Buttercup Part 1
Buttercup was introduced into Logan’s life by surprise.
A few months into living together, he'd been preparing dinner when Scott came home with her on a leash. As every dog did when they saw Logan, she beelined to him like they were old friends. She was a golden retriever, beautiful butterscotch-brown fur, a face so photogenic you could slap it on TV. Logan got down to his knees to greet her, absolutely delighted as she politely sniffed his face and let him scratch around her collar. Scott approached from the door with the biggest smile on his face.
“Who's this?” Logan asked, not taking his eyes off her. He could tell right away she was well-trained by the way she held herself patiently, and had waited for Scott to unhook the leash before coming over.
“That's Buttercup.” Scott rested his hands on his hips as he stood over them. “Her last owner just passed away and the family can't keep her, so I agreed to take her in. I was going to call and ask you first, but…”
But there was no need to ask Logan if he wanted a dog, of course. He sat back and crossed his legs to get more comfortable on the floor.
“Does this apartment even allow dogs?”
“Doesn't matter. She's a trained service dog. Her last owner was a veteran with PTSD.”
Logan stiffened. No, Scott couldn't just do something nice, he had to go and have an ulterior motive.
“I don't need that.”
“Crazy how I didn't even have to lie about you also being a veteran, either.” he was completely nonplussed, expecting Logan's resistance. “Guy's daughter was so glad she could keep helping someone.”
Not wanting to raise his voice in front of the dog, Logan grit his teeth to keep his anger at bay. “I told you. It's my goddamn business if I don't want therapy , or AA meetings , or whatever the hell else. Not yours.”
“It's my business as long as we live together, Logan.” Scott said, fed up.
He kept his eyes on Buttercup. “Then kick me out.”
Scott was exasperated. “What, onto the street?”
“To wherever. I got along just fine on my own before.”
“You almost died, Logan! Jesus-” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You're being dramatic. I'm not kicking you out. Would you let me explain?”
Logan clenched his jaw and said nothing.
“Since you've been struggling with the loss of your senses- stop huffing. Let me finish.”
“Shouldn't a’ told ya nothin’.” Logan muttered.
“I don't know how your smell or hearing compared to a dog's, but it's way better than a human’s, right?” Scott said in a more charitable tone. “I was thinking, maybe you can't sense things coming the same way anymore, but a dog can.”
Logan sat with that. He didn't think a dog could interpret signs of danger as well as he used to, but it was still better than he could do now.
“Look, even if I'm totally off about that, she's still a dog that needs a home.” he continued. “Maybe you don't have any use for her as a service dog. That's fine. She can be a normal pet. But give it a try, okay?”
He left Logan on the floor alone with Buttercup, who was wagging her tail and looking at him with those big brown eyes. As much as he wanted to reject Scott’s interference, he wasn't going to tell him to get rid of a poor dog who's just lost her family. Undoubtedly, Scott had been banking on that.
Over the next few days, Logan had fully intended on keeping his emotional distance from the dog, not interacting with her much outside of feeding and walks. That went on until the next night he had a nightmare, the usual fare that left him thrashing and shouting.
When he woke up with a start and a fist raised in defense, Buttercup was against his side and resting her head on his chest, unbothered. Having a creature there kicked in his protective instincts, the aggression draining from him rapidly. She was a soothing presence, and as scared as he was of hurting her accidentally, he couldn’t bring himself to shoo her away either.
And damn Scott, he was right. Every time the anxiety and paranoia overtook him, he'd look to the dog and see her flicking her ears in one direction or another, maybe turning her head with no major reaction, and Logan would be a little more at ease. Never completely, but it made a difference.
He hated the smug attitude Scott had about the whole thing, but he ended up taking full advantage of Buttercup's service dog status. Logan went everywhere he could with her. Around town, the store, restaurants, on (non-life threatening) business, to visit friends. Anywhere he went, she went.
Logan got a mattress big enough to share with Buttercup and a bedframe low enough for her to jump on easily, as well as a separate food and water dish for the bedroom. He brushed her regularly so Scott would quit complaining about the dog hair and went to the smaller grocery store within walking distance of the building so he could always take her with.
He got some playful teasing from some of the other X-Men about it at first, but most of them were welcoming. Logan didn't give a shit either way, and soon enough it was a given that if you invited Logan to anything, you were inviting Buttercup too. There was a touch of judgement from a few former mutants and distant allies (mostly folks he wasn't as close to) towards Logan with his well-established unbothered-by-the-worst-of-things attitude walking around with a dog in a service vest who was trained to treat PTSD. He would explain that she wasn't his service dog, she was a former service dog that he adopted. For whoever bought it, anyway.
One of the real tipping points was how much easier hospital visits became, which were becoming more frequent and harder to avoid with age.
