’d done for her tonight. There was still a little voice in the back of her mind that insisted that he must think less of her after he rode in and had to save her from herself over a simple sprained ankle, but it was much quieter and easier to ignore. That voice had been whispering toxic thoughts to her for years and she knew it wouldn’t be silenced so easily; it would be as stubborn as she was. 

But it had been a long day, and she couldn’t dwell on it while Logan was waiting for her answer. Part of her was still determined to handle things on her own, if only to prove to both Logan and herself that she could…but another part was exhausted and wouldn’t mind being in his arms again, even if it was just for the short trip up the stairs to her bedroom. 

For once, the second part of her was louder. “Yeah, I’d appreciate the help.” 

Every worry she had about being too needy was banished by the smile he gave her when she accepted his offer. He easily hefted her into his arms again and carried her upstairs to her bedroom, setting her down on the bed gently. Normally she would have protested the extra care, but something felt different this time. Instead of feeling coddled or belittled, she felt simply cared for without judgement. Treasured. She filed the thought away for later consideration. 

“So, uh, I doubt ya’d want my help changin’ or nothin’,” Logan said haltingly, rubbing the back of his neck in clear discomfort. Nat found herself blushing at the idea. “I could go get Mi-an or Elsie, if ya want…” 

“Oh. Um…If you could just grab me some clothes I can handle the rest,” she offered. He nodded, still looking awkward but considerably less so. “My pajamas are in the bottom drawer over there. Anything will do.” 

The awkward feeling in the room was interrupted by Logan’s soft chuckle as he grabbed the clothes at the very top of her drawer…which just happened to be a pair of gray shorts and matching tank top printed with little floppies. “Real cute,” he murmured, tone sounding surprisingly sincere with just a hint of teasing.

Nat was certain her face would have caught fire from the heat in her cheeks if such a thing were humanly possible. She had forgotten those would be on top when she let him help with this. She almost wished he would just outright tease her about it instead. That would’ve been easier to handle. 

Just after he handed her the clothes, he paused and swore under his breath. “I forgot, you need to eat, don’tcha? You gon’ be alright?” 

Damn this man for being so considerate and making her feel things she absolutely was not ready to face. Thankfully, she could honestly answer, “I’m too tired, I think I’ll just pass out as soon as you leave.” 

With a nod, he replied, “If ya wake durin’ the night and your foot is cold, unwrap your ankle. I’ll swing by with somethin’ from the Blue Moon in the mornin’.” 

This is too much! her brain screamed, finally having reached her absolute limit. She tried to open her mouth to tell him thanks but no thanks, but before she could manage to get the words out, he quickly said good night, then he was gone. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if he did so as a way to circumvent her sure refusal. If so, that meant he had already figured out how to deal with her stubborn streak more than anyone ever had in her life. The thought made her chest feel strange. 

After carefully changing into her soft pajamas and crawling into bed, she figured she’d be out like a light. But she wasn’t. 

Her mind kept running in circles. She had gone from being upset Logan seemed to be avoiding her to being annoyed he wasn’t avoiding her to being almost comfortable with his help…and she didn’t like help from anyone. 

People around Sandrock usually felt pretty put out when she didn’t let them help, so she had learned to put up minimal protest and then pretend to be grateful even when it ate her up inside. Somehow, Logan had figured out exactly the right words to say to allow her to accept care while holding onto her fragile pride, a balance no one in her life had ever managed to strike so precisely before. It cushioned all the jagged, insecure parts of her that were terrified to be seen as helpless and incompetent the moment she faltered and accepted help. 

As she was finally drifting off, she realized she was smiling despite the slight throbbing in her ankle. While she wasn’t quite ready to label these things Logan made her feel, she could at least admit to herself that maybe letting someone care about her wasn’t as terrible as she had always believed. 

Chapter Text

Five days ago, Nat woke up out of sorts. She felt constantly on edge and had a sense of impending doom. Dramatic, perhaps, but sometimes the mind can’t be reasoned with. Since she wasn’t about to go to the clinic and announce that her symptoms were paranoia and feeling weird, she did what she always did when she had problems…she quite literally worked through them - although probably not in the intended manner - by keeping herself occupied with tasks until she was ready to collapse. 

Two days later, she suddenly understood that anxiety because she woke up sick as a dog. Her head was pounding, her sinuses felt like they had been kicked in by a yakmel, and she was frequently sent running to the bathroom to be sick. Most of that day was spent in bed, hoping no one would come check on her. She had spent enough of her childhood ill and the last thing she wanted was the people of Sandrock to see her as that sickly child she had been living in the shadow of up until she left Highwind with nothing but the clothes on her back. 

The day after that had been the slightest bit better. The nausea was mostly gone, but the other symptoms lingered. She was able to leave her house at least, but she still avoided people, both to avoid spreading whatever she had but also so the well-meaning but overbearing people of Sandrock wouldn’t take it upon themselves to care for her. Thinking about having to outrun the pitying looks and endless offers of help yet again made her more than willing to press through the pain. 

Yesterday, people finally started to worry anyway. Several stopped by her workshop and asked after her, but she was able to avoid most of them by making an effort to appear as busy as possible. It wasn’t a complete lie. She had a lot she needed to get done for her portion of the construction of Catori World, and she really didn’t want to face any questions about what was taking so long, especially from the woman herself. Catori wasn’t a bad person, but Nat didn’t think she currently had the patience not to go off on her at the moment. Catori didn’t seem to realize that most people were willing to help her out of goodwill for a neighbor and the desire to see Sandrock improve, and if the woman proposed one more poorly thought out scheme to Nat, she may do something she’d regret.

Which led to the present day. While Nat didn’t believe anyone begrudged her the time she was taking, she had the strong sense that if she took much longer, it was going to lead to a lot of questions. So her choices were to take another few days off and prepare to fend off some of Sandrock’s nosier inhabitants, or push through and make it obvious that work was getting done, even if a bit behind schedule. 

So Nat spent the better part of the morning setting the automatic side of her assembly station to making rollercoaster parts. Nat had always liked working with her hands, so she wasn’t sold on that upgrade at the time, but it was really paying off with her being sick. 

It was also abundantly clear that the people of Sandrock believed Nat and Mi-an were full-blown miracle workers and had given absolutely zero thought into how they were meant to transport any of this stuff, but she supposed that was part of what she signed up for. So she loaded up her cart for her yakmel, Bruce, to tow and set off toward the site that was to become Catori World. Bruce was somewhat finicky and didn’t like carrying both her and the cart, but she was determined to get something done today. She could handle walking alongside the cart for a while. 

The installation went by uneventfully, for which Nat was immensely grateful. She was mostly running on instinct and wasn’t so much in the mindset for true problem solving, so it worked out for the best. 

In her tired daze, she hadn’t noticed that Bruce was quite a ways ahead of her on the return trip, happily heading toward home, until she crossed paths with the band of rockyenarolls that tended to loiter between the valley and the tracks. Someone really ought to take care of these, she thought with an internal sigh she was already too tired to physically heave. 

