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It wasn’t as if Scott would ever ask her to stay. Since that day with the solar storm, something wild and unchained had burned inside of Jean.
She hadn’t ever said as much, but Scott knew staying grounded for too long gnawed away at her.
Maybe it was the Phoenix’s influence. Its desire - to soar, to burn. Or in part it was Jean’s guilt. Her inability to stay stagnant when she knew there were people out there she could help.
Scott understood. It was much the same as the responsibility he felt as the leader of the x-men - if you could even call them x-men anymore.
Still, the point remained the same. The only retirement he would ever get was death.
He understood, and yet, it didn’t make it hurt any less. Jean knew that, and she left anyway. It was hard to not feel bitter even though her sense of duty only made him love her even more.
It had been okay for a while. He missed her, of course he did. He always did. But there had been missions, always another threat on the horizon. He’d thrown himself into work.
Spent time with the other members of the team. With Beast, with Psylocke. Magneto, too, which felt like something he would never get used to.
Strangely, and more recently, with Wolverine. After they’d rescued him from the Marauders.
—
It hadn’t been on purpose, at first. Scott had walked into the common room in the middle of the night, notebook in hand. He hadn’t been sleeping well. The fact of Charles' betrayal (or was it Scott waking up? Was it still considered a betrayal if he’d only now realised he’d been living with his eyes shut?) a constant occupant of his thoughts.
It was easier to get up, go over battle formations. Contingency plans and new training ideas. The Alaskan x-men were still finding their feet, and it was up to Scott to make sure they didn’t fall.
On one of those nights, he’d walked in and hadn’t noticed Logan in the corner until he’d already sat down.
The clock had ticked behind him, in time with the rhythmic tapping of the man’s finger against his can of beer.
“Up late, Slim,” Logan had said, gruffly. His eyes glossy in a way that spoke of a sleepless night.
“So are you,” Scott had muttered, a knot in his chest. Yet, he had already sat down. His notebook had been open in front of him. There had been no point in leaving then.
Logan hadn’t said anything else that night, and Scott couldn’t tell if he had been disappointed or not. He’d sat there, quietly in the corner like a piece of furniture.
That had been the first of many. The beginning of an accidental habit. Scott wouldn’t be able to sleep, and so he’d come down to the common room.
Usually, Logan would already be there, but sometimes he would walk in after him. No greeting aside from a grunt.
Scott didn’t know what to think, at first. Wolverine had never been the easiest person to get along with. In fact, he was the one he clashed with the most on the team in the early days. But, it had been a long time since the early days.
This reminded him more of how things had been during Krakoa. Sitting with his family in their house. Jean, Rachel, Nate and… Logan.
Trying not to think too hard about how much he liked to see Logan’s banter with Rachel, or watch Nate quiz him about weapons. Overly aware of the three telepaths’ abilities and the matching knowing looks. The looks his children had inherited from Jean.
There’d never been much of a conversation about it. When the house had formed, the three of them - Scott, Jean and Logan had been together. Logan had moved to walk away, with a gruff mutter of - “I’ll leave ya lovebirds to it.”
As Logan had been walking away, Jean had replied with - “You’re coming, aren’t you?”
And that had been that.
There had already been a bedroom waiting for him, carved out by the island itself.
Scott didn’t know when he had become so okay with Logan’s place in their lives. In his life.
Yet, his quiet companionship had soothed the growing hole Jean had left in her absence. Sleepless nights were easier, when you had someone to share them with.
Scott liked routine. He liked predictability. These nights had become both. But, when it was Logan involved, he should’ve known that wasn’t going to last.
—
Tonight had started out the same as all the others. Scott had come down, just after midnight with his notebook in hand. Logan had been sitting on the couch this time, behind the table Scott always sat at.
“Wolverine,” Scott had nodded, his one word of the night to the man. Logan’s eyes had lazily flickered over to him, and he had nodded.