For example, there was the time he caught the flu from Scott, who then realized Logan had never gotten a vaccine in his entire life. Turns out, they'd come up with quite a few of them. Thankfully, the veteran excuse also worked at the clinic when he had to fight off violent panic attacks before every shot. While he had a hard time battling the urge to attack strangers approaching him with medical equipment, having Buttercup around reigned him in in the same way having one of his kids around would stave off his outbursts back in the day.
At some point going places on his own was infinitely more stressful by comparison, and he questioned how he managed before. Bringing a dog with him was the closest to the sense of security he had from his heightened senses he achieved since he lost them. That knowledge came accompanied with its own self-loathing at how his ability to do things by himself was being chipped away all the more. He made himself leave her at home sometimes to stop himself from getting too comfortable, but his anxiety spiked and focus faded, and in the end he always decided he functioned better with her around.
Buttercup wasn't elderly, but she wasn't exactly a puppy either. That said, Logan thought he'd have more than two years with her.
It all happened too quickly. She was absolutely fine, then one day she didn't get off the floor. Scott thought Logan was being overly cautious by taking her to the vet. She stayed there overnight, then the next day, they got the news her kidneys had failed and she needed to be put down.
Logan withdrew into himself.
He'd experienced many lifetimes over of death, lost everything again and again, but something was different in him this time. It was like he lost someone he'd known for much longer. Maybe it was that he had nothing to fight back against, or that he couldn't drown himself in booze, or that there was no throwing himself into danger and unthinkable pain to distract himself from the grief. Or, maybe, human life had just turned him soft.
He fell into a deep depression. He didn't eat, didn't leave his room, didn’t shower. He barely slept, and when he did, the nightmares kept him from getting rest. Not leaving his bedroom unless he had to for water or the bathroom, he'd lie in bed and watch mindless shows or videos on his phone and read to distract himself for hours on end. Mostly, he'd stare off into space and drift in and out of restless naps.
He didn't say a word to anyone, even Scott. On the rare occasions Logan got up, the man would ask him questions, talk to him, try to start a fight, anything to get him to respond. Logan would just ignore him, go about his business, and retire without a word. Eventually Scott began intruding into Logan's room to directly confront him, to no avail.
A week and a half of this passed. At first Scott was patient with him, but with each new day that went by, he pushed Logan harder to get back on his feet. He had to argue with Logan to get him to have a granola bar or protein drink every other day, to which Logan only relented to make him leave his room.
If there had been a mission, a job, anything that required him to function, he might have been okay, but Logan had integrated that dog into every single part of his pedestrian life. It was like losing the prosthetic limb that made everyday routine possible.
He'd move on eventually, he knew that. He just needed time, but he didn't want to hear that.
One day Logan heard Scott in the other room on the phone. He didn't know who he was talking to, but he was making plans, telling them that Logan wouldn’t come with. Scott didn't know Logan could hear him, so he eavesdropped shamelessly.
The other man was talking about how badly Logan was taking Buttercup’s death, speaking in a frustrated tone about his habits. Logan almost felt betrayed that Scott would tell other people about it, but admittedly there'd been no standard set between them that he shouldn't.
Then, he heard through the door, “I loved her too, but she was a dog. He'll get over it.”
That sent him into a rage-induced spiral. Shouldn't Scott, of all people, get what he was dealing with? He was talking about it like it was ol’ Logan being silly again, getting so attached to a dog being just another one of his eccentricities. Logan, more animal than human himself, beyond understanding. No point in understanding. Just Logan being weird.
Even as a human, he wasn't a real person, was he?
The second the front door clicked shut behind Scott as he left, Logan trashed his own room, throwing shit and knocking his furniture over. Moving so suddenly made him dizzy from the dehydration, but he kept going on his tear until the disorientation mounted to the point that he felt like he was going to pass out.
There was an overwhelming urgency in his body to take care of itself, so he caved and chugged some water and scarfed down leftovers until it stopped. Then he put on deodorant, threw on some real clothes, and stormed off to the bar.
He stayed there and drank til late at night, putting in only enough time and conscious effort to not get completely blackout drunk again. One glass at a time, counting the minutes between them.
The place was, by Logan's choice, the kind of dump that the bartender didn't give a shit about overserving, so long as you didn’t cause any problems for them. However, the two of them made the joint decision to call it when Logan got up to use the bathroom and almost ate shit on the floor. Once he got back, he paid his tab, let his face fall into his hands, and dreaded going home.
Then, he had a genius idea: don't.
He knew he wasn't getting far in this state. He scrolled through his blurry list of recent text messages and tried to figure out who he could drop in with to crash for the night; he was, at least, reasonable enough to know he would not last until morning like this.
His options weren't great at this time of night. Kurt, out of town. Ororo, out of town. Bucky, too far. Ilyana, may possibly kill him if he showed up unannounced. Wade Wilson, obvious reasons. His appointment reminder for the dentist, a dentist office and illegal.