Usually she could easily outpace them until they lost interest, but it seemed that they had deemed her vulnerable prey in her current state - which they were not at all wrong about - forming a circle around her. 

Her thoughts felt like they were moving in slow-motion and she could only notice with muted horror that any window she may have had to flee had come and gone. She went to reach for her gun only to realize it wasn’t there. She must have left it at home. 

Could this get any worse? Tipping her head back in exasperation with her own stupidity, she reached for the sword on her back instead. It wasn’t the ideal weapon to deal with enemies on all sides and she knew it; each swing left her wide open to attack, but she wasn’t exactly drowning in options. She tried to brandish it threateningly at the rockyenaroll in front of her, but this illness had her moves sluggish, her limbs impossibly heavy. Even lifting the sword felt like a true feat in this state.

One moment she was staring down one monster and the next, another slammed into her back. It was a miracle that it seemed to have headbutted her from behind rather than leading with claws, or this would already be over. She quickly rolled over just in time for the rockyenaroll to loom over her, panting in her face. 

A really unhelpful voice in the back of her mind noticed how remarkably bad its breath was, and when that was the only thought in her head, she realized she was well and truly screwed. 

Without really thinking about how to best go about it, her instincts finally roared to life and insisted she do something, and in her panic, for some reason, she decided to punch the monster as hard as she could in the face. Being at an awkward angle, unable to really wind up for it, and exhausted from sickness, she couldn’t pack much into the punch. The rockyenaroll backed off for long enough for her to prop herself up on her elbows. She gulped as the monster stalked closer to her again - just in time for a gunshot to fire, the rockyenaroll yelping, and the whole group of them ran off spooked. She collapsed onto her back, wincing at both the close call and the way her head throbbed extra hard when it hit the ground. 

It was a testament to her foggy mental state that she hadn’t really considered who had fired the shot that saved her until a familiar voice called out, “Girl, I know ya got more spunk than sense sometimes, but what were ya thinkin’, punchin’ one of those in the teeth?” 

Her face screwed up in annoyance at how amused he sounded, her cheeks flushing extra hard from embarrassment on top of illness. Of course he’d show up when she’s a mess again, bad luck at every turn seemed to be the story of her life, especially since she came to Sandrock. 

Opening her eyes - when did she close them? - she saw Logan looming over her, offering her a hand so she could stand, his face growing more concerned by the second. She started to reach for his hand with her right, only then noticing the blood dripping from it. It seemed she hadn’t made it out entirely unscathed after all. 

Seeing the way she stared at her bloody hand in confusion for a few seconds too long, Logan cleared his throat pointedly to catch her attention. She blinked hard, forcing herself to focus, and reached out with her left hand to accept the help rising to her feet. 

After an awkward silence where she refused to look him in the eye, Logan offered, “Looks like your yakmel took off. I can give ya a ride to the clinic, if ya like.” 

Nat can’t help but make a face of disgust in response. She greatly preferred social visits to Fang over medical ones. In fact, she avoided doctor visits at all costs unless she was physically dragged by a concerned friend, which was also part of the reason she’d avoided everyone all week. Most people would assume it was because of pride - which she could admit wasn’t entirely wrong - but it was more due to bad memories of her childhood, the details of which she’d managed to avoid telling any Sandrockers so far.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” she insisted lamely. 

In response, Logan squinted at her in disbelief. She supposed that wasn’t entirely unfair, considering more than half her hand was coated in blood at this point, but it was worth a try. 

“I’m gonna hafta insist this time, Nat,” he returned, kind but clearly unyielding. 

She got the sense that he was quickly learning how to deal with her when she was being difficult. She was conflicted on how she felt about that. 

Still, she was nothing if not stubborn when it came to medical attention. “What if I insist too?” she fired back, knowing she sounded childish but not particularly caring. Her body was already halfway to being on auto-pilot with how tired she was and unlike her stance on going to the clinic, she wasn’t inclined to fight it. 

Logan stared off for a long moment, face somewhere between being deep in thought and moderately annoyed. Finally he countered, “How ‘bout I take care of it at your place? I’ve seen bites get infected, and I promise ya don’t want none’a that.” 

“Technically, it’s not a bite,” she said sheepishly with half a smile, despite knowing he was unfortunately, absolutely right. 

He looked like he was holding in a laugh, looking at her in a way that was almost fond. “Same difference. Now c’mon.” He reached for her good hand and she hesitantly let him, knowing that letting him take care of her at home was the best deal she was going to get in this situation. 

She must have zoned out at that point, because the next thing she knew, she’s on her couch with Logan setting down a bowl of water and a towel on her coffee table, then heading down the hall to her bathroom, she could only assume in search of her first aid kit. It was currently next to her bed, where she’d been popping fever relievers like they were candy since she woke up feeling like the garbage she frequently stopped to scrape off the street in town. 

Sure enough, Logan soon returned to her living room empty-handed. “Where’s the kit?” For a long beat, Nat only stared at him, too tired to be truly defiant but not in the mood to be cooperative either. His eyes narrowed dangerously, evidently reading her intent like a book. “Nat, tell me where to find your kit or so help me, I will throw ya over my shoulder and carry your ass to Fang’s,” he threatened. 

She didn’t have to consider whether it was a bluff for very long; she knew he’d do it if she continued pushing his buttons. Sulking for just a moment, she finally admitted, “It’s on my nightstand.” 

After fetching the kit, he settled on the couch next to her, wetting the cloth and gently taking her hand and rinsing it. Once it was clean, she could see where the monster’s teeth had shredded the skin of her knuckles and the back of her hand. Looking at her mess of a hand, she wondered if she’d even managed to inflict any damage in return. It seemed unlikely.  

Logan hissed in sympathy. “That’s gotta hurt. Really, what were you thinkin’?” 

Nat stared at her hand impassively, too tired to be disturbed by the wound. “Guess I was thinking that I was out of options,” she mumbled. 

Surprisingly, that put a tiny smile on Logan’s face. “Not willin’ to go down without a fight, huh? That’s my g-” he cut off suddenly and cleared his throat. “I mean, I’d expect nothin’ less from ya.” 

Already feeling like her mind was miles away, Nat didn’t make anything of his pause. Her thoughts were busy running in circles of self-deprecation. 

Why did he have to keep swooping in at the worst moments? First her twisted ankle, now this? She could admit that she really would’ve been in trouble had he not stumbled upon her today, but she really didn’t like it. Why couldn’t it have been someone else, anyone else? Why did it have to be Logan? He must think she was so clumsy and hopeless. 

She had worked so hard to adapt to life in Sandrock, and most days she would probably feel like she’d done a good job. She had overcome so much! She had grown exponentially, far more than she ever would’ve been able to back home! She always tried so hard to be the picture of professionalism and competence in her work, but then she went and failed spectacularly like this in front of the one person whose opinion she cared about the most.

It was so clear how much everyone respected Logan. He could handle anything thrown at him, and he had done so against all odds. He’d been dealt a rough hand in life and had never let it stop him; he was a hero to his core. Everyone loved him and only wanted him back, even after having to resort to banditry. They had needed to be convinced to punish him at all; every single person in town respected the hell out of him, and she couldn’t fault them for it. 

