|Secrets Part II, Wade/Logan, Movieverse
||[May. 12th, 2009|01:09 pm]
Cable x Deadpool
Title: Secrets. Man, that title sucks. Somebody give me a better one.
Pairing: Wade/Logan, TEH WARNINKS FOR IMPLIED HET (ew)
Rating: Um, PG-13 for sexual reference and gallows humour? In the same sentence?
Author's note: Totally sober now. Um. Guessed at the timelines. vintage 80's attitudes to stuff do not resemble my own. In fact, I'm totally rehearsing for RENT right now. Also, unbetaed, just to keep the trend going.
Lumber works in Buttfuck Nowhere, Canada, 1982
On the way home from work, Logan’s domesticated eyes took the distant figure of Wade in the trees for a wolf or something; it was a complacence born of isolation from the seething masses of humanity to assume predators were only after things smaller or more herbivorous than you. And a few months later, Sabertooth showed up, so maybe this was a problem.
Anyway, he was surprised and not a little perturbed when someone knocked on the door just after dinner.
Wade looked… different, was one way of putting it. Thinner, paler. There were dark circles round his eyes; not just a late night, but eyes that spoke of real, set-in tiredness over months or even years. His hair was longer and bottle-blonde, his clothes were less… well, less perpetually covered in dirt and blood, but these affectations only served to highlight the ways in which Wade was a shadow of his former self. Only those dancing eyes and the crossed swords on his back spoke to the old, mouthy Wade.
He wasn’t even talking. That was worrying.
“Wade,” said Logan, searching for something to break the silence. However much Kayla had brought him out of himself, he’d just never been the chatty type. “Um… how’d you find us?”
Wade shrugged. The simple motion seemed to take more effort than it should. “Got bored of New York. Thought I’d swing by the old country. So, I’m in Halifax, and there’s this guy who likes mutants. That’s part of the reason I’m in Canada actually, every queer I know in New York is off sex for the remainder of the eighties for one reason or other, but people are less scared up here. So, this guy, I mean he likes mutants, even if they have my beautician, and he tells me about a guy he saw up in Buttfuck Nowhere Mountain, cutting wood with his claws.” A grin. “He thinks you’re cute.”
Conversations with Wade are a skill in themselves, but Logan extracts the relevant information. There’s no hint that Stryker & co know where he is. He’s okay. So, “I heard about that disease… I mean I heard about what’s happening on the radio.” He shrugs helplessly.
“And you thought of me? How sweet.”
“Well. You look like shit, Wade. Should I...”
“Be worried?” They pause for a moment. Kayla is like six feet away, it’s not a small cabin, and if Wade can’t keep his mouth shut… “No.” He says, finally. “I’m okay. I mean, I’m not okay, but I’m a non-infectious kind of not okay.”
Logan just nodded dumbly and led him over to the kitchen table.
He could only imagine what they must have looked like to Kayla. One guy looking like he’d just seen a ghost, one guy looking like he was a ghost… “Um.” Logan said. Then, “Wade, this is Kayla. Kayla, this is Wade Wilson. We were – “
“I remember you saying.” Kayla’s voice was cold. She was after all accepting Logan despite the army thing, and the less she had to be reminded of that the better. Sometimes she would press for details of what he’d done, but she never even approached the idea that some of it might have been… well, not all that bad.
They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, before Kayla excused herself to go upstairs. In the dead quiet, Logan could hear her voice, so she was probably calling a friend. Probably for the best, if he and Wade were going to catch up.
Another two minutes passed, sitting side by side at the table in silence.
“So, if it’s not AIDS…”
“Skin cancer. Metastasised.”
“I have a melanoma on my back the size of a Colt 45 that speaks to the wisdom of using sunscreen when tramping around Africa stabbing people.”
“My mistake was stopping the bareback thing figuratively rather than literally.”
There’s another pause, slightly less awkward this time, and Wade finally answers Logan’s unspoken question. “I know it sounds pathetic, but I just wanted to see you again. I’ve got six months, top, unless I go in for another round of radiation and chemo, which I’m not because I don’t want another month or so if I’m just gonna spend it in a hospital and there’s no one who’d come and see me, ‘part from Nessa and I wouldn’t want her to.”
“Some… girl. Who’s Kayla?”
Logan glared. “She’s my new life. So don’t… don’t try to mess with this, Wade. I’m happy. You’ve been here five minutes and you already scared me half to death, thinking I was gonna pay my life for one mistake…”
“That’s what it was, then?” Logan doesn’t like that grin.
“Yeah. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Wade just smirked and shook his head.
“No hurt?” asked Logan.
“Were you hoping I’d be hurt? Thanks.”
“For caring enough to care that I didn’t care about you acting like you didn’t care.”
“And as for the explanation, it’s like… it’s like you get to a point where stuff can’t hurt you that much any more. Not only am I gonna die, I’m gonna die knowing the world would be better off is I’d never been born.”
“I didn’t think you cared.”
“I didn’t. Till cancer. Anyway, the point is that, next to that and the fact that I can’t even do my job worth a crap any more, I’m not that fussed about you.”
“Fussed enough to come to Buttfuck Nowhere looking for me.”
Wade stared at him as if to imply that the answer was obvious.
“There musta been…” Logan gives up on the math. “Musta been a lot of men and women you hooked up with over the years.”
Wade nodded, distantly. “Sure. But you were my friend.”
Logan shifted his chair around so he was properly facing him, instead of sorta-facing-Wade, sorta-facing-the-table. Gingerly, he rested a hand on Wade’s pale-as-death shoulder. The merc leaned forward, til his forehead was resting on Logan’s chest. They stayed like that a long while.
“James?” Kayla was standing at the foot of the stairs. No telling for how long, but by the lack of sadness, horror or anger, Logan’s guessing only since after they stopped talking. “It’s late.” She said, pointedly.
Wade stood up, making as if to leave, and Logan couldn’t find the words to tell him to stay. Kayla headed back upstairs and he found himself telling her he’d be up in a minute, eyes flickering from an underdressed Wade to the cold Canadian night.
He got the door open and Logan felt a deep chill, the kind that says frost – at the very least – is on the way, and Wade can’t go out in that, his eyes said. He’ll… “You’ll catch your death,” he muttered, as if it was a joke.
It was Wade’s turn to shrug helplessly. “I… I’m okay.” He managed. And Logan had never seen him so serene, except in the middle of a fight when he shut out the world and the air around him was nothing but steel and lead. It made a change.
He starts to leave, then turns at the last minute, lunging at him for a proper hug. Logan can feel too many bones, and it’s been years since he felt anyone else’s stubble on his skin.
“Remember me,” Wade asks. “Cause nobody fuckin’ else will. ‘Cept maybe people I killed.”
“You’re not easy to forget, Wade.”
He felt a smile against his neck. “Promise.”
Logan watches the retreating shadow for a long time, until he’s pretty damn sure it is a wolf and he lost sight of Wade a long time ago, then closes the door against the first few flurries of snow.