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Logan was washing dishes.
Wade hadn’t even asked him to do it. Once the gathering ended and people started drifting out of the apartment, Logan just gathered up the dirty plates and silverware and carried it all to the kitchen sink. It was a little surreal to see the Wolverine, bad boy loner extraordinaire, doing something so…domestic.
Althea was in the other room watching TV. Mary Puppins had already made herself at home and was curled up on the couch. Nearly everyone else had already gone home. Logan, of course, had nowhere else to go. They would have to talk about living arrangements at some point.
Vanessa was the only guest who lingered...though it still felt weird thinking of her as a guest. She sat at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, at Logan’s back, and called out, “Need any help?”
“I got this,” he called back. "Finish your coffee."
Wade sat across from Vanessa. He gave her an awkward smile, which she returned, and his heartbeat quickened. This was the first time in a while he’d been alone with her. Or…not alone, exactly, but her attention was entirely on him.
“I like him,” she said quietly. “Where’d you find him?”
“Oh…well, the poor little guy was just huddled in a Dumpster, eating garbage,” Wade said. “Covered with fleas. Probably abandoned by his previous owner.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Behavioral issues. You know. I adopted him, took him to the vet, got him updated on his shots—”
“I can hear you,” Logan called from the kitchen, raising his voice so it carried over the rush of water.
Vanessa chuckled.
Wade continued: “People keep telling me to get him declawed, but I think that would be cruel.”
“Mm. Plus when you do that, they tend to become biters.”
“Well, sure. I mean, when you take away their primary defense—”
“I can still hear you,” Logan called.
Wade's eyes met Vanessa’s across the table. They were both smiling. She muffled another small laugh with one hand, and his stomach fluttered. "It was good to see you tonight," he said.
"Yeah. This was...nice."
Silence descended. Wade, for once, couldn't think of anything to say. Or rather, he was too nervous to say all the things he wanted to.
She finished her coffee. “I, um. I should probably get going. Work tomorrow.”
“You want me to walk you to your car?”
After a pause, she said, “Sure.”
* * *
She was parked just down the street. He walked alongside her, hands in his pockets. A breeze stirred her hair, and he got a whiff of butterscotch. So, she still used that shampoo.
They stopped in front of her car. “Here I am,” she said. But she didn’t get in. She lingered, standing in front of him. She took a breath. “Wade…”
“I want to try again.”
He’d meant to work up to it a little more, not to just blurt it out like that, but maybe this was better. Cards on the table. He waited, his pulse hammering in his throat.
She bit her lower lip. Her gaze met his briefly, then shifted away again. He couldn’t quite read her expression.
He waited a few more seconds, and when she didn’t respond, he pushed ahead: “I think I’ve got my shit figured out now. That whole midlife crisis thing, or whatever it was, that's over.”
“You know I’m dating someone else now.”
“I mean, yeah, but—shit.” He ran a hand over his head. Maybe he should stop here, turn around and go back. But he didn’t know when he would get another chance like this. “We were talking about starting a family. We were so in love. What happened to us? Where did we go wrong? Like—yeah, I know I got all depressive and mopey and shit after the Avengers turned me down and I know that wasn’t great, but even before that…I felt like something was wrong. With us. Like something had changed. That was why I wanted to join them. I wanted to prove to you and to myself that I could be someone.”
She sighed softly.
“Just tell me what I need to do.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“Then what is it like? Help me understand. I know shit's just complicated sometimes, I know there’s no such thing as happily ever after, but we were happy. We had something real and amazing. And I still can’t figure out how I fucked it up.”
She looked at him. There was a brief shine of wetness in her eyes, then she blinked it away. “I don’t think I can give you an answer that’s going to satisfy you,” she said quietly. “I thought I knew what I wanted, and then I just…didn’t know anything.”
He felt a dark void opening up in his chest. The old, It's not you, it's me. Even if she hadn't said it in those exact words. He'd never expected that from her. He'd thought they were above that, beyond that. He'd thought that once you found your soulmate, nothing could destroy it except death. Maybe he'd been naive.