Scott had sat down at the table. Opened the most recent page of his notebook - a rough draft of his training plan in case he had to navigate a forest blindfolded. If Jean were here, she would’ve laughed at him.
Maybe it was his thoughts of Jean, or maybe it was something far more jarring like the possibility he’d become comfortable around Logan, but Scott hadn’t noticed the man move until he was right behind him.
“What are ya always scribbling about?” Logan asked, leaning over his shoulder. Scott’s spine straightened at the hot breath on his ear. This close, he could smell the alcohol. The smell was strong, even if its effects weren’t.
“Training ideas,” Scott said, clearing his throat. He side-eyed Logan, nose wrinkling, “You reek.”
Logan exhaled, fang glinting as his lips twitched into a half grin. “Yer one to talk,” he said, and his clumsy hand landed heavy on his shoulder.
Scott blinked. He expected him to move away, but the hand stayed there as Logan read over his shoulder.
“What do you want?” Scott asked, expression tight as he tried to force himself to relax. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t their routine.
Logan hummed. “Jus’ reading,” he mumbled, chin resting on Scott’s rigid shoulders. Scott’s chest curled, reminded of a conversation where Rogue had laughed, calling Logan the x-men’s cat.
“He can be sweet when he wants’ta, can’t ya, Sugah?” she’d said, ruffling his hair as Logan narrowed his eyes at her, “But watch out for those claws!”
A snort cut Scott’s train of thought short. “Yer ridiculous,” Logan said, without any heat to his voice. His words thick with something much scarier.
“What?” Scott questioned, eyebrow twitching. A faint embarrassment at the fact Kid Omega or Psylocke could be aware of this, if they were still awake.
At least Psylocke was discreet enough not to mention it. Quentin, however…
“Navigating forest blind preparation,” Logan read directly from the page, a wicked smile on his face. “Really, Summers?”
Scott frowned. “It never hurts to be prepared,” he defended, staring down at the page. If only Logan knew how many times Scott’s contingencies had come in handy in the field.
“Sure,” Logan said, and he was still leaning on Scott. Scott was overly aware of the man’s facial hair tickling his neck with every slight movement. “By the time ya figure out which plan to use, I’ll already have stabbed whatever’s coming.”
“Even those Marauders we saved you from?” Scott retorted, raising an eyebrow even though his gaze was still fixed on his open notebook.
“Shut it, bub,” Logan scoffed, as he reached down to flick to another page of Scott’s notebook. “What else ya got in here?”
Scott’s fingers twitched, where they still lay on the table. Pen in one hand. Jean was the only one who had ever looked over his notes - brainstorms, plans. Ideas.
His throat bobbed, but he made no move to stop Logan as the man flicked through the pages. Hyper aware of every movement that Logan made.
They’d spent time together in Krakoa, obviously. But never without Jean. Not outside of missions. Scott didn’t think Logan had ever touched him for this long. Or - at least, feeling a pang of embarrassment, not while Scott was sober.
At one of the parties on Krakoa, Magik had made her own cocktails. Scott didn’t usually indulge. He preferred to have one to zero drinks, keeping his wits about him as he watched everybody else have fun. That was his duty.
Yet, Jean had promised she’d stay sober. He’d been especially wound up, and she had said he needed to unwind. It had taken the combination of a few days of Jean’s gentle pushing along with Ilyana’s stricken look at his refusal to have a drink with her before Scott caved.
He didn’t factor in Magik’s insane alcohol tolerance and as a consequence, the strength at which she made her cocktails.
Scott had woken up the next morning without any recollection of how he’d ended up in bed, just that there were two people beside him where there usually was one. He’d kept calm (read: freaked out) and immediately sprung up, despite the pounding in his head.
Jean had grabbed his arm, her mind gently intertwining with his own as she talked him down. Projecting her own memory of last night into his mind.
Scott hadn’t done anything too embarrassing, in comparison to the others anyway. He hadn’t accidentally broken two tables by showing off his dance moves (Hank) or electrocuted a falling leaf after being startled (Storm). He’d fallen asleep on Logan’s shoulder, and the man had carried him back home.
