XMen, Scott/Logan - "Sought."
yeah, nobody saw this coming. this is me, speculating on some post-"X3" happenings, so spoilers abound. hey, you saw what you wanted to see, and I saw what _I_ wanted to see. this is for fanfic100, prompt 15. blue.
Sought
"Logan," Ororo said, helplessly. "We _need_ you."
Logan looked up at her, briefly, and then went back to packing his bag. "Nothing's happened here in weeks. The students are fine, and if anything _does_ happen, you can always call on our friend, Mr. Ambassador. You can get along without me."
"What if I said _I_ needed you?"
"For what?" Logan slammed the dresser drawer shut, and zipped his bag. "Look, I'll be back, okay? I just need to go - "
"And do what? She's gone, Logan. You know that."
"Yeah," he said, sharply. "I do."
"So what are you looking for now?"
"Something else," Logan said, grimly, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He patted her on the arm, awkwardly. "I'll be in touch," he said, before he exited the room, pulling a cigar out of his jacket pocket.
"Sure you will," Ororo sighed, watching him leave. "I won't hold my breath on that."
***
He took the bike, the one that he'd bought three months before. The one that Scott had helped him fix, the last time it had broken down - he was surprisingly good at that. Of course, he'd had the bikes and the cars not just because they were status symbols, but because they were fast and efficient and the top of the line and did exactly what he needed them to. Logan was amazed to find out that Scott knew everything about them, every nut and bolt, and could have stripped them down and put them back together with his eyes closed. Hell, he probably _had_.
He shook off the fact that the very mention of 'eyes' made him think of Scott's glasses, the ones that he'd found at Alkalai Lake, the ones that Jean - no, not Jean. That _she_ had disintegrated in his hands. She'd never answered his question, never said the words that he'd asked her. She'd never told him what she had done to Scott.
He knew that Scott was gone, but - He'd known that Jean was gone, too, and that hadn't been true, not quite. It might have been better if it was true, and if they'd all believed it. It would have been a hell of a lot better if _Scott_ had believed it. But it hadn't been true, and Scott hadn't just been able to move on from it, he hadn't been sure. He needed to be sure.
He wondered if Scott had heard her voice in his head, too, if she was inside of him in some way that compelled him back to the lake, to see if he could find anything of her there. He wondered if he'd gone to find some closure, or if he _wanted_ to kill himself in that place where his lover had died.
He wondered if the voice echoing in his mind was a memory, or a dream, or nothing but a hope.
There was only one way to find out.
***
He squatted down at the water's edge, cigar clamped in his mouth. The surface of the lake was like glass, calmer than he could ever remember seeing it, not so much as a ripple marring the reflection of the sky above. He tossed a rock, skipping it across once, twice, three times, before it caught and sank, small circles pooling out to reach the shore.
There wasn't anything there. He couldn't feel _anything_, not a whisper of a memory, nothing. Whatever secrets this water was keeping, it was giving none of them up. Not to him, anyway.
He stared into the water, trying to see underneath, to find anything in the depths, but it was just like before, like the last time he'd gone on a solitary trip to this godforsaken place. He couldn't see anything, the entire place was as much of a void as it had ever been to him. He'd thought that there would be something here, something to find. He'd been sure he'd be able to find the answers that he was looking for, this time.
He'd been wrong. Again.
***
"You can't smoke that in here, buddy."
Logan looked up at the waitress, puzzled, until he realized that the butt of his cigar was still in his mouth. It was barely lit, but he took it out and crushed it, an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry."
She gave him a smile, handed him a menu, and turned over the coffee up in front of him, filling it. "No problem. I'll be right back to get your order."
There were half-a-dozen other patrons in this diner, mostly truckers taking a break from their late-night runs at this oasis in the vast stretch of nowhere along the highway. A tv was on in the corner, playing a hockey game, and other than the sole waitress, there was a cook in the back, sweating over the grill in a grimy white t-shirt.
"Over easy, up."
Logan looked up, startled. The cook had turned back to the grill, but that voice -
"You ready to order, hon?" The waitress had dropped the plate of eggs at the booth next to his, and took her pad out of her apron.
"Uh, I'll have the eggs," Logan said, still staring at the kitchen. "Over easy."
"Brown or white toast?"
"White."
"Coming right up." She took the menu and headed back towards the counter. "Two over easy, white," she called back, then threw out the last dregs from the coffeepot and started to make some fresh. "I'm going to take my break, I'll be back in ten," she said to the cook, who nodded at her.