Too frustrated to function by the time he got to Anna Marie’s chat, he tapped the contact and dialed her up. Despite it being almost 2 AM, she picked up after only three rings. That made him feel warm. That or the alcohol, hard to tell.
“Hey Logan,” her syrupy voice came through the shitty speaker, chipper and awake. “What's got ya callin’ so late?”
“Hi Logan, go the hell to sleep!” Remy said, equally as cheerful. At least he didn't wake them up.
“An-na Ma-rie.” Logan said in a sloppy sing-song, surprising even himself. “What the hell did you have to go an’ move down south for?”
There was laughter from Remy on the other side, followed by a smack.
“Where's this coming from all of a sudden?” she asked.
He sighed and rested his forehead on the sticky bar counter.
“I miss ya, moonbeam.” he mumbled, muffled from having his face smushed into the hard surface. The bartender failed to suppress his laugh.
“I miss you too, sugah.” there was worry in her voice now, but she was making an effort to stay positive. “Is something wrong?”
“Yer too far to walk to.”
She giggled in spite of herself. “You got plenty of friends up there you can visit if you're lonely.”
He scoffed. Lonely.
“If she ain't gonna ask, then I am.” Remy butt in. Logan realized he must be on speaker. “Why are you callin' us up drunk at two in the morning?”
Logan hadn't been trying especially hard to sound sober, but part of him hoped no one would say anything. He blew a breath out long and slow.
“I was going to let him bring up himself, you knucklehead.” she whispered at the other man.
Logan groaned at his own drunken inability to come up with an answer in time. He sat back up to free his nose from the counter.
“If you hang up, I'm calling Scott.” threatened the Cajun.
“Don't.” Logan warned him in a low growl.
“Did you get in a fight with him?” he asked.
“Not yet. ” he scoffed.
“Text us your address, sweetheart.” said Anna Marie in a far less confrontational tone than her husband. “I'll order you a ride home.”
“No, I-” Logan’s head swam while he picked out an answer. “I don't wan’ to.”
“Don't wanna what?”
“Go home.” he admitted.
There was a moment of wretched silence on the other side.
“Alright. Here's what we'll do. First thing tomorrow, we’ll get you a plane ticket, you can come on down and stay with us for a bit, okay? We'll clear a room for you. You can even bring Buttercup, she gets along so well with the cats.”
He lost the ability to make sound come out. Scott must not have told that many people yet. It was hardly important news to most of them, after all.
“Logan...” came Anna Marie's concerned voice as she put the pieces together. “Did something happen?”
Logan squeezed his eyes shut, pulled the phone away, and threatened himself against falling apart in that shitty fucking bar. His thumb hovered over the hangup button, but he didn't want Scott called on him like a misbehaving child in class.
Instead, while still on the line, he fumbled trying to spell out the bar’s name in a text to Anna Marie while she called out to him, trying to get an answer. He heard the ping of her receiving it across the line.
“Hey, that’s near Kitty's place, ain't it?” Remy asked his wife, and something clicked into place in Logan’s head. In his drunken stupor, he'd forgotten she'd recently moved not too far from here. He'd skipped the bar closest to his place to minimize the chances of bumping into Scott.
“C’n you, uh…” Logan rubbed his face, trying to make the sentence happen. “Text me her place. The address.”
“You want me to call you a ride there?” asked Anna Marie.
He put the address into the map. It was walking distance.
“No, I’m… I can get there.”
“Okay, sugah. You stay safe, you hear? Call us again if you need it. If I found out you didn't, I’m flyin’ up there to beat some sense into you myself. Got it?”
“...Yeah.”
“We love you, Logan.“
He hung up unceremoniously.
The ice in Logan's empty glass had partially melted and mixed with the last dregs of his beverage. He tilted it back in an attempt to drink what was left there, then stumbled out of the bar.
The walk to Kitty's house was treacherous for no reason other than his own severe swaying and tripping over his own feet. At some point he had to stop and puke in the road. His stomach churned painfully the rest of the way, a consequence of drinking on a near-empty stomach he forgot to think about. The map said it was only a 20 minute walk, but it definitely took him much longer; it felt like an hour at least, but he knew that couldn't have been right either.
He vaguely recognized the exterior of Kitty and her wife's new place, but he still checked the street name and house number against Marie’s text three times before walking up to the front door.
In the thick ring of keys to his friends’ homes he kept, he had smartly put a piece of tape over each with the owner’s initials written on them. Even with the clear labels, it took him entirely too long to find the one reading “KP”.
Logan remembered to take his shoes off at the door, a process that involved failing to kick them off several times, fumbling with the laces while swearing at himself, then managing to shuck them off at the shoe pile. Standing back upright and trying to move to the living room at the same time proved to be a mistake, as he wasn't able to find his balance in time and did something more akin to repeatedly falling towards the couch than walking there.
He ended up sitting on the floor in front of it somehow, he wasn't really sure, but that was fine with him. He curled up against it, using the edge of the couch cushion as a pillow.