That was it. Mostly.
(Scott had buried the part of Jean’s memory, where Logan had laid him gently in bed. Jean had laid down beside him. Logan had nodded at her, and had gone to leave. Except, Scott had grabbed his hand. And had muttered, “Stay.”)
They hadn’t done anything except sleep together - in the literal sense. In Jean’s memories, Scott had fallen asleep right after Logan lay down.
His traitorous stomach fluttered, thinking of the way it’d felt, for just a moment, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Before his brain had kicked into gear and realised he was in between the two of them.
Out of nowhere, Logan pushed his nose into the crook of Scott’s neck and inhaled deeply. Scott froze.
Scott’s grip on his pen tightened. “You- what the hell are you doing?” Scott asked, shoving Logan’s face away as he turned around, standing up.
Logan stumbled a step back. Instead of the violent reaction he’d expected, the man only cocked his head. A disgruntled frown on his face. Scott couldn’t get the picture of an annoyed house cat out of his head.
“Why-” Scott’s expression wavered, his eyebrows drawn together. Jaw tight. “Why did you smell me?”
Logan didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. Instead, he shrugged. “Said ya smell earlier, didn’t I?”
Scott stared. An unwanted rush of heat flooded his stomach and he tried to ignore it. “So you- what?” he struggled to find the words. To verbalise the growing cluster of question marks in his brain. This is exactly why he preferred psychics. As frustrating as it was at times, at least they could read his mess of a mind.
Logan rolled his eyes. And Scott hated the feeling that he was the one missing something here. Irritated at Logan for his glares and grunts and assumption that everybody could decipher them.
“Yer smart, Summers,” Logan said, gaze far too intense and Scott still didn’t understand why. “But yer also real fuckin’ stupid.”
“Coming from you?” Scott retorted, mouth pulled into a frown. “What are you playing at, Wolverine?”
Logan stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Scott’s lips parted, still as a statue as Logan came to a stop directly in front of him.
“Yer lonely,” Logan said, hand tracing a path up Scott’s upper arm. Scott’s mouth was hanging open now, as he continued to stare. What was going on?
“I can help with that,” Logan murmured, voice low as he leaned in. Lips shiny in the dim lights. The final puzzle piece clicked into place and Scott realised where Logan’s intentions lay.
Scott knew - or he at least inferred - Logan had to have some degree of game. Scott strongly suspected he was the only member of the original team Logan hadn’t slept with.
That included Jean, of course. Things had been different on Krakoa, before it burned. Different between the three of them. Less of a rivalry between him and Logan and more of something else. He’d thought for a moment that maybe-
Scott’s thoughts cut off abruptly as Logan came to a stop, barely a breath away from his lips. Close enough that he could feel every breath from Logan’s lips. His gaze was boring into Scott with an unyielding intensity.
Mouth dry, Scott pushed him back. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, eyes dropping to Logan’s neck instead of meeting his stare. “You’re drunk.”
Logan chuckled. The sound warm and reverberating in the hollow of Scott’s chest. He leaned in again, breath tickling Scott’s neck as he pressed his nose back into the same spot.
“Not drunk enough, Slim,” Logan murmured, fangs grazing against the side of Scott’s neck as he spoke.
“Logan-” Scott started, throat thick. Heat rushing to his cheeks.
“Ya smell like…” Logan interrupted, voice muffled by the fabric of Scott’s nightshirt. “Stress. Always, stressed, Scottie. But lately, only here, ya smell like other things too.”
Scott hated his own body for betraying him. For the fact he felt weak at the knees and the fact his heart was twisting in his chest. He hated the way Logan’s words made him feel seen. Hated that he wanted it.
“What other things?” Scott asked, words barely a whisper. Fingertips grazing Logan’s bicep.
Logan was like a furnace, this close. Heat was radiating off him and Scott was beginning to sweat.
“Loneliness,” Logan said, the husk to his voice making Scott’s breath hitch in his throat. “Desire.”