It took about four minutes for the eggs and toast to come up, and the cook walked them over to Logan's table himself, setting the plate down in front of him. Logan caught his wrist before he could walk away again. "Hey - "
"Scott," Logan said.
Scott frowned, blinking at him. "Do I know you?"
"Your eyes," Logan said, staring at his unshielded eyes for the first time ever. "They're blue."
"Yeah," Scott nodded, still frowning. "Have been all my life."
"No, they haven't." He was still holding on to Scott's wrist.
"Look," Scott said, "I don't know who you think I am - "
"Scott Summers," Logan said. "You don’t remember."
"No," Scott said. "Just this." He pulled his hand away, and pulled a chain out from inside his shirt. There was a pendant on it, that Logan recognized. Jean had given it to him, probably, had it engraved with 'Scott' on it. That was all. "You know me?"
"Yeah," Logan nodded. "How long have you - ?"
"I have to get back to work," Scott said, looking over his shoulder at the unmanned kitchen. "Can you - "
"When do you get off?" Logan asked.
"About an hour."
"I can wait."
"Are you sure?" Scott asked.
"Yeah," Logan nodded. "I can wait."
***
His room was small and spare, with very few personal items to stand out from the motel furnishings. He'd ridden on the back of Logan's bike, without question, directing him along the highway to the motel where he was living. Logan was very aware of Scott's hands, wrapped securely around his waist the entire trip.
"How do you get here?" Logan asked.
"Walk," Scott shrugged. "It's only twenty minutes." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Who am I?"
"You don't remember anything?" Logan asked, again.
Scott shook his head. "Everything before I woke up here is gone. I wouldn't even know my first name if it wasn't for the chain I was wearing. I wondered - if it was even mine."
"It is," Logan said.
Scott nodded, one question answered, before another dozen came tumbling out. "Do I have a family? Are you part of my family? Where do I come from? Why am I here? Nobody knows me here, nobody'd seen me before they found me."
"Where did they find you?" Logan asked.
"By the water," Scott said. "Alkalai Lake. I was unconscious, they said I had a head injury, a concussion. It wasn't that bad, but I haven't been able to remember anything. I didn't have anywhere to go, didn't even know where to start looking for my past, so I stayed here. I thought maybe this place meant something to me." He leaned forward. "Who are you?"
"Logan. My name's Logan."
"Logan," Scott said, frowning. Logan knew the look on his face, had felt it on his own so often, straining to remember a past that was nothing more than faint flashes of things that didn't make sense, and words that other people told him he should understand.
"Don't," he said, sitting down on the bed and patting Scott's hand. "You can't force it. It'll come back to you when it comes back."
Scott was looking down at Logan's hand, on his own. "Are you my family?" he asked.
"No," Logan said.
"Are we friends?"
"Yes."
"No," Scott shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Scott - " Logan started.
He was cut off by Scott, though. "I don't think we're friends," he said, again, and moved close enough to kiss Logan, on the mouth, softly but not at all tentative. It was just like the feel of Scott's hands on his waist, Logan realized, sure and trusting. "Have we done that before?"
"No."
"Did we want to?"
"I don't know if you did," Logan said honestly, swallowing.
"Did you?"
Logan nodded.
"Is there someone else?"
"There was," Logan said. "She - "
That registered surprise on Scott's face. "She?"
Logan nodded again. "Yeah. She - she's gone."
"She died."
'Twice,' Logan thought. "Yes," he said.
"You loved her," Scott said, and it wasn't a question.
"I did," Logan said.
"I'm sorry," Scott said, his thumb trailing along Logan's jawline, making him shudder faintly.
"We shouldn't do this," Logan said, swallowing hard but not pulling away from Scott's touch.
"You still love her."
"It's not that," Logan said. "You don't even know me. You don't know _you_. If you did, you wouldn't be doing this."
"If we were enemies, you wouldn't have come here," Scott said. "You were looking for me, right?"
Logan nodded. "Yeah."
"So you've gotten what you were looking for."
"Not quite," Logan said. He was mesmerized by Scott's face - not only by his eyes, which were deeper blue than he could have ever imagined, but by the unguardedness of it, the lack of pain that took years off of him, the smile that came so easily, the addition of a few pounds that spoke of regular meals and adequate sleep and a life that didn't include worrying about a hundred kids with special powers and the fate of the world. Instead of khaki pants and button-down shirt and loafers that were his regular 'uniform' at the school, he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and boots. He was both the same and a completely different person, and Logan wanted him like he'd never allowed himself to admit before. "What happened to you?" he asked, fingertips gliding over Scott's brow, closing his eyelids.
"Why did I come here?" Scott asked, eyes still closed.