Sure, people called her a hero of Sandrock too, but she knew that by comparison, she was laughably incompetent. What hero would need saving from being pinned by a damn overgrown wild dog? With her luck she’d need saving from being mauled by Nemo next. While she made a point not to put much stock in words from a traitor, Pen hadn’t been all that wrong to call her ‘Skinny’. It was delusional to think she’d ever be able to be in the same league- 

Suddenly, her thoughts were cut off by a large hand pressed to her forehead. It seemed that Loogan had finished bandaging her hand and she hadn’t even registered it. She sluggishly tried to bat his hand away, as if the damage wasn’t already done. 

Logan made a wordless sound of displeasure and looked at her sadly. “I shoulda known. Since when can a ‘yena get the drop on ya? What were ya even doin’ out there this sick?” 

She turned a tired glare in his direction. Part of her wanted to protest that she was fine, despite the growing pile of evidence to the contrary, but she was mostly too exhausted at this point to argue. The disappointment in his voice was clear, and she couldn’t argue with that either. She was pretty disappointed in herself too. There was nothing to say, so she stayed silent. 

“Look,” Logan started softly, bringing her attention back to him. “I know better’n to go demandin’ ya see Fang. But I’m askin’, will ya let me help get ya there? That seems like a nasty fever, and I can’t imagine ya feel all too well.” 

The gentleness in his tone almost broke her. There was no judgement there, only kindness. It was far too late to keep from looking weak in front of him, but still some part of her refused to give in. “I’m getting better,” she weakly insisted. When he just looked at her sadly, she added, “Really. I promise.” 

“How can I help?” he asked in return, clearly conflicted over whether to press harder. 

After thinking for a moment, she admitted, “I think I’d really like a nap.” 

Logan barked out a laugh, earning a confused look from Nat. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said, still chuckling slightly. “Never woulda thought I’d hear ya say that. Wasn’t sure you knew what a nap even was.”

“Very funny,” she said with a half-hearted, overtired glare. 

“Gotta disagree,” he quipped in response, trying and failing to get his amusement under control, though there was still some underlying worry evident in the way he kept an eye on her. 

She really wanted to be mad at him for continuing to have a laugh at her expense, but there was something so charmingly open about his face when he was laughing like this. Even his posture was relaxed. It was just plain unfair how good he looked at ease like this on her couch. She wondered if he’d be open to spending time with her here without an injury to tend to, but she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to bring herself to ask. Just imagining the look on his face as he rejected her left a pit in her stomach. Would he be angry that she dared to ask? Or just pity her even more than he surely already does? She didn’t think she could bear that. 

“You’re lookin’ a lot worse for wear, Nat. Need help gettin’ upstairs?” he asked suddenly, sounding genuinely worried and no longer amused. 

She would’ve thought she’d be relieved for him to finally stop laughing at her, but she found she wasn’t. She just felt anger she couldn’t fully explain wash over her. It had made sense to carry her up the stairs with a hurt ankle, but she bristled at the offer under these circumstances. She had hit her limit of being cared for and mixed with her sluggish thoughts and exhaustion, her mood swung dangerously. In the moment, she forgot about all the reasons she shouldn’t go off on him, all the reasons she’d come to care for the man in front of her so much. 

She couldn’t keep it inside anymore, even though a tiny voice in her head was telling her she would regret this. “Going to try tucking me in, too? I’m not a child or an invalid, I can get myself into bed,” she spat. “I was fine before you came into my life; I am not completely helpless, Logan.” 

“Darl-” Logan began in alarm, but cut the endearment short when the glare directed at him intensified. “Nat. ‘M sorry. Was just tryin’ to help.” 

Standing up and enjoying for once being able to look down at him, she said, “If you want to help, get out of my house and get Bruce settled and then leave me alone.” 

“Bruce?” he asked, clearly confused. 

“My yakmel.” 

Logan’s eyes widened and she saw him swallow nervously. “Ya know that yakmel’s a girl, ri-”

“Yes, Logan, I am aware. Going to belittle me for my naming choices too?” 

Unable to bear looking at him anymore, she began walking away and trudging up the stairs. 

When she took a single look back, she saw him open his mouth as if to argue, then seemed to think better of it. She heard him silently get up and walk out as she turned back and continued up the stairs, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

When she reached her bedroom, Nat considered changing into something more comfortable but decided against it and climbed straight into bed. Once she pulled the blanket over herself, she deflated and couldn’t help the rush of tears. 

Why did this keep happening? Why couldn’t he see the times she handled herself well? Like the times her aim is flawless, when she manages to fight through half a dozen monsters with ease, or when she manages to lift something heavier than herself above her head? It felt like she was the victim of indescribably bad luck for him to constantly see her at her worst. 

Just when she was finally coming around to putting a label on these feelings for him, she was confronted with yet another humiliation in front of the one person she desperately wanted to see her as an equal. 

Above all, she felt regret for going off on him. Even she knew that she had been unfair in her accusations. Even if he didn’t see her the way she wished he would, she knew he meant well. Since getting to know him, she knew how much of a ridiculous stretch that Bandit King persona was; Logan didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. And yet she’d belittled him just like she accused him of doing to her. 

Perhaps it was better to just give up on these feelings and move on with her life. Even if he didn’t see her as just another person to protect, she had just blown up whatever their relationship was. The sooner she accepted that she had ruined everything and gave up the better. 

Chapter Text

It had been a rough couple weeks for Logan since Nat had kicked him out of her house. It seemed that Nat was determined to see the worst in his motives and he wasn’t sure how to go about correcting her assumptions…especially considering that she appeared to be avoiding him since. It probably wasn’t obvious to the rest of the town, but he had definitely noticed how she no longer greeted him in public and avoided eye contact when they did cross paths. 

For nearly a week after the incident, she hadn’t ventured into the desert, likely to recover from both her illness and her injured hand, which he was relieved to see. But when she resumed her trips out of town, Logan had a difficult decision to make. He couldn’t help but worry, and keeping watch over those he cared about had become so ingrained that he found it hard to stop…but he was pretty sure if he helped her out again, there might be no coming back as far as their relationship. 

In the end, it wasn’t much of a choice. Unless he went fully out of town for his work, they both spent time in the same areas, and he’d have to make a conscious effort to ride in a different direction than she did each day. And as it turns out, that wasn’t an effort he was willing to make. She would probably interpret it as a lack of faith in her, but he’d keep an eye on any of his friends who spent as much time in the Eufaulan wilderness as she did. At least, that’s what he continued to tell himself.

So that was how Logan found himself waiting impatiently outside the Mole Cave where Nat was doing some mining. It had been a few hours since she went in, which was not an abnormal amount of time for her to spend in the mines by any means. But after his fourth lap of the area, he had settled down for a break. 