Then the lights blinked on, evoking an angry sound from his throat.
“Logan? ” Kitty called out.
He grunted and teetered his head upright.
“Oh my god, are you okay-?” she dropped the baseball bat she was holding and rushed towards him, but stopped when she got close, probably able to smell the alcohol on him.
“Sorry, Kitt’n.” he muttered sleepily, squinting through the light at her blurry silhouette. “Didn't mean t’ wake ya.”
She drooped and approached him slowly. “You did a pretty bad job of it, I could hear you bumbling around from upstairs. Let me tell Nina that it's safe.”
Kitty disappeared, and Logan thought he probably wouldn't make it until she came back down, but he blinked to find she had apparated onto the couch in front of him. Logan couldn’t tell in his current state whether she was worried, frustrated, or both. He felt incredibly guilty either way.
“Logan, what's going on? Are you hurt?” she leaned in towards him to peer at his face.
He shook his head. “Jus’... y’know. Drunk.” He admitted.
“ But why?” she said with concern, scooting up to the edge of her seat on the couch to get closer to him where he sat on the floor. "And if you say ‘because I was drinking,’ I'm kicking you out.”
When he didn't answer, she put her face in her hands in exasperation and rubbed her eyes. He looked back and forth across her tense and out-of-focus face, thinking about how mad she must be.
A breath that was halfway to a laugh escaped his lips as everything came crashing down around him.
“Oh, Kitten…” Logan breathed, barely above a whisper. He reached out to her and the back of his hand landed on her knee. Her tired eyes found his. “Guess I finally disappointed you, huh?”
He sounded like he was going to cry.
She deflated, and got on her knees on the floor to be on his level with him. She had big, sad eyes. “No, you didn't. Don't say that.”
“Shouldn't a’ come here.” he mumbled, shamefully turning the side of his head into the cushion to find relief from the living room lightbulb.
Kitty put her hand on his where it had found its way to the couch by his face, and curled her fingers around it. “I’m glad you did. I'd rather you wake me up then find out you passed out in the street somewhere.”
Logan scrunched his face and rolled his head back in disgust. “Why-...” he started, pulling his hand away, then cut himself off with a sigh. “What the hell do you put up w’ me for? Any a’ you.”
“Because we care about you.” she answered without hesitation. “You're family, even when you break into my house in the middle of the night.”
“I didn't break in,” he pointed out, looking over his chin at her. “I have a key.”
She smiled to herself, but it faded away into something sadder.
“Why didn't you ask for help?”
Logan searched his brain for an answer, but came up blank.
“I…” he had to force the words out, confused. “I think I am?”
Kitty's face softened. Taking the leather of his jacket in her hands, she leaned over and pulled it back over his shoulders, helping him as he struggled to get it past his arms. Then, she took his elbows in her strong hands and supported him as he climbed up onto the couch.
She told him not to pass out as she left the room, then came back with water and a sports drink that she wouldn't budge until he drank all of it. After that, she took the glass back and let him lie down.
“Get on your side.” she commanded from her place standing over him when he lay on his back. “I'm not letting you choke on your own vomit.”
“I'm not-” he rolled over and put his head on the arm of the couch. “I'm not THAT drunk.”
Kitty made a sound of disbelief, then crouched back down to the floor in front of him so they could be face-to-face again. She appraised him for a moment in silence.
“What happened?” She asked quietly, kindly. Ready to accept whatever answer he gave her.
He had to answer, didn't he?
Logan took a moment to collect himself before responding, somber.
“...Buttercup died.”
Understanding washed over her instantly. “Oh, Logan, I'm so sorry.”
Kitty put her hand on Logan’s shoulder in a comforting gesture and gave it a squeeze. He shut his eyes so they wouldn't get watery in front of her.
“What about Scott?”
Logan shook his head. “He doesn't get it. End of the day, she wasn't that important to ‘im. He doesn't get it. Nobody fuckin’ gets it.”
She waited for him to stop rambling before replying patiently. “They might, if you talked to them about it.”
That's not the answer Logan wanted. Kitty knew that, and didn't push it further. Instead, she fetched two blankets, threw one over him, wrapped herself up in the other, and settled into the smaller couch next to him to go to sleep.
Waking up with a hangover in a place he didn't recognize was not something Logan missed. While he didn't have a heightened sense of smell anymore, he was still more attuned to it than other people, so he did recognize the smell of individual houses; this one was mostly new to him, but he recognized it as Kitty's. he'd only been to their new place once, so it took longer to register.
What Logan did miss was the warm pressure at his side that he'd grown so used to every morning. Every time he'd woken up since that day, he expected Buttercup to be with him, and had to reorient himself when she wasn't.
He only vaguely remembered walking to Kitty's the night previous, and a few embarrassing snippets of their conversation. It was past noon when Logan forced himself to move his arm to check the time on his phone, and saw several new message notifications. Apparently at some point he'd texted Anna Marie to let her know he made it back okay. Or, possibly, Kitty knew his password and texted her on his behalf. Anna'd messaged back that the offer to come stay with her and Remy for a bit remained open.