"I - I - " Logan swallowed, again, tongue sliding over his lips. "I'm not sure. You were looking for something."
"Did I find it?" Scott mused. It was not quite a question, not something that he expected Logan would be able to answer for him.
"I have something," Logan said, pulling away. He grabbed his leather bag and opened it up, pulling out a pair of ruby-lensed glasses and handing them over to Scott. They weren't the ones that he'd found at the Lake, obviously, but an older pair he'd gotten from Scott's room at the school. Scott took them, frowning anew, and Logan wanted to touch his face again, to smooth away those lines of pain.
"These are mine?" Scott asked. Logan nodded. Scott held them up to his face, peering through the narrow opening in them. "How the hell could I see anything through these?"
"You don't remember?" Logan asked. "You had to wear them."
"Why?"
"Your eyes were damaged," Logan said. "Well, not really damaged, more like - special. You wore those for protection," he said, approximating the truth.
"You know who I am," Scott said. "Or - " He frowned, again. "_What_ I am. You're not telling me, why?"
"I'm not sure that I should," Logan said, tersely. "Not _here_. I'm not sure that I _can_."
Scott was still staring at the glasses. "Then, you should take me to someone who can." He stood up, grabbed his backpack, and started tossing his few belongings into it.
"You can just leave?" Logan asked. "Don't you need to - "
"I don't belong here," Scott said. "I thought, if I stayed, that maybe someone would come and tell me where I _do_ belong. And here you are." It took him only a few minutes to pack, there not being much to bring, and he zipped up the bag, slinging it over a shoulder. The glasses, lying on the bed, he picked up, too, and after a moment, put on.
Logan held his breath, waiting.
Crying out in pain, Scott ripped the glasses off, tossing them on the floor, palms pressed hard against his eye-sockets, doubled over.
"Jesus," Logan said, arm around him. "Easy." He carefully peeled Scott's hands away from his tightly-shut eyes. "What happened?"
"Headache," Scott said. "It was like someone was shining a laser right through my eyes, right into my brain."
"Scott," Logan said. "Open your eyes."
It took a moment, but Scott did, blinking slowly, pupils reacting to the dim light in the room. His eyes were still blue. "What just happened to me?"
"I’m not sure," Logan said. He leaned over and snagged the glasses off the floor, pocketing them. "Come on," he said, arm around Scott's waist, steadying him. "Let's go - "
"Home?" Scott asked.
"Yeah," Logan said. "Home."
Sought
"Logan," Ororo said, helplessly. "We _need_ you."
Logan looked up at her, briefly, and then went back to packing his bag. "Nothing's happened here in weeks. The students are fine, and if anything _does_ happen, you can always call on our friend, Mr. Ambassador. You can get along without me."
"What if I said _I_ needed you?"
"For what?" Logan slammed the dresser drawer shut, and zipped his bag. "Look, I'll be back, okay? I just need to go - "
"And do what? She's gone, Logan. You know that."
"Yeah," he said, sharply. "I do."
"So what are you looking for now?"
"Something else," Logan said, grimly, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He patted her on the arm, awkwardly. "I'll be in touch," he said, before he exited the room, pulling a cigar out of his jacket pocket.
"Sure you will," Ororo sighed, watching him leave. "I won't hold my breath on that."
***
He took the bike, the one that he'd bought three months before. The one that Scott had helped him fix, the last time it had broken down - he was surprisingly good at that. Of course, he'd had the bikes and the cars not just because they were status symbols, but because they were fast and efficient and the top of the line and did exactly what he needed them to. Logan was amazed to find out that Scott knew everything about them, every nut and bolt, and could have stripped them down and put them back together with his eyes closed. Hell, he probably _had_.
He shook off the fact that the very mention of 'eyes' made him think of Scott's glasses, the ones that he'd found at Alkalai Lake, the ones that Jean - no, not Jean. That _she_ had disintegrated in his hands. She'd never answered his question, never said the words that he'd asked her. She'd never told him what she had done to Scott.
He knew that Scott was gone, but - He'd known that Jean was gone, too, and that hadn't been true, not quite. It might have been better if it was true, and if they'd all believed it. It would have been a hell of a lot better if _Scott_ had believed it. But it hadn't been true, and Scott hadn't just been able to move on from it, he hadn't been sure. He needed to be sure.
He wondered if Scott had heard her voice in his head, too, if she was inside of him in some way that compelled him back to the lake, to see if he could find anything of her there. He wondered if he'd gone to find some closure, or if he _wanted_ to kill himself in that place where his lover had died.
He wondered if the voice echoing in his mind was a memory, or a dream, or nothing but a hope.