Not long after he’d sat down, he heard what sounded like a large explosion in the mine. Nat had once told him that mines often had barrels of explosives buried throughout, and that it was no big deal - often it was even useful - to set them off as long as you’re careful. The idea hadn’t sat right with him, but he trusted her judgement on this more than his own; he could happily concede this was her area of expertise. However, half a minute after the sound of the explosion, he heard what he would guess was a large amount of rocks falling. He imagined it was what a tunnel collapsing might sound like. The sound made him break out in a nervous sweat, conjuring memories of the night his Pa died. Standing before a pile of rubble…finally finding his Pa only for him to die in Logan’s arms…he shuddered. Calling that night to mind never failed to leave him unsettled. 

Looking out at the horizon, he could tell a sandstorm was approaching. It was too close for him to make it back to town before it hit, but with his old hideout so close he wasn’t worried about shelter. But he was worried about Nat. He knew she would have opinions about that, but it couldn’t be helped. He also knew better than to wander into the mine looking for her. While he’d spent time in more than his fair share of caves, he doubted he’d be able to find her, even if he was overreacting and the explosion was not a big deal. With that crazy drill of hers, she’d be able to make her way out even if she were trapped temporarily. She’d be safe from the storm inside anyway.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that something was wrong.

Between the oncoming storm and the uneasiness he felt, he was uncharacteristically frozen in place. It didn’t happen to him often; hunters lived and died on their reaction speed and did not have the luxury of second guessing their next move. Being paralyzed in fear meant certain death more often than not. He hadn’t made it this far by ignoring his instincts, but these days it seemed he spent a disproportionate amount of time worrying about Nat’s safety, especially considering how capable he knew her to be. 

Just as he pushed himself to his feet and began pacing, he heard a ruckus from just inside the cave and footsteps unevenly approaching. Peering in, he saw the small, familiar form of the builder staggering out of the cave, coughing up a storm. 

“Nat? Y’alright?” he called out to her before he could stop himself. 

Her eyes snapped up to his face and he noted how her face immediately shifted to an expression of annoyance, bordering on disgust, including the most dramatic eyeroll he’d seen since Sandrock had a lot more teenage residents. 

When she managed to speak between the coughs, she grumbled, “Of course you’d be here.” 

Grimacing at the hostility in her tone, he supposed he really shouldn’t have expected any different.

Once he finally caught a clear look at her up close, his hurt faded instantly, alarm taking its place. Beneath a layer of white dust, her face was scraped up and bleeding, and her eyes looked completely wrong. One pupil was blown so wide that it nearly concealed the turquoise color of her iris…and her other eye didn’t match. Tell-tale sign of a concussion. He could only assume the explosion he’d heard earlier had something to do with it. 

Logan swallowed down his instinct to ask again if she was alright. Between her irritation and potentially compromised thinking, he couldn’t expect to get a useful answer. He looked over his shoulder to check the progress of the sandstorm. The window to reach his old hideout before the storm was upon them was closing. He could try getting the story out of her once they were safely sheltered. 

To the uninitiated, it would seem like a simple task but he knew better. He needed to convince a woman who was already angry with him, probably not in her right mind, and stubborn on a good day to do the thing she hated most in the world: letting someone help her. He could only hope this wouldn’t end with him needing to throw her over his shoulder kicking and screaming to get them to safety, but he would do it if he had to. Leaving her exposed in the coming storm was simply not an option. 

Plan in place, he turned back to the builder in front of him. She seemed to be alternating between looking around nervously and staring right through him. When she didn’t react to him moving within arm’s reach, he placed one hand gently on her shoulder. Thankfully, that got her attention. 

“Nat, darlin’, there’s a storm comin’. We need to get outta here.” When her only response was to look confused, he continued, “My old hideout ain’t far. We can make it before the storm hits, but we hafta go now.” 

The good news was she hadn’t told him off yet. She didn’t even seem angry anymore.

The bad news was that she looked even more confused than earlier, and was swaying like a strong gust would knock her off her feet. If he weren’t halfway to crisis mode, he’d be relieved that he had stuck around long enough to catch her exiting the mines. 

“I…I’ll jus’...w-wait in the cave,” she stammered with an aborted headshake and a wince. 

She’s visibly in pain and confused, he noted, already anticipating the report he was going to have to give Fang when they returned to town. Leaving her in this state was definitely not an option. He trailed the hand on her shoulder lightly down her arm and grasped her hand. The confusion on her face as she looked down at their hands sent another wave of fear through him, but getting them both to safety had to take priority. While neither of them were strangers to simply braving a typical sandstorm, he really didn’t like the look of this one, and with Nat in a compromised state he thought caution best this time. 

Gently pulling her by the hand, he led her to Rambo without another word. He was grateful that she wasn’t fighting him, but her compliance was worryingly out of character for her lately. “Let’s go for a ride, Nat.” 

As if she hadn’t noticed him leading her for several steps, she suddenly dug her heels in and began to protest weakly. “Wait, I don’...don’t want to. N…no...” She tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but alarmingly, it appeared she wasn’t able to. Even if she did, he was pretty sure she’d just land flat on her ass in the process. 

“Nata-” he started, hoping her full name might carry some weight, but stopped when he realized he didn’t actually know what ‘Nat’ was short for. He’d always assumed it was ‘Natalie’, but was it? It really felt like something he should know. Once things were less dire he’d have to remember to ask her, assuming she was willing to speak to him again. “Nat,” he called to her softly, like he was trying to avoid spooking a tense animal. The comparison was more apt than he wanted to think about. “We need to go, darlin’. Please come with me.” 

She bit her lip anxiously and squinted at him like she was trying to work out a puzzle. He couldn’t even guess what was going through her mind, but luckily she let him pull her along until they were standing next to Rambo, who was beginning to stamp his hooves in agitation. 

The gentle approach seemed to be working better, so he tried to suppress the urgency he could feel buzzing in his veins. Remembering how she had reacted last time he tried to pick her up without asking, he thought it best not to repeat that blunder. “I need to lift ya up, that okay?” 

For the shortest moment, her eyes seemed to clear, as if she understood. But all too soon that moment passed. Before she could answer him, her eyes clouded over again then fluttered closed, leaving him with a split second to catch her around the waist before she could hit the ground. 

“Easy there, darlin’,” he murmured to her limp form. With as little time as they likely had, this turn of events may have been for the best. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself to keep his rising panic from overflowing. 

Nat passing out did slightly complicate getting them both in the saddle, but soon enough he was positioned behind her, one arm wrapped around her torso and the other holding the reins, urging Rambo to head for their old hideout. The route was familiar to both goat and rider, making the trip simple and leaving Logan with time to get lost in his thoughts about Nat. 

If his hair hadn’t already been naturally white he was pretty sure constantly worrying about her would’ve been turning it grey. He wasn’t sure whether to consider Nat exceptionally unlucky or a true trouble magnet, but he knew he really didn’t like how she tended to get sucked into danger at every turn; even mundane things seemed to pose a considerable threat to her safety. 

The sandstorm ended up reaching them while Rambo was making his way down the cliff but thankfully this wasn’t the first time the goat had taken this path in less than ideal conditions. Logan took his hand off the reins briefly to pull the bandana around his neck over his nose and mouth just as Nat began to stir. Logan winced as he thought of what she must be experiencing. He couldn’t imagine many ways to be awoken that were less pleasant than being battered with sand in the wind even without the disorientation of a concussion. 