There was also a terrible one-sentence text from Scott.
Remy told me you were out drinking last night. No follow-up.
Logan sent his good friend formerly known as the Gambit a thoughtful text in response; Snitch.
He clicked the screen off and wondered how much of his shit he could grab from home while avoiding Scott, when he heard the small but pronounced stomping of feet.
Nina, Kitty's wife, had a four-year-old named Michael. He came charging through the room, off to do god knows what, then noticed on the way back that Logan was awake.
“Good morning, Uncle Logan.” he said, obviously feeling a little awkward in the way kids usually did when they talked to friends of the family without their parents around. Logan noted how much he'd grown up; seemed like yesterday he didn't leave his mom's arms.
“Hi, kid. Where are your parents?”
“My mom is upstairs. Kitty went to the store.”
Logan heaved himself upright, finding he was under a thin blanket. He wondered if Kitty was giving him an opportunity to scram, or if she would be hurt if he left without saying anything. His head pounded, blocking further thought.
“Where's Buttercup?” The kid asked innocently, because of course he did. When Uncle Logan visited, he always brought his dog, and Michael was a kid, so all he wanted to do was to play with her while the adults talked.
Logan swallowed his feelings down. “She, uh… she's not with me this time.”
“Oh. Why?” He stood there and watched Logan rub his face.
“Um.” he sighed, not really knowing how much Michael knew about death as a concept at that age. “She had to stay home this time.”
“Oh.” Michael said again. “I'm getting cereal.”
“....Okay.”
Michael left and Logan looked around the room for the jacket he could have sworn he was wearing, but didn't see it. It didn't help that he was having a hard time convincing himself to stand up.
The kid came back in, carefully this time, and set a bowl down on the coffee table. Logan watched with amusement as he immediately took off running into the kitchen again, then returned with a second bowl.
“This one is for you.” he said as he put the little bowl down, then handed him a toddler-sized spoon. It was comically small in his thick hands.
“Uh, thanks.” he said, and took a bite of the sugary cereal.
His hangover wasn't going away any faster on an empty stomach, he supposed. Michael sat cross-legged on the floor on the other side of the coffee table while they ate. After all of one minute, he picked up the TV remote and set it next to Logan’s bowl.
“I don't know how to use the remote.” he said. “Can you turn on the TV?”
Logan shook his head as he looked at it, like he had any idea how they had it set up. He pressed a few buttons until he found the one that brought up the menu.
“Whaddaya wanna watch?” Logan asked.
“Nothing boring.”
“‘Nothing boring’, okay.” He went to the cartoons and clicked through until Michael told him to stop.
Kitty came home not long after they finished eating with gatorade and extra-strength tylenol. He wasn't sure how to properly express his gratitude, so as per usual, he didn't, other than a grunted “thanks.”
The two of them stepped away to the kitchen to talk in private, where Kitty handed his jacket back from a closet.
“Are you heading home?” she asked.
“I should. Took advantage of your hospitality already. And embarrassed myself enough.” he slipped his jacket on and avoided eye contact. “I don't get why you ain't more pissed off at me. You got a kid in here, for cryin’ out loud.”
“I am mad. You should have called first.” she said with crossed arms as she watched him. “But telling you off right now wouldn’t accomplish anything, besides convince you not to come to someone if it happens again. Not that I want it to happen again.”
Logan searched his pockets for his keys. Kitty leaned in to force herself into his line of sight. He spared her a glance at her demanding face before looking off uncomfortably.
“I don't know how much you remember about what I said last night, but I meant it. I'm glad you came to me instead of going off on your own.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. He didn't return it, but he didn't fight either.
“When you wound up in the hospital, we… we thought we might lose you.” The sadness and fear was slipping through in her voice. She held him tighter and tucked her head in further to his shoulder.
“You can write me off all you want, but I'm not losing you like that.”
“I'm not going to die, Kitten. I just had a bad night.” his words felt surprisingly hollow coming out.
“You better not.” she whispered. He decided to give her the hug back she deserved for dealing with him.
Kitty let go and Logan once more lowered his eyes.
“It's not embarrassing.” she told him. “We're all human now, going through our own struggles. I'd rather you piss yourself on the couch than see you in a coma again.”
He looked up at her in alarm, going cold. “I didn't-?”
“No, you didn't, I just wanted to make sure I had your attention.” she said, smug.
“Katherine Anne Pryde!” he reprimanded loudly over the heart attack she gave him.
She grabbed his arms and dug her fingers in to stop his rant before it started. “Talk to Scott. I'm serious. He's worried about you too.”
Logan shook her off and decided to ignore the previous infraction for his own sake.
“You talked to him?” He knew it was a good call on her part, but he felt like he was being tattled on by all his friends.