“It was a hard decision,” she said. “Letting go of...us. One of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. But now that I’ve made it, I can’t just…go back. Even if I wasn’t with someone—I’m not in a place where I can jump into a relationship with you again. I still love you. I always will. But love isn’t always enough.”
A part of him wanted to keep begging, keep arguing. It was all such a non-answer. If love wasn’t fucking enough, then what was? She’d accepted his new face. She’d known for a long time what sort of work he did—and it was dangerous, sure, but he’d been willing to give that up, willing to resign himself to a boring nine-to-five if that meant keeping Vanessa and their hypothetical future child safe. So how had everything good just evaporated in a puff of smoke?
He knew, though, that there was nothing he could say. She wasn’t leaving him an opening here. Her tone was gentle, but there was no doubt or hesitation in it. Something had shifted beneath the surface of her, something profound and tectonic and invisible, and she either didn’t want to or couldn’t fully explain. And that was that.
He tried to speak. A lump filled his throat, silencing him. He tried to swallow it, but it remained. So he just nodded. “Okay,” he managed to whisper.
She hesitated…then she leaned forward and hugged him. He hugged her back, but it felt stiff, awkward. Perfunctory. His arms moved jerkily, like a malfunctioning animatronic’s.
Of course. He hadn’t really expected saving the world to fix this, had he? That wasn’t how things worked in the real world.
He watched her get into her car and drive away, and he turned and walked back to the apartment.
* * *
When he got back in, Logan had finished washing the dishes. They were drying in the rack. Logan was sitting on the couch, Mary Puppins curled up and sleeping next to him; Al, it seemed, had already gone to bed. Wade stood in the doorway.
“How’d it go?” Logan asked.
Wade opened his mouth, closed it, and shrugged. “She gave me a hug.”
Logan’s brows knitted together. His gaze searched Wade’s face.
Wade didn’t really want to talk about Vanessa or his own failure to fix this. He gave Logan a strained smile. “So, uh. Guess it goes without saying, but if you need a place to crash for a while, the couch is yours. I’d offer you the bed, but there’s only one, and Al and I share it. Three would be a tight fit. Not impossible, but maybe a little too cozy for comfort. And she gets crazy restless legs. I get kicked at least twice a night. We both snore. And—I don’t know if she’s telling the truth, but she says I talk in my sleep. I guess I could take the couch. But then she might get freaked out if she wakes up next to you instead.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Then where will you—”
“The TVA gave me this…communicator thing," Logan replied. He removed it from his pocket. It looked like an old Nokia, sort of.
"Oh yeah. I got one of those, too. So they're gonna help you, or..."
"They said they've already set up a bank account for me, in this world. They’re going to wire me some money so I can get a place of my own.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll stay in the area. It’s not like you’ll never see me again.”
He’d thought—hoped—that Logan might just move in with them. But of course, they barely knew each other. Yeah, they’d been through some pretty intense stuff together. They’d saved each other’s lives. But at the end of the day, they’d been bound together by circumstance and necessity, and now the circumstances had changed. They’d achieved their goal. The story was over. And Logan was a loner; that was sort of his whole deal. It was one thing for him to come over to Wade and Al’s place for dinner. Cohabitation was a pretty big step up. Vanessa’s absence had left a gaping hole in Wade's life, and he was looking for something—someone—to fill it. Wade didn’t need a therapist to tell him that, or to explain that that was why he’d gotten so deeply attached to Logan so quickly. Well, that, and Wade had always been a Wolverine fanboy. The attraction wasn’t new. But that deep-rooted ache in his center—that was new. And it wasn't just connected to Wolverine as a general concept, it was connected to this Logan.
“Wade. Are you okay?”
“Sure.”