There was only one way to find out.
***
He squatted down at the water's edge, cigar clamped in his mouth. The surface of the lake was like glass, calmer than he could ever remember seeing it, not so much as a ripple marring the reflection of the sky above. He tossed a rock, skipping it across once, twice, three times, before it caught and sank, small circles pooling out to reach the shore.
There wasn't anything there. He couldn't feel _anything_, not a whisper of a memory, nothing. Whatever secrets this water was keeping, it was giving none of them up. Not to him, anyway.
He stared into the water, trying to see underneath, to find anything in the depths, but it was just like before, like the last time he'd gone on a solitary trip to this godforsaken place. He couldn't see anything, the entire place was as much of a void as it had ever been to him. He'd thought that there would be something here, something to find. He'd been sure he'd be able to find the answers that he was looking for, this time.
He'd been wrong. Again.
***
"You can't smoke that in here, buddy."
Logan looked up at the waitress, puzzled, until he realized that the butt of his cigar was still in his mouth. It was barely lit, but he took it out and crushed it, an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry."
She gave him a smile, handed him a menu, and turned over the coffee up in front of him, filling it. "No problem. I'll be right back to get your order."
There were half-a-dozen other patrons in this diner, mostly truckers taking a break from their late-night runs at this oasis in the vast stretch of nowhere along the highway. A tv was on in the corner, playing a hockey game, and other than the sole waitress, there was a cook in the back, sweating over the grill in a grimy white t-shirt.
"Over easy, up."
Logan looked up, startled. The cook had turned back to the grill, but that voice -
"You ready to order, hon?" The waitress had dropped the plate of eggs at the booth next to his, and took her pad out of her apron.
"Uh, I'll have the eggs," Logan said, still staring at the kitchen. "Over easy."
"Brown or white toast?"
"White."
"Coming right up." She took the menu and headed back towards the counter. "Two over easy, white," she called back, then threw out the last dregs from the coffeepot and started to make some fresh. "I'm going to take my break, I'll be back in ten," she said to the cook, who nodded at her.
It took about four minutes for the eggs and toast to come up, and the cook walked them over to Logan's table himself, setting the plate down in front of him. Logan caught his wrist before he could walk away again. "Hey - "
"Scott," Logan said.
Scott frowned, blinking at him. "Do I know you?"
"Your eyes," Logan said, staring at his unshielded eyes for the first time ever. "They're blue."
"Yeah," Scott nodded, still frowning. "Have been all my life."
"No, they haven't." He was still holding on to Scott's wrist.
"Look," Scott said, "I don't know who you think I am - "
"Scott Summers," Logan said. "You don’t remember."
"No," Scott said. "Just this." He pulled his hand away, and pulled a chain out from inside his shirt. There was a pendant on it, that Logan recognized. Jean had given it to him, probably, had it engraved with 'Scott' on it. That was all. "You know me?"
"Yeah," Logan nodded. "How long have you - ?"
"I have to get back to work," Scott said, looking over his shoulder at the unmanned kitchen. "Can you - "
"When do you get off?" Logan asked.
"About an hour."
"I can wait."
"Are you sure?" Scott asked.
"Yeah," Logan nodded. "I can wait."
***
His room was small and spare, with very few personal items to stand out from the motel furnishings. He'd ridden on the back of Logan's bike, without question, directing him along the highway to the motel where he was living. Logan was very aware of Scott's hands, wrapped securely around his waist the entire trip.
"How do you get here?" Logan asked.
"Walk," Scott shrugged. "It's only twenty minutes." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Who am I?"
"You don't remember anything?" Logan asked, again.
Scott shook his head. "Everything before I woke up here is gone. I wouldn't even know my first name if it wasn't for the chain I was wearing. I wondered - if it was even mine."
"It is," Logan said.
Scott nodded, one question answered, before another dozen came tumbling out. "Do I have a family? Are you part of my family? Where do I come from? Why am I here? Nobody knows me here, nobody'd seen me before they found me."
"Where did they find you?" Logan asked.
"By the water," Scott said. "Alkalai Lake. I was unconscious, they said I had a head injury, a concussion. It wasn't that bad, but I haven't been able to remember anything. I didn't have anywhere to go, didn't even know where to start looking for my past, so I stayed here. I thought maybe this place meant something to me." He leaned forward. "Who are you?"
"Logan. My name's Logan."
"Logan," Scott said, frowning. Logan knew the look on his face, had felt it on his own so often, straining to remember a past that was nothing more than faint flashes of things that didn't make sense, and words that other people told him he should understand.