“He texted this morning asking if you'd been by, said Remy tipped him off. All I did was let him know you were okay.”
Logan nodded and looked away again.
“Are you taking off? Out of the city, I mean.” she asked tentatively. Of course she’d be able to guess, it's what he always did.
“Marie said I could stay with ‘em in Louisiana for a bit. I was thinkin’ of taking her up on it.” he admitted.
Kitty was stony in disapproval, but she didn't argue. “Do what you need to do to take care of yourself.” she said begrudgingly. Her shoulders relaxed and her voice softened. “And next time, think about reaching out before you start drinking?”
He shrugged, and she let it go. They parted with another hug from Kitty and a thanks from Logan.
Knowing he probably smelled bad after all that, he opted for public transport home rather than a cab or any other solo ride. The second he got home, he tore his clothes off and got in the shower. The hot water helped abate the headache while the painkillers did their thing.
Scott was already waiting for him outside, leaning against the door frame of Logan's bedroom with his arms crossed, blocking him off.
As expected, a tactical move from Scotty. If he wanted to leave, he needed clothes from his room. If he wanted clothes, he had to go through Scott.
Logan looked at the couch for the outfit he threw aside when he got home. Gone. He weighed the option of leaving in his towel; he didn't mind the stares, but they wouldn't let him on a plane like this. He could potentially steal clothes somewhere along the way, he'd had to do that plenty of times before when he healed from attacks that his suit didn't.
But no phone meant no plane tickets, and that was in the pocket of the pants Scott stole. Fuck.
Plan B, he could catch Scott off guard by throwing the towel and tackling him. The man was no chump when it came to hand-to-hand combat, but with the element of surprise and Scotty's deeply repressed homoerotic confusion, Logan had the upper hand.
“Are we going to talk, are you going to stand there and stare me down all day?” Scott asked, breaking the silence.
“Are you going to let me get clothes, or are we going to have that talk naked?” Logan stepped closer and held the towel closed between two meager pinched fingers in threat. “I know I can handle that, Slim. Can you?”
Scott locked eyes with him, evaluating the situation. Logan wasn't bluffing and Scott knew it; it was a game of whether Scott could keep himself on task. Logan was willing to gamble that he was already exerting a lot of willpower keeping his eyes up.
Wordlessly, Scott caved and stepped aside to let Logan through, but returned to his sentry as soon as he was in. He averted his eyes while Logan threw the towel at his laundry pile and picked out whatever clothes strewn across the floor looked cleanest.
His room looked like a tornado flew through. It was in the state he'd left it last night when he'd torn it apart in a rampage.
“You know, when I knocked on your door yesterday to make you eat and you didn’t answer, I was happy you weren't there.” said Scott while Logan pulled on pants. “I thought you'd finally gone on a walk, or something. Same thing when I saw the leftovers gone, I was so glad.”
Logan put his shirt on. Didn't answer.
“I should have known better. It was optimistic of me.”
“Hurry up with the guilt trip, would you?” Logan muttered as he dug through the stack of possessions that had been knocked down from his shelves. He'd broken a few things he didn't want to think about yet."
Scott scoffed with a bitter smile and looked down, working his jaw back and forth. “I was going to say that if I was realistic about it, I… I could have done something.”
“Yeah, I know, I'm a real fuckup.” Logan threw a few pairs of socks and underwear at the bed angrily. “And you were dumb to expect any better. You don’t want to have to be a babysitter to some useless bastard. Yadda yadda. Is that it?”
“That's not what I was saying at all.” Scott said with frustration.
Logan found his duffel bag spilling out of the closet and began stuffing changes of clothes inside. The tension in the air pulled taut while Scott, rigid, realized what Logan was doing.
“...You're leaving.” He spoke through clenched teeth, anger restrained in every staccato syllable.
Logan didn't answer, gathering deodorant and a comb. Scott was white-knuckling his own biceps.
He threw the man a bone. “I'm staying with the LeBeaus for a few days.”
The same thick silence followed that sentence, as it had for every one spoken between the two so far.
“Why?”
That one was different. It was angry, but the underlying sadness could be detected through it.
Logan didn't have an answer. He didn't know. All he had was an overwhelming urge to leave.
“I don't owe you an explanation.” Logan spoke curtly, every word strained. “You're not my boss, Scotty, you're my roommate. We’re not a team anymore.”
Scott’s arms dropped in defeat. Logan zipped his bag shut.
“Fine.” he relented. Then, for reasons beyond Logan's understanding, he crossed the threshold into the room and navigated the debris to sit on the edge of Logan's bed, looking awkward.
“You’re right.” Scott started. “I've trying to act like your boss. I don’t know how else to help.” He folded his hands in his lap, eyes on the floor.
“There's nothing to help.” Logan spoke. “You don't owe me, either.”
“No, that's not it. Just let me talk.”