Logan rose and approached. He placed a hand on Wade’s shoulder, and Wade’s breath caught. He looked up, into those gorgeous hazel-brown eyes. He could feel the warmth of Logan’s hand through his jacket and shirt. The way he was looking at Wade, almost tenderly…it was easy for his brain to convince itself that something was about to happen.
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me. Please. You know you wanna. Do it.
But Logan didn’t, of course. Who knew if Logan was even into guys that way? And even if he was, it didn’t necessarily mean he was into Wade that way.
Do it.
Logan's hand lingered there for a few seconds longer, squeezed a little, then slid away. His mouth opened, but for a few seconds, he didn’t speak, as though he’d been about to say something he thought better of. “You’re a good man, Wade,” he said at last.
Oh my god. Kiss me, you asshole.
“You too,” Wade said. A slight quiver crept into his voice.
He saw the worry in Logan’s face, the slight crease in his brow. His eyes moved in tiny flickers, scanning Wade’s expression.
If Wade were a braver man, he would do it himself. He would lunge into this opening. He would kiss Logan and just see what happened. Or at least, he would say, I really want to kiss you now. If it was a hard no, then at least he’d be sure. Or...he could at least ask for a hug, couldn’t he? Wade was not usually shy about stuff like this. He’d hugged men in less appropriate circumstances. Far, far less appropriate. Of course, he was still sore and bruised from getting shot down by Vanessa. Two rejections in one night—could he handle that?
“Is there…something else?” Logan asked.
Fuck it. Wade opened his arms.
There was a brief flicker of surprise in Logan’s expression. Wade just waited, not making the first move. Just waiting. Logan leaned in slowly, pulled him in, and gave him a firm man-hug, complete with a businesslike pat on the back. Logan’s arms were around him for maybe five seconds—long enough for Wade to hope, and then it was over, all too soon.
They stood there, looking at each other.
If you won’t kiss me, just stay a little longer. Stay and talk to me. Look at me, Peanut. I’m begging with my eyes.
“I’ll be around,” Logan said.
LOOK AT MY SAD PUPPY EYES. “Yeah.”
“I’ll call. Okay?”
I NEED YOU NOW, MOTHERFUCKER. “Okay.” Wade gave him another small, strained smile, feeling stupid and pathetic and needy, feeling like a coward, doing this restrained little dance, telling himself that these long, lingering stares didn’t mean anything, telling himself that, for once, he needed to respect someone’s boundaries, because then at least they could remain friends. He could at least have that much. Just two bros being bros. Doing bro things. Heterosexually. Fuck, this ache wasn’t even about sex, he just wanted someone—specifically, Logan—to hold him. To make him feel safe, wanted.
Logan stood there for another few seconds. He gave one last, fleeting pat-squeeze to Wade's shoulder, directed one last look into his eyes, then turned and walked out. The door clicked shut.
Wade listened to his receding footsteps. He sat down on the couch, in the same spot where Logan had been a minute ago. It was still warm.
He buried his face in his hands. Beside him, Puppins snored wetly.
Hey, look on the bright side. You didn't get the girl or the boy, but you got the dog. And the guns.
Yes, the gold-plated pistols he'd so coveted. Though now he sort of felt like shit about that, honestly. He kept seeing Logan's disapproving look after he sorta-kinda-maybe-low-key murdered Nicepool. This Logan had a dark past, but still, he had that old hero impulse in him, however deeply buried. Killing randos for funsies was a no-no. And now whenever Wade looked at those shiny golden guns, that disapproving expression floated up in his brain like a balloon. Maybe Wade would auction the guns off and give the money away. Though, seriously, how was he supposed to know that guy couldn't regenerate? That was a defining trait of Deadpools.
He’d done it. He’d saved the world. They’d saved it. He’d teamed up with the Wolverine—one of his bucket list dreams, and one he’d never actually expected to happen. He’d done the thing that Vanessa had wanted him to do and proven that he could care about something bigger than himself. Of course, he’d already gone through that whole arch when he saved Russell and helped fix Cable’s timeline, so it shouldn’t have been necessary to do it again—just lazy writing, really—but whatever.