Nat began weakly trying to fight his hold on her, pushing at his arm around her middle and trying to wriggle out of his hold. Instinctively, his grip tightened, which seemed to agitate her further. He scrambled to find a way to keep her from fighting enough to knock them all off balance at such a perilous spot, eventually settling on calling out just loud enough for her to hear over the storm, “Nat, I need you to calm down. Can you do that, darlin’? We’re real close now.” 

Immediately her struggling slowed but she still tried to shift herself, likely out of discomfort rather than terror. He readjusted his arm pulled across her torso and attempted to pull her up higher from her slumped position but only succeeded in pulling her tighter against him. Pressed together more than before, he couldn’t help but notice how labored her breathing was. 

Just as he was trying to work out a way to better shield her from the elements, Rambo made the turn into the entrance of the cave. Grateful for the good timing, Logan dismounted carefully, keeping a hand on Nat until his feet were under him and he could slide her out of the saddle and into his arms.  

“Still with me?” he asked her as he made his way over to the hidden entrance that would bypass all the nonsense at the front of the cave. The alternate path down to their living area was dark and a bit on the steep side, but Andy was the only one who ever did all that jumping foolishness by choice. Logan sure as hell wasn’t doing it while carrying the barely-conscious builder in his arms if he could help it. For whatever reason, Rambo had never liked carrying him through this part of the cave, so he knew the way on foot well, even with the lack of light.

At the sound of his voice Nat stirred slightly. “‘M here,” she mumbled. Upon opening her eyes and glancing around the dim passage warily, she slurred, “Oh. Where’s here?” 

“Shortcut tunnel of the old hideout. We’ll get ya comfy down there real soon. How’re ya doin’?” 

Her face had already been pinched in pain, but it scrunched up even more as if she needed to think really hard to answer the question. He would’ve found it extremely cute in any other circumstance. “I don’ feel so good,” she finally answered, voice small and strained. 

“I betcha don’t,” he replied, attempting to keep his tone light. He knew well enough that wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from worrying, but if he could keep Nat calm that would be a victory in his book. 

Logan honestly wasn’t sure what he planned to do once they reached their destination. His knowledge of head injuries pretty much started and ended with identifying them and knowing that they were to be taken seriously. Ideally he would’ve taken her to Fang, of course. Prioritizing getting out of the storm as soon as possible seemed like the right answer at the time, but now he was having doubts. For the moment he decided to trust that instinct and try to keep her comfortable. 

When she turned her head and nuzzled his shoulder with her cheek, he nearly lost his footing. He wasn’t sure what to think. Some part of him wanted to believe she was aware of what she was doing, but he couldn’t quite let himself believe it, with where their relationship currently stood. While he had caught some times when it seemed like she might feel the same way he did, most of the time he wasn’t getting any clear signals - and lately it was crystal clear that she was nothing but annoyed with him. 

Still, before he could stop himself, he bent slightly to give her a brief kiss over the swoop of her bangs. She barely seemed to notice, but hummed softly and kept her head tucked to his chest, sounding quite content in his arms. Suddenly he wished she were lucid for an entirely different reason; if only he could know whether this meant what he thought it did. He sighed upon realizing this was just another thing about her that would keep him up at night. 

Finally they emerged into the central living area of the cave. Nat must have noticed the change in lighting because she opened her eyes slightly. He was relieved that she seemed to be that aware at least. 

“How ‘bout I get ya to a bed, huh?” 

She gave a tiny nod and affirmative hum. He hoped it was a good sign that she had been understanding his questions; that was an improvement over earlier. He very briefly considered keeping her in his arms a bit longer. Holding her like this was a comfort to him - and possibly to her as well judging by her reactions. It was probably the only way he’d ever be sure that something wouldn’t happen to her the moment he let his guard down. As much as he’d love to grandly declare that nothing would ever hurt her, he was keenly aware of how unrealistic that was. Life in the Eufaula was simply too dangerous for a promise like that to mean anything, and Logan wasn’t in the habit of making guarantees he couldn’t uphold, no matter how much he wished he could. 

Crossing the space to his old bed, he laid her down gently, then pulled the blanket over her. She immediately looked more relaxed, which helped him tamp down his worry somewhat. As she snuggled down and rolled onto her side, pulling the thick quilt nearly to her nose, he gazed down at her fondly. It seemed she was already out like a light. Probably for the best; worst case scenario they might be in for quite a wait. He was tempted to try to pass the time sleeping as well, but he knew he had too much pent up nervous energy to make that a viable option. 

To start with, he looked around for anything else he could bring back to Sandrock with him while he was there. Haru and Logan had packed up the things that were both necessities and practical to move, which left behind many items not deemed important enough or worth the effort to relocate.When he laid eyes on Andy’s starred blanket, he figured that would make a nice surprise for the kid and should roll up enough to strap to Rambo’s gear. At a second glance, he found a couple books of Andy’s that he could also tuck away somewhere. After his third lap of the cave with no other items picked out, he heaved a sigh and gave up. 

He figured this was as good a time as any to clean his gun, but first he would check on Nat. It was driving him a little crazy knowing that she was hurt and right over there and yet he was powerless to do anything for her. He just needed to see she was okay, then he could properly distract himself for a while longer. 

When he reached her side, he noted that her hair was in total disarray and that it looked as if she had tossed and turned quite a bit in the short time since he tucked her in, a far cry from the peaceful look she had when he laid her down. He frowned in thought, trying to think of any way he could help. While he was thinking, she rolled away from him, and he spotted a blotch of red staining the pillow. Upon closer examination, he realized that she had a relatively small head wound that had somehow escaped his notice before. Looking down, he saw that there was indeed a smear of her blood across his chest from holding her against him on the ride over. He swore quietly, trying to think of what to do. 

From what he could see, it couldn’t be that large of a wound considering how much blood would typically come from the head. Still, he couldn’t help but reach out to gently touch an unstained part of her light pink hair. At first she leaned into the touch, but as his hand slipped closer to the stained portion of her head, she hissed quietly and pulled away, leading him to yank his hand back. He wished there was some way he could clean it for her, but if she responded that strongly to a simple touch near the injury, she probably wouldn’t appreciate it in the short-term. He hoped there wasn’t much sand in it, that would probably be especially unpleasant. Hopefully her thick hair and his own body would have shielded it somewhat. Still, maybe he should have helped brush her off before letting her get comfortable. 

He really wasn’t any good at this, was he? 

Logan was at a loss. He wasn’t sure what he could do that would help anything. Nothing he could do about the weather, nothing he could do to clean her up, nothing he could do to help her sleep soundly, nothing he could do to prevent things like this from happening in the first place…he hadn’t felt this distinct of a lack of control over things since his early days on the run with a broken foot and no idea how he and his brother were going to survive. His life had improved massively since then. It had been so long since he felt such a desperate lack of control that he had almost forgotten that some things would forever be outside his ability to influence. It wasn’t a good feeling, especially when it came to the woman he loved. 