Logan stopped his search for a fresh flannel and let him speak.
“I've been thinking, lately. I'm-… I know I’ve been… treating you like you're the bigger mess between us, since we've been living together.” he latched his hands together and bent over his knees, rubbing his knuckles against his forehead as an anxious outlet. “I'm sorry if I made it harder for you. It was wrong of me to act like I had it all together and you were the fuckup. We're both messes. You were just the easier target.”
An apology. An apology from Scott fucking Summers, to him. For telling him what to do, no less. Just when Logan thought he'd seen it all.
“So if you’re mad at me and need to take a break, or move, or whatever, I get it.” Scott looked up at him with eyes too bright, too heartfelt, too intense.
Logan had to turn away. He hated when Scott got like this. It was too nice, not his style. He was supposed to be yelling at him for drinking and running away right now.
“If it's what you need, I won't stop you leaving.” Scott said. “Just… just do me a favor first. Help me understand what’s going on, then I'll give you space. Okay?”
“What's not clicking?” Logan said sarcastically to deflect from the overwhelming sincerity he was on the receiving end of.
“Everything?” Scott said in disbelief, sitting upright. “Logan, you've dealt with a lot of death. It’s… I mean, it's one of the main things you do. I've seen you lose important people and handle it badly, but I've never seen you completely shut down like this. I know you loved her, Logan, but she was a dog you had for two years. What's so different?”
There it was again. Logan huffed and shook his head dismissively, going back to digging through his possessions. Scott shifted in frustration.
“Right. She's just a fucking dog.” he muttered.
“I'm not making fun of you.”
Remembering his keys were in his other pants, he picked them up and dug through each pocket, frustration prickling with each one he didn't find them in. They must have fallen out when Scott threw his pants inside.
Logan's movements grew more aggressive and he tossed aside books and shattered frames to find where the keys had landed. He was stuck there without them.
“I just want to understand.” Scott, too, was growing agitated in response.
“You won't.”
“You could try. Whatever happened to talking things out?”
He dropped everything he was holding and stood up straight, clenching his fists at his sides. Fine, Scott wanted to know? Let him know.
It was just a matter of where to start.
“I wanted to bury her.” he forced out. “But I don't have a yard.”
Scott, wisely, kept his mouth shut.
“I don't have a yard ‘cause I'm crashing with you more than two years later, because I don’t have my shit together enough to get by on my own without almost kickin’ the bucket.” he was getting angrier, more energized. “I live with a coworker who spent our whole career hating my guts, I can't go anywhere without a dog to look after me, and I can't do the one thing I was good at anymore. The only worthwhile greater cause I had to put my skills to use for doesn't exist anymore. The future we fought for is gone. I don't got any point left to me. Nothin’ left to justify the trouble I was worth.”
He was in too deep. There was no stopping now.
“I got nothin’ to give. I can't even throw myself at trouble and pray things’ll work out for the better, cause I'll just fucking die. I don't-” he stared up at the ceiling. “I don't even know if I'm okay with that or not. Dyin’ ain't something I've had to worry about much. So what do I do? I hide away and die slowly instead, with nothin’ to show for it. And I spend my days so paranoid that an enemy I can't beat anymore is finally going to come for me, or you, or any of us, that I need a fuckin’ dog to look out for me everywhere I go. And I can't sleep without her looking out, can't leave the house without jumping out of my skin, can't sit still without a drink to calm my nerves. And somehow, that dog was the one thing left on this planet that needed me takin’ care of her.”
Logan, losing steam, sat heavy on the bed next to Scott and stared ahead at nothing.
“And now she's dead. And I can't drink, can't fight, can't get hurt, cause I'll die too. So what does that leave me? A pathetic, worthless, self-pitying old man good for nothin’ and no one, waitin’ to die and scared of doin’ it. Just another piece of shit in the pile.” He dropped his hands in his lap.
“And I can't even fucking bury her.”
Scott held his silence. The fact that Logan couldn't see the expression he was making emboldened him further.
“I've been wondering if it'd be better for everyone if I just stopped waiting for my time to come.” his own voice became quiet. Unsteady. “Took things into my own hands and got it over with.”
Nothing.
The mattress shifted as Scott stood, walked a few feet from the bed and faced the wall. Trying not to look at Logan? Trying not to let Logan see him? Lost in thought? He didn't know.
Feeling a little lame left all alone, he pursed his lips and got back to picking things up off the floor to find where his keys fell. Logan thought that if the guy wasn't going to say anything, the least he could do was leave the room and get out of the way.
“Are you really leaving to stay with those two?” Scott eventually pushed out with tepid suspicion.
“As opposed to what?” he asked, knowing the answer after everything he just said.
Scott knew this as well and didn't respond.
“You think I'm lying? You can ask ‘em yourself.” Logan fought.