Here he was. There was satisfaction in what he’d accomplished, yes. But once he looked past that, all that remained was a quiet emptiness, a sense of: This is it?
He wasn’t alone. He knew that. He had a wonderful found family, and he needed to appreciate it, to remember that even without Vanessa, he was someone who mattered.
But that little ache remained.
* * *
Logan walked down the street, hands in his pockets. He should call a car. Where would he go? A motel, he guessed. Or a bar. He'd abstained from alcohol at the apartment, stayed on his best behavior, and now the old need had buried its fangs in him.
Maybe he should’ve taken Wade up on his offer, after all. No harm in sleeping on his couch for a few nights. And Wade had obviously wanted him to stay. It was clear that things hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped with that conversation with Vanessa. Logan could’ve kept him company. They could’ve just hung out. Why had he said no?
Just habit, maybe. The old habit of pulling away, walling himself off every time he started to feel something. He stopped, staring into space. He started to turn back toward the apartment.
And then a strange something slipped over him. He froze. He looked around, nostrils flaring. He held his breath and let the sounds of the night flow over him. He heard the faint scrabble of some animal—a raccoon, a stray cat, maybe—digging through garbage in a nearby alley, the distant roar of traffic, his own heartbeat. He sniffed the air again, scanned his surroundings. His gaze flicked over the windows of buildings.
There was no one nearby. And yet he felt—clearly felt—that he was being watched. He smelled and heard nothing unusual, but there was a distinct impression of a presence nearby, like a shadow in his mind—and a sense of openness, as though his very thoughts had been laid bare to whoever was observing him.
“Charles?” he whispered. “Is—is that you?”
Silence.
No. It was not Charles.
There was a shift. His vision blurred. His breathing sped. Something was…off. There was...something here. Like a window. Was this real? Was he dreaming?
The sensation passed quickly, but it left him shaken. Disoriented.
He took a few steps in the direction of Wade’s apartment. His thoughts spun. He felt a little nauseous.
Maybe Wade could help him. Hell, maybe Wade was feeling the same thing. They’d both been through the same shit, both nearly had their existence obliterated when they shorted out the Time Ripper. Maybe there was a—a glitch. An aberration.
Logan stopped.
No.
A part of him already knew what this was. This wasn’t his universe. He was out of sync with it; he didn't belong, and reality itself was telling him that. He couldn’t stay, or...or what? Things would get worse, maybe.
He closed his eyes, aching.
Of course. Men like him didn’t get a simple happy ending.
He clenched his teeth, his fists. It was too soon to give up. Maybe that feeling, whatever it was, had been a fluke. He’d promised Wade that he would stick nearby, that he wouldn’t disappear. Wade wanted him to stay. And that look Wade had been giving him, right before Logan left…
It would be easy to read too much into it. Wade flirted as easily as he breathed, but Logan wasn’t the one he truly wanted. He knew that. He’d seen the way Wade looked at Vanessa. And there’d been a brief moment—in that room with him, hands linked, matter and antimatter flowing through them—that he’d been able to hear Wade’s thoughts, like a distant echo from the end of a tunnel. And those thoughts had not been about Logan. Because why the fuck would they be?
Even so. Should’ve stayed. Just for tonight.
The moment had passed, though. He kept walking. He pulled out the phone the TVA had given him—not to be confused with the communicator device that was specifically for contacting the TVA—and opened the app for a car service.
He would find a motel for tonight. And tomorrow, he would do what he’d said. He would look for an apartment in the neighborhood. He would give this an earnest attempt. He owed Wade that much.
A ghost of that sensation still lingered, haunting him—the sense of being followed, being watched by multiple sets of unseen eyes inside his very mind, looking out through his eyes as his gaze drifted, focusing on little details—the glare of a streetlight, a tiny, glittering pebble of broken green glass on the pavement, the harsh rasp of his own breath in his throat.
Who were they?