“Hang in there, Nat,” he whispered to her as he stroked a thumb along her cheek. “You’re safe.” 

Feeling utterly useless, he dejectedly went over to his favorite chair and began setting up to clean his gun. It would keep his hands busy for a while, but he soon realized that it would do little to keep his mind occupied considering he could practically do the motions in his sleep. 

A single thought kept making itself known no matter how much he tried to banish it: Nat could actually be very seriously hurt, and he was sitting here wasting what could be valuable time. 

Thinking back on her behavior so far that day made his stomach sink. None of her moods or actions made sense with what he knew of her. 

The furious look on her face when she first came out of the cave flashed through his mind. It had been such a small part of their interactions, he’d almost forgotten her animosity. He’d never seen her be that openly hostile with anyone, even people she hated. And while he knew she was not pleased with him at the moment, he was fairly certain she didn’t actually hate him.

Beyond her initial moments of confusion, she had not put up a fight once. When he tried to calm her when she was moving too much on Rambo, she calmed instantly. She hadn’t told him off for picking her up without permission. Instead, she was content, it could even be said she was affectionate, as he carried her. 

Perhaps most alarmingly, she had let him tuck her into bed without a single complaint, despite having specifically protested the thought when she kicked him out of her house.

He had let himself be blinded by what he wanted to see, let himself believe that her brief moments of coherence were proof she was well enough and not furious with him. Now that he reflected, all he could see was the woman he knew and loved acting erratically and entirely out of character. 

No longer able to justify killing time, he rushed through reassembling his pistol and went to check on Nat. Some part of him still wanted to believe he was overreacting, but there was no point dwelling on what he hoped was true when he could simply go see for himself. 

When he reached her, the first thing he noticed was she was now much more still than she had been last time he checked on her. At a brief glance, she may have even looked peaceful. But upon real examination, he could see worrying signs. Her breathing didn’t seem quite right and her face was pale and pinched with pain, making some scrapes he hadn’t noticed earlier stand out starkly. She was also now laying on her back, which surprised him considering her earlier reaction when he even got near the wound on her head. 

It was still possible he was overreacting. But something felt wrong and he simply couldn’t ignore it, not when it came to Nat’s safety. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently while calling her name, to no response. It didn’t seem like she reacted at all.  He felt his mouth go dry as she continued to sleep deeply.

“Nat…Nat…Nat!” he called out, progressively louder each time while continuing to shake her, but nothing seemed to be making any difference. 

This was well beyond being deep asleep. Logan had experience with Andy being a heavy sleeper, but Andy always at least tensed or swatted at him before futilely trying to roll away so he could sleep longer. Now he was sure something wasn’t right. Storm be damned, they couldn’t wait any longer. 

Without a second thought, he scooped her up and began quickly striding over to the hidden passage he’d carried her down earlier. Her head lolled lifelessly as he rushed for the exit. Every second felt critical, his heart racing with worry. He whistled for Rambo to follow, which he did far more cooperatively than usual, likely sensing Logan’s panic.

Halfway up the dark incline, he thought he heard her make a sound and looked down for a moment. A few seconds later, her arm that was pressed against his chest tried to rise, awkwardly grabbing at his shoulder. 

“Nat?” he asked, slowing only slightly in hopes he’d be able to hear her better should she respond. “Can ya hear me?” 

She made a strangled sound that sounded far too much like distress for his heart to bear. He could certainly relate; he felt plenty distressed over the situation himself. Suddenly, she began trying to fight against his grasp, but her movements were sluggish and weak. He instinctively tightened his hold on her, which seemed to upset her further. 

“Darlin’, please,” he begged as they approached the exit. “I’ve gotcha an’ I won’t let a damn thing near ya.” 

His mood lifted the tiniest bit when Nat mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘okay’ in response. 

It wasn’t a promise he could keep forever, as much as he wished he could. But he swore to himself that for today, he’d do anything to honor it. Anything that wanted to hurt her would have to go through him.

~ ~ ~

Not for the first time, Logan found himself thanking his lucky stars that Rambo could outrun absolutely anything in the Eufaula. He made a mental note to himself to get his hands on some roasted rutabaga as thanks to his loyal companion. Rambo had really gotten him out of some tight spots over the years and was definitely owed some spoiling. 

As Logan carried Nat into the clinic, they were greeted loudly by X’s squawking cry, “Windy! Get inside! Danger!” When the bird noticed the builder in his arms, his cry turned more distressed. “My favorite little birdie! Hurt! Call the doctor!” 

At the second part of X’s greeting, Fang rushed from the back of the clinic, clearly alarmed. He took a quick look over Logan, first zeroing in on the dried bloodstain on his chest, then at Nat seemingly lifeless in his arms. He beckoned them over, pointing at the bed tucked behind the room divider. 

Logan moved to set her down as gently as he could while Fang reached out to gingerly lay a hand on her head, clearly taking note of the blood there and nodding to himself. 

“What…happened?” Fang managed to grit out. Nat had told Logan about how much progress she had been making with Fang and his issues with speaking, but either it was slower going than Logan expected or Fang was still too uncomfortable with him. 

“‘I’m not sure,” Logan had to admit, feeling ashamed for some reason. “She came outta the mines like this. Actin’ weird, real disoriented, an’ in pain, too. Fainted at one point. In an’ outta consciousness. I got ‘er to shelter and let ‘er rest for a while…but then she wouldn’t wake up. Rambo got us here fast as he could.” 

Fang listened as he went about checking her pulse and breathing. He then carefully turned her head and probed at the wound, both of them noting with concern that Nat didn’t move an inch when he did so. 

“She responded one time I touched it,” Logan volunteered, “but then she stopped.” Fang nodded wordlessly again, not even glancing Logan’s direction. 

“Nausea?” he asked, again not looking Logan’s way as he carefully opened Nat’s eyes one at a time to check her pupils, grimacing slightly at what he saw.

“Don’t think so,” he answered after thinking back on the last few hours. Nat hadn’t been sick as far as he could tell; she definitely hadn’t mentioned it. As miserable as she seemed, he supposed he could see this as the smallest of mercies.

Finally, Fang turned to him with a strange look in his eye as he measured what he would report. He didn’t speak for a long moment, but eventually said, “Not much…to be done…” 

Logan felt his heart threaten to stop. Did that mean what he thought it did? There was nothing the doc could do to help her? The thought nearly brought him to his knees. Was this his fault? If he had gotten her to town immediately, would it have mattered? 

“Nothin’...you can do? You mean she’s…she’s going to…” Logan choked out, sounding barely human. He felt like he could hardly even pull breath into his lungs. 

Fang appeared nearly as panicked as Logan, shaking his head and holding out his hands to try and calm the clearly distressed yakboy who was dangerously close to falling apart right there in the clinic. “Not…like that. Can’t help…until she wakes. Then reevaluate.” 

Immediately Logan deflated. He wasn’t totally relieved, but it dispelled the worst of his worries. “Reevaluate? So she could be fine?” he questioned hopefully. 