The other man crossed his arms again and Logan saw his head tip down as he looked at the floor. Logan didn't feel bad for dropping this on him. In fact, this reaction is exactly why he never said anything. He predicted Scott wouldn't be able to handle it, so he'd done him the favor of keeping it to himself. Scott is the one who had to go and push; if he didn't want to know, he shouldn't have asked.
Every second of silence played a mounting symphony on Logan's nerves. No, he shouldn't have said anything. He should have kept it to himself and crashed out alone. It would be leagues better than the rejection he was experiencing.
But no one had ever known how to handle him, had they? Logan wasn't built for working things out in the long term. Ironic, given his lifespan. What he was built for was loving like a wildfire and leaving about the same amount of destruction when it all burned down.
Scott could say anything then, but he wasn’t.
And there were the keys, half-under the bed. The jingle of picking them up was what finally roused the other man. He turned around and watched Logan pocket them, then pick his duffel bag up off the bed.
“I don't know what I'm supposed to do right now.” Scott said quietly, almost accusatory, like this was all Logan's fault. In a way, it was.
It got Logan’s attention, making him pause as he was about to shoulder the bag’s strap. Scott was staring blankly off at the door, watching Logan in his periphery. He was frustrated in tone and defeated in posture.
Like this was all one big inconvenience.
“Do whatever the hell you want. Ignore me.” Logan tossed the comment out, too weary to entertain whatever self-pitying spiel Scott was about to hit him with. He was feeling remarkably empty inside, no patience left to pour for him.
“Do you think I just… don't care about you?” he turned to Logan at last, offended.
“I think you should mind your own business every now and then. Better for your health.” Logan followed Scott with his body as the man walked around in front of him, once more blocking the door.
“And you could go one conversation without insulting me!” he burst, suddenly erratic in his movements. “Do you think you're subtle? Do you think I don't know what you're doing?”
Logan took a step forward, angling to get past him, but Scott immediately compensated.
“Okay.” said Logan, anger bubbling. “What am I doing?” he tipped his head back and forth with his words sarcastically.
“Being a dick so I leave you alone.” Scott was the one moving forward now. “But you can't say something like that and expect me to let you walk away.”
Logan tore the bag off his shoulder and let it fall, clenching his fists for a fight. He could feel the muscles in arms that would have once forced his claws out start flexing. “... ‘Let me'?”
Uncertainty and a little regret crossed Scott. Logan closed the rest of the distance between them.
“I didn't realize I was yours to ‘let’ leave.” Logan titled his head on the emphasis. “That's the reason you wanted to keep me around, right? I'm your problem, gotta keep me under control?”
Scott dropped his shoulders in exasperation. “You know that's not-”
“Go ahead!” Logan shouted in his face, making him flinch. He adjusted his stance to either take a punch or throw one. “Put me in my place, just like the good ol' days. Show me who's in charge around here.”
Scott’s eyes flit down to his bared teeth, but other than that he didn't react. “I know that's how we used to work things out, but-”
Scott cut himself off as some kind of realization hit him like a smack in the face. Then, he looked down and chuckled to himself, shoulders relaxing. When he looked back up, there was a smug challenge replacing the frustrated concern. Suspicious, Logan tensed harder.
Cocky, with an underlying edge, “If you wanted to fight, you wouldn't be wasting time goading me, you'd have thrown a punch already. I haven't kept up with training. If you wanted to be gone, you'd knock me flat right now.”
Logan stepped back.
“No, you can't just say what you want.” Scott stepped forward. “You can't just want to stay. You want me to make you.” There was the tiniest sneer as he spat out the last two words.
Logan thought Scott was having too much fun with this. He wanted a fight? He could have it.
He socked Scott in the gut. It wasn't hard, but it caught him off guard. The man doubled over, holding his stomach.
“You think I won't fight you, Slim?” he sneered back. “I haven't gone that soft.”
Scott coughed and groaned, but stood back up straight. Despite the direct hit, he hadn't lost any determination. Logan stayed stanced and waited for the hit back, ready for it, wanting it. But Scott was loose as he recovered, no sign of aggression. He watched Logan with a stern, examining expression.
“Come on, what’re you holding back for?” Logan goaded with a grudge. Desperate if you listened too close. “You used to love using your fists to talk to me. Let's work it out like grown ups.”
Scott didn't move, didn't say anything, just stared at him with searching eyes, looking for something. Logan was breathing heavily.
Did Scott not even think Logan was worth the effort anymore? Too pathetic to even engage with?
“Go on, Slim.” Logan closed the distance to an inch and growled into Scott's stoic face. “Get a lick in.”
A hand landed on Logan's chest and made him flinch, but it wasn't a hit. It was a firm barrier, stopping him from pressing further.
“I'm not helping you hurt yourself, Logan.”
Something snapped inside him so loud he could have heard it in the silence that followed. Logan shoved Scott back, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to get him out of the way, and snatched his bag back up. He only briefly caught Scott's sad but unsurprised reaction as he stormed off and out of the door.