"Don't," he said, sitting down on the bed and patting Scott's hand. "You can't force it. It'll come back to you when it comes back."
Scott was looking down at Logan's hand, on his own. "Are you my family?" he asked.
"No," Logan said.
"Are we friends?"
"Yes."
"No," Scott shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Scott - " Logan started.
He was cut off by Scott, though. "I don't think we're friends," he said, again, and moved close enough to kiss Logan, on the mouth, softly but not at all tentative. It was just like the feel of Scott's hands on his waist, Logan realized, sure and trusting. "Have we done that before?"
"No."
"Did we want to?"
"I don't know if you did," Logan said honestly, swallowing.
"Did you?"
Logan nodded.
"Is there someone else?"
"There was," Logan said. "She - "
That registered surprise on Scott's face. "She?"
Logan nodded again. "Yeah. She - she's gone."
"She died."
'Twice,' Logan thought. "Yes," he said.
"You loved her," Scott said, and it wasn't a question.
"I did," Logan said.
"I'm sorry," Scott said, his thumb trailing along Logan's jawline, making him shudder faintly.
"We shouldn't do this," Logan said, swallowing hard but not pulling away from Scott's touch.
"You still love her."
"It's not that," Logan said. "You don't even know me. You don't know _you_. If you did, you wouldn't be doing this."
"If we were enemies, you wouldn't have come here," Scott said. "You were looking for me, right?"
Logan nodded. "Yeah."
"So you've gotten what you were looking for."
"Not quite," Logan said. He was mesmerized by Scott's face - not only by his eyes, which were deeper blue than he could have ever imagined, but by the unguardedness of it, the lack of pain that took years off of him, the smile that came so easily, the addition of a few pounds that spoke of regular meals and adequate sleep and a life that didn't include worrying about a hundred kids with special powers and the fate of the world. Instead of khaki pants and button-down shirt and loafers that were his regular 'uniform' at the school, he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and boots. He was both the same and a completely different person, and Logan wanted him like he'd never allowed himself to admit before. "What happened to you?" he asked, fingertips gliding over Scott's brow, closing his eyelids.
"Why did I come here?" Scott asked, eyes still closed.
"I - I - " Logan swallowed, again, tongue sliding over his lips. "I'm not sure. You were looking for something."
"Did I find it?" Scott mused. It was not quite a question, not something that he expected Logan would be able to answer for him.
"I have something," Logan said, pulling away. He grabbed his leather bag and opened it up, pulling out a pair of ruby-lensed glasses and handing them over to Scott. They weren't the ones that he'd found at the Lake, obviously, but an older pair he'd gotten from Scott's room at the school. Scott took them, frowning anew, and Logan wanted to touch his face again, to smooth away those lines of pain.
"These are mine?" Scott asked. Logan nodded. Scott held them up to his face, peering through the narrow opening in them. "How the hell could I see anything through these?"
"You don't remember?" Logan asked. "You had to wear them."
"Why?"
"Your eyes were damaged," Logan said. "Well, not really damaged, more like - special. You wore those for protection," he said, approximating the truth.
"You know who I am," Scott said. "Or - " He frowned, again. "_What_ I am. You're not telling me, why?"
"I'm not sure that I should," Logan said, tersely. "Not _here_. I'm not sure that I _can_."
Scott was still staring at the glasses. "Then, you should take me to someone who can." He stood up, grabbed his backpack, and started tossing his few belongings into it.
"You can just leave?" Logan asked. "Don't you need to - "
"I don't belong here," Scott said. "I thought, if I stayed, that maybe someone would come and tell me where I _do_ belong. And here you are." It took him only a few minutes to pack, there not being much to bring, and he zipped up the bag, slinging it over a shoulder. The glasses, lying on the bed, he picked up, too, and after a moment, put on.
Logan held his breath, waiting.
Crying out in pain, Scott ripped the glasses off, tossing them on the floor, palms pressed hard against his eye-sockets, doubled over.
"Jesus," Logan said, arm around him. "Easy." He carefully peeled Scott's hands away from his tightly-shut eyes. "What happened?"
"Headache," Scott said. "It was like someone was shining a laser right through my eyes, right into my brain."
"Scott," Logan said. "Open your eyes."
It took a moment, but Scott did, blinking slowly, pupils reacting to the dim light in the room. His eyes were still blue. "What just happened to me?"
"I’m not sure," Logan said. He leaned over and snagged the glasses off the floor, pocketing them. "Come on," he said, arm around Scott's waist, steadying him. "Let's go - "
"Home?" Scott asked.
"Yeah," Logan said. "Home."