Fang nodded, then added, even softer than usual, “Or not. It’s possible…she won’t wake.” 

Choosing not to comment on such an awful pair of sentences for his own sanity, Logan ran a hand over his face tiredly. “What now, then?” 

X spoke up first, calling out, “Be patient, sweetie!” 

Logan looked from X back to Fang. When the doctor didn’t see fit to elaborate, Logan scoffed. He supposed he should have expected the answer, but he’d hoped there would be something. “Wait? We just wait, while she…while she could be…” he trailed off, unable to speak aloud the scenario he feared most. 

The pair of men stood staring at each other for far too long. “I’ll take care of her,” Fang said firmly, speaking in a full, unbroken sentence for the first time since they arrived. “Need to…clean her up,” he continued, giving Logan a meaningful look. When Logan just stared back unflinchingly, a look of frustration finally appeared on the doctor’s face. “You need…to leave.” 

Barking an incredulous laugh, Logan stubbornly replied, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, doc.” 

Fang seemed to squint slightly, sizing Logan up as if analyzing something. He seemed annoyed initially, but then a spark of understanding appeared in his eyes, and he finally acquiesced with a nod. “You will…give her privacy.” His tone clearly indicated that this was something he would not budge on. 

Upon hearing he wasn’t being sent away entirely, something in Logan untensed slightly. He shot a grateful look at Fang’s already retreating back, but walking to the solitary chair near the entrance still left him feeling like a man walking to his death. Distantly, he wondered what it was Fang saw that changed his mind, but the question was quickly replaced with anxiety over Nat. 

The chair was remarkably uncomfortable, which he had a feeling was entirely by design, but he settled down and tried to keep his tenuous grasp on his sanity from giving way. He finally removed his hat and made a half-hearted effort to brush sand off himself, though it provided little comfort amidst his spiraling thoughts. 

Despite Fang clarifying what he meant earlier as far as ‘nothing to be done’, one of his earlier thoughts kept doggedly nipping at his heels: what if he had gotten her here sooner? Would things be any different if he had prioritized racing for town instead of the old base? He knew head injuries were serious, why had he made such a potentially dangerous choice?

And what if it ended up costing him everything? 

Each minute passing felt like another yakmel in an endless herd trampling his heart and if the worst should come to pass, whatever was left would shatter. He knew in his bones that to not only lose her but be left forever wondering if it was his fault would break him beyond repair. The woman he loved could be dying on the other side of that screen, there was nothing he could do, and he had to face the possibility that he was to blame, as well as the possibility that there was never anything he could’ve done. Both were painful options to consider. 

Logan was a born protector, and it had pained him greatly to realize that he could not save everyone. Logically, he knew it simply wasn’t possible. It didn’t stop him from taking the blame on his shoulders at every turn. His mind stopped trying to fight his heart on that count long ago. 

And when it came to Nat, he felt the burden tenfold. 

He couldn’t help but think back on all the ways Nat had suffered in the time since he first saw her get off the train. She’d been bruised, burned, bloodied, and betrayed, all for a dying town that she volunteered to drag from the brink. Logan was both directly and indirectly responsible for some of those injuries, and it felt like glass in his lungs if he let himself dwell on it. Even the ones he could not lay claim to still hurt him deeply. 

But all those injuries told him one terrible thing: there was no protecting someone like Nat. She was fierce, stubborn, and seemed to be involved in everything, everywhere, all at the same time. Even if he was somehow capable of shielding her from every harm, she would never allow it. She was too proud to accept his protection and too capable and determined to be kept from doing whatever it was she wanted to do. He admired that about her, but it was also indescribably frustrating. 

It was pointless to wish he could prevent anything from befalling her, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to try…yet it seemed all he would be permitted to do was pick up the pieces in the aftermath of the inevitable, while constantly worrying that the day would come when there was no putting her back together. It was a hard pill to swallow. 

His mind went in circles for an unknown amount of time as his resolve to stay as long as necessary waned. If he couldn’t be by Nat’s side holding her hand, perhaps it would serve everyone best if he went and found something useful to distract himself. 

Standing up, he took a few steps further into the clinic, calling out, “Fang, a word?”

The man in question appeared from behind the screen shortly and looked at Logan expectantly. 

“There ain’t nothin’ I can do here, is there?” 

Fang immediately began to shake his head, then stopped mid-shake and seemed thoughtful. “Not now. Come back…later. Bring her…clothes.” 

Logan wasn’t sure if the doctor was being sincere or just recognized that Logan desperately needed to feel like he was helping, but at least it was something he could work with. He could go check on Andy and Nat’s animals, then find her some clothes.

Distantly, he wondered what Fang believed their relationship to be if he considered it appropriate to ask Logan such a thing…but he supposed he was close enough to her to know for a fact that her door was unlocked and, well, it wouldn’t be the first time he fetched clothes from her dresser. 

Far from content but grateful to have an objective in front of him at last, he nodded at Fang and took off to try and do something more productive than incessant brooding and self-blame. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was something, and he’d take what he could get. 

~ ~ ~

Logan managed to keep himself away for just under three and a half hours before he couldn’t stand it any longer. In that time, the sandstorm had mostly wound down, strong but short-lived, and he completed all his objectives, plus a tense meal at the Blue Moon. He must have been very obviously out of sorts, as Grace and Owen both tried (and failed) to pry details from him as to his dour mood. He wasn’t ready to voice his worries, much less be the reason for the inevitable flood of gossip when the town found out one of their beloved builders was fighting for her life, so he kept quiet. 

When he finally returned to the clinic, it was completely, surreally silent. 

“Doc?” Logan called out uncertainly. 

Fang appeared from behind the divider and beckoned Logan over. Logan found himself hesitating for the smallest moment. Part of him was afraid of what he’d find, but at the same time, he knew that it couldn’t be the worst news based on Fang’s body language. Sandrock’s doctor had never been particularly easy to read, but Logan was pretty sure that he’d look a lot worse for wear if it was bad news considering how close he and Nat had grown. 

Once he finally found the courage, Logan rounded the privacy screen and took a good look at Nat. She looked alarmingly small and still in the clinic’s bed, but at the same time she did look better than she had before; she seemed less pallid and her breathing had evened out significantly. Fang had cleaned her skin of all the dust - he hadn’t realized how dirty she had been until he could see the contrast between her cleaned skin and her still filthy clothes - and wrapped several of her injuries. 

After realizing he’d been staring for far too long, Logan cleared his throat awkwardly and turned to Fang. “Any news?” 

“Not yet.” When Fang saw the panic starting to rise in Logan’s eyes, he quickly added, “Not abnormal.” 

While the reassurance helped, Logan knew that he wouldn’t be able to truly relax until Nat opened her eyes and he could see for himself that his missteps hadn’t caused her permanent harm…which he really hoped would happen soon.

“You can sit with her,” Fang told him, pointing at the uncomfortable chair from earlier that had been moved to her bedside. “Talk to her…if you wish.” 