Logan leaned back, eyes swallowed up by his pupils as he stared past the ruby quartz - directly into Scott’s eyes.
Scott almost leaned in. Could feel Logan’s gravity, pulling him in. And he knew - he knew - that once he crossed that line, there would be no going back.
Instead, he thought of Jean and the small, vindictive part of himself that wanted to be better than her. That wanted, for once, to be the one who said no when she strayed.
It was an ugly thought. He pushed it down. Scott pushed Logan back again, more forcefully this time and Logan stumbled backwards. Landing on the couch with an oomph.
Logan paused, raising a delayed eyebrow in response. He didn’t say anything.
Spurred on by the heat crawling in his stomach, Scott opened his mouth. “You’re wrong,” he said, sharply. A tremor in his voice.
“Lying ta me is like lying to Jeannie,” Logan replied, his voice flattening. “Ya know better than that.”
At the mention of Jean, Scott’s face dropped. What would she think if she saw this? Nothing had even happened between them, but a rush of guilt flooded Scott anyway.
Yet, a smaller, bitter part of him piped up. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t doing anything she hadn’t already done. In fact, she had done much more.
Logan groaned, and Scott’s thoughts briefly stopped spiralling as he watched the man cover his nose with a hand. “Stop that,” he grimaced, leaning back into the couch.
Scott’s stomach dropped. He was doing it again - spiraling, holding resentment, and Logan could smell it. How mortifying.
“The smell can’t be that strong,” Scott accused, trying to think of any other time he’d seen Logan this affected. He’d never even seen him cover his nose before. Not in the sewers, not anywhere.
“Yeah, well,” Logan grunted, not looking at him anymore. Scott fought the tinge of disappointment - he’d pushed Logan away, this was what he wanted. “It’s different.”
Scott stared at him. “Different how?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to regain some of his composure. To look any bit the leader he was supposed to be.
Logan grunted, not making any effort to explain himself. Buried into the couch.
“Don’t ignore me,” Scott said, narrowing his eyes. Feeling the familiar pulse of annoyance and latching onto it. That feeling, he at least knew how to deal with.
“I’ll stop ignoring ya when ya stop ignoring yer own feelings,” Logan muttered, an irritated crease between his eyebrows. “Deal, wise guy?”
Scott stiffened. “That’s not…” he trailed off, heart off kilter in his chest. That wasn’t allowed. This thing between them - it was supposed to be unspoken.
They’d never acknowledged anything out loud.
“Not fair?” Logan scoffed, finally meeting his gaze again. His eyes were tired as he stood up. “Life ain’t fair, Slim.”
Scott expected him to say something more. He thought he had more time to think, to figure out what to say.
Instead, Logan turned and began walking towards the exit. Scott bit his tongue to stop him from saying anything stupid when his thoughts were still reeling.
Yet, as if he had read his mind, Logan stopped in the doorway. Just for a second. He looked tiny silhouetted by the dim lights of the hallway.
“Doors unlocked if ya… shit,” Logan muttered, without looking back at Scott. “Forget it.”
And then he left.
Scott was still stuck in the same spot, a heat in his stomach that he didn’t know what to do with. A feeling that he wanted to bury.
Whatever Scott had been thinking - had thought - on Krakoa had buried itself with the island. The reality was, he loved Jean. Jean was gone.
But, Jean would come back. She always came back. And then this - whatever this was - it would go away. It had to.
Except, she’d come back before. She’d left before. And he’d been here, alone, every time.
Desire.
Logan’s gruff voice echoed in his ears and Scott took a shuddering breath. Stiffly, he sat back down at the desk. Trying to focus on the nonsensical words of what he had been writing.
He sat there all night, but didn’t pick up his pen once.
Part of him was beginning to regret asking Logan to join the team. Stopping him from going out into the wilderness like he always did. But the other part of him- well.
Scott struggled with a lot of things. The one thing he’d never struggled with was lying to himself.