2012-10-03 I Respect the Gutsiness

Logan spent a full minute debating whether or not to bother with the eyepatch again now that he'd be meeting Beth Stateside; in the end, he tossed the thing back into its box and shook his head at himself.
He made sure to call ahead to schedule an appointment, so when the time comes, he's pulling his motorcycle to a stop outside of Cabe-McPherson's offices. After a quick look around, he slides his hands into his leather jacket - a new one, courtesy of the jerk who ruined the last one - and heads inside, making a bee-line to Beth's office, where he sharply raps on the door a couple of times to announce himself.
Sal is notably cranky about the number of people coming through CMS lately, right up until Farah - literally - hits him with a rolled-up newspaper.
"If you wanted Top Secret, old man, you should have stayed in Dubai," she chides. "People who get blown up for Beth get to come visit. Besides. He seems useful." All the indicators in the lobby suggest exactly that. One of Beth's agents waves Logan up the stairs to the second floor and it's not too hard for him to find Beth at all.
Bethany's office looks like a professor's office, with all the books and maps everywhere. Then there's the weapons locker in the corner the size of a modest shower stall. Right now, it's open. Someone's doing inventory. Beth is sitting behind her desk - also cluttered with books, papers, prototypes from Hammer and Stark - scowling at her computer. When Logan walks in, she gives him a smile.
"Hey. Didn't expect to see you on this side of things." She gets up to come greet him. She looks like a college kid again today, jeans and CMS T-shirt and sneakers and ponytail.
"I figured," Logan begins once he's sure his escort is out of earshot, "that you'd wanna hear this in person, and I ain't a big cell phone guy besides." His eyes drift around the room as he speaks... until they reach the weapons locker; that, he focuses on--admires, even, despite the superficial oddness of the youthful Beth and her locker full of death.
"Nice spread y' got," he remarks, tipping his chin towards the cabinet. That--/probably/ isn't the message he flew from Madripoor to deliver, but he is a man who appreciates quality.
"Thanks. My babies. I know they're theoretically the same as the ones in the lockers downstairs." Bethany looks sheepish and she shrugs. She shoves an open go-bag to one side on her way over to close the office door. "Still, I swear I can tell when I get one that's not -mine-. But you didn't come here to listen to my quirks. Can I get you a cup of coffee or a drink while you tell me the news?"
Logan puts a hand up and shakes his head. "No need," he lowly replies. "An' don't sweat it; everyone like us, we've /all/ got our little tics. Babies, whatever." He flashes the redhead a brief smile, then folds his arms over his chest as the expression fades. "Anyway: Piskunov's old lady thought she'd be better off runnin' things herself, and convinced some'a the crew to go with it; now that he's got all her crap cleaned out, though, he's open to lettin' bygones be bygones." He carefully considers a chair that isn't heaped with stuff for a moment, then shifts over to carefully settle into it.
"I dunno if she was in his ear the whole time, or if he's feelin' generous on account'a nearly getting capped; don't really care, as long as it means less idiots shootin' up the streets."
"I don't know either. Maybe she just got tired of being a broke single mom or the whole thing with the kid was just a play on her part to punish him for something." Bethany comes back to lean on her desk so she can talk to Logan face to face. "Maybe Piskunov just hit the crazy spouse jackpot and we're all collateral damage. It happens to the best of us," she says with a wry smile. "I'm up for letting it slide as long as I know that little boy of his is okay. I don't mind dealing."
Logan grimaces at the mention of the child. He doesn't know all of the specifics - the Piskunovs' custody battles weren't really a factor in their business dealings - but he knows the /Piskunovs/. He figures the poor kid is lucky to still be alive and (he hopes) well, considering.
"Score one for the good guys," he dryly murmurs. "Pleasure doin' business with you, darlin'."
"If you need anything more from me to settle him out, you let me know." Bethany offers Logan her hand. "Maybe we can do some business again some time. Or, at least, the after the business part of it." She's sure she still has a headache lurking, days later. "I really appreciate your help. Not the least of which was you catching a bomb for me. Not about to forget that any time soon."
"Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna be able to forget it any time soon either," Logan ruefully mutters as he stands and firmly shakes Beth's hand. He's been shedding bits of shrapnel since the incident, and he'll probably continue doing so for days to come; being as hard to kill as he is has its downsides. After taking his hand away, he manages to give her a small smile. "I'll be in touch; you handled yourself well, bomb or no." As he turns to make his way out, he tacks on: "Might have to be a little more careful with the post-business part, though; wouldn't want you tryin' to keep up with me again," that smile twisting into a smirk.
"But if I don't try and keep up, how'm I gonna learn?" Bethany sasses, giving Logan a grin. "That's how I made it this far in this business. Tryin' to keep up. I can take my licks." She walks Logan to the office door. "You don't seem like a man who'd deny a girl a learning experience just on account of a little pain. I like that in a person." She pulls a card out of her jeans pocket and offers it to Logan. It's her business card but with another number scrawled on the back. "Call me direct if you have any business -- or any learnin' -- you might want me for."
After briskly skimming over both sides, Logan slides the card into his own jeans with a slight shake of the head. "If nothin' else," he replies, pausing just outside of the office, "I respect the gutsiness." With a small nod, he adds, "Be safe, eh?" then slips his hands back into his jacket and winds his way back down to the street.
If he happens to pass Sal along the way, he will make sure to give the paper-assaulted agent a smug look in passing.
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