Logan’s brow furrowed. “Can she hear me?” he asked, feeling unsteady at the thought for a reason he couldn’t pinpoint. Perhaps it was the part of him that took every single thing that befell her onto his shoulders, afraid to face her despite knowing how angry she’d be at the very notion. 

Fang looked at him thoughtfully before answering, “Possibly. But it can be…comforting…even if she can’t understand.” 

Already feeling tongue-tied, Logan nodded his thanks and sank into the chair as Fang turned away to give the pair the illusion of privacy. 

As if it had a mind of its own, his hand reached out for Nat’s, hesitating slightly only when he saw her hand was bandaged. In hopes of providing comfort - for both of them, if he was being honest - he decided to allow himself the point of contact, gently laying his hand over hers. 

“Howdy, Nat,” he began uneasily. He still wasn’t totally sold on the idea of having a conversation at her, but he supposed it couldn’t do any more damage than he'd already done. “I gotta say, I really hate seein’ ya like this. Prob’ly even more’n you hate being seen like this, which is sayin’ somethin’.” 

A long silence enveloped them. Logan wasn’t sure how much he wanted to say and couldn’t help but wonder how much of what he might say would be welcome if she were conscious. 

In the end, he couldn’t stop the truth from spilling out. 

He tipped his head back, unable to look at her when he said the next words. “I fell for ya ages ago, an’ I wish I had the guts to just come out an’ say it to ya when you’re awake, but I jus’...can’t find the words, darlin’. I ain’t never been any good at that stuff.” With a deep sigh, he added quietly, “Feels like an awful lot of things I ain’t good at lately, ‘specially when it comes to you.” 

He fell silent, once again trying to work out what he wanted to say, finally settling for, “I wanna tell ya that I’ll be mighty angry with ya if ya don’t wake up…but I’d be lyin’. I can’t stay angry at ya. But I’ll be kickin’ m’self the rest of my sorry life, that I can tell you for certain.” 

The mist of tears in his eyes snuck up on him. He wasn’t sure if he’d let himself cry since his first night on the run. After that, he’d bottled it up like his life depended on it. To be fair, some of the time it really had. But the sight of Nat unconscious in front of him mixed with the uncertainty of her wellbeing was trampling the defenses he’d relied on these past years. 

Fang didn’t have to tell him all the ways this could go sideways. Logan knew she may never wake, or she could have problems for life, or simply never be the same. There were so many horrible outcomes compared to only one that wouldn’t leave him broken. The odds felt insurmountable and all he could do was hold his breath. It was a crushing feeling. 

“Please,” he found himself begging, “I need you to be alright, Nat. There are a whole lotta things I can learn to live without…but you ain’t one of ‘em. I’ll find a way to tell ya so…one’a these days.”

Feeling wrung out emotionally, Logan leaned back in the ridiculously uncomfortable chair and lowered his hat over his eyes as he tried to pull the pieces of himself back together. 

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because he woke from a nightmare with a start some time later. 

His hand had mostly moved off Nat’s in his sleep, but their fingers were still brushing. It struck him that he’d never actually gotten to hold her hand before this. The realization threatened to pull him under, but he shook his head in hopes of clearing it. 

From behind him, Fang cleared his throat. When Logan turned, Fang held up a cup of tea in a silent offer. Logan shook his head again. “No, but thanks, doc.” 

Fang nodded at the refusal then seemed to study Logan closely.  “Not your fault. You did…everything you could.” 

“Really don’t feel like it,” Logan replied sullenly, unable to stop beating himself over the head with what could be the biggest failure of his life. 

Voice full of regret, Fang told him, “In a hospital…in a city…perhaps they could do more. But here…just not possible to-” 

He cut off suddenly when Nat let out a low groan. Both men turned to her so sharply Logan was almost surprised their necks didn’t snap. 

Logan stilled, listening to Fang ask her various questions, like her name, where she was, and the date. Her answers came slowly at first, but then faster. She wasn’t sure of the date, but answered the month and year without hesitation, and Logan noted with a stirring of hope that Fang didn’t seem especially concerned over it. 

“Headache? Dizziness?” Fang continued questioning. 

“Yes…and yes, a little.” 

Fang nodded approvingly. “Not surprising. Should improve…soon. Will test balance later. You should rest,” he said, shooting a look at Logan, who was trying his best to not make it obvious he was hanging on every word. When he finally looked the doctor in the eye, Fang sternly told him, “You can stay…for now. But you will…let her rest.” 

“Thanks, doc,” Logan murmured gratefully. His heart had lifted so much at hearing Nat’s voice again that he couldn’t find the will to complain. With how difficult a patient Nat would likely be, he knew Fang had his work cut out for him; the least he could do was not add to it. 

Once Fang had walked away to once again give some semblance of privacy, Nat finally looked at Logan. She gave him a small, embarrassed smile. “I don’t remember much,” she admitted quietly, “but I’m guessing I have you to thank for getting me here.” 

Relief coursed through him at the fact she didn’t seem angry with him, at least for now. Not helping was never an option, but after last time, he’d be lying to say he wasn’t at least somewhat concerned about how she might react once the danger had passed. 

Smiling softly at her in return, he replied, “Prob’ly for the best.” Logan had no regrets about anything now that it seemed she would be okay, but he had a strong suspicion that Nat might be deeply upset by some of what had happened that day. “Do ya remember what happened in the mine to beat’cha up so bad?” 

“I set off some explosives, I think…chain reaction. Tried to get out of the way but not far enough, then some of the ceiling shook loose.” Her face scrunched up in thought, one hand reaching to the bandage wrapping her head. She then added shyly, “The rest is just flashes. I, uh, remember feeling safe, though.” 

It pleased him more than he thought possible that she not only felt safe with him but that she also didn’t seem angry about it this time, though there was something else behind her eyes - something a lot like sadness. “I tried my best,” he replied, feeling equally bashful over her sentiment and not wanting to overwhelm her.

“Thank you, really.” The smile she offered was small but genuine, and he felt the way his heartbeat stuttered. He had never helped her - or anyone else - out of a need to be thanked, but he couldn’t deny that receiving gratitude from her in particular made him feel warmth in his chest. 

Nat flexed her hand and then looked down in surprise to where their fingers were still brushing. For a moment, he was sure she was about to pull away, and he had to fight the urge to pull back first. He was rewarded for his restraint when she carefully laced their fingers together. She then met his eyes uncertainly, as if asking is this okay? The only answer he could summon was a soft smile that felt like it melted the last of his tension away. She returned one in her usual, stunning fashion. Even though she still looked tired and maybe a little dazed, that was the moment he felt sure things were going to be okay. 

He couldn’t help but think back to his earlier confession and wondered if this softer attitude was because she had been able to hear him. Part of him felt anxiety over the uncertainty, but he decided it didn’t matter. Either she heard him and this was her answer, or she hadn’t and he’d get another chance to tell her under less traumatic circumstances. Either way, this was a marked improvement over where they stood with each other recently. 

Even as her eyes drifted closed again, she looked content. He had to admit, even in a clinic bed, wearing dirty clothes, she was stunning. 

“Get some rest, darlin’,” he murmured. “I’ll be here.”