there are quite a few hearts... - [X-Men] Fic: A Wolverine-Centric Five Things Fic

Title: Five People Logan Could’ve Had, and One he (Probably) Couldn’t
Author: velvetandlace
Fandom: X-Men
Characters/Pairings: Logan. Special guest stars.
Timeline/Spoilers: Set vaguely after Astonishing X-Men #1, though there are vague references to Logan’s backstory and the 140s of Uncanny.
Rating/Warning: PG. Or something. I’m so not good with the ratings game.
Disclaimer: No monetary gain or ownership. Alas. Alack.
Summary: The title generally says it all – Logan’s got a history of being honourable, a player, and about a million other things that contradict each other.
A/N: About 1100ish words.
For stoptocheer and somewhat inspired by her, and all with not-so-random love.


* patch

An alley in Tokyo. Logan thinks it feels like he’s been there more times than he can count; he’s really been there only twice. Yukio is ahead of him, all daring with that grin and that damn sparkle in her eyes.

Somewhere, not too far away, there’s a house with Mariko inside, and the thought of it makes Logan smile this soft little smile he didn’t even know he was had in him. He doesn’t know if he’s got the right to love something that delicate, someone precious like her, but he doesn’t think he’s going to crush her, crush her spirit.

That’s new. And it’s really something.

So when Yukio grabs the back of his neck and pulls him close for a kiss, Logan backs off. He and Mariko, that’s something real, and it’s not this chase with Yukio. It’s nothing about the things he and Yukio have in common and everything about the all the opposites.

Before he can say anything, Yukio grins and tells him he’s passed the test. They both pretend not to acknowledge the disappointment behind her eyes.

* antihero

The blonde’s name was Mindy or Candy or something just as dumb. Whatever it was, it made Logan feel every one of his… well, however the hell many years he’d lived to feel.

Anyway, this Mindy or Candy, or maybe it was Cindy – no, wait, it was Brandi. That was it. Brandi, with an “i”, she said later, shakily, “and no, my dad ain’t black or nothing. We just liked it.”

We. Logan wasn’t the only one with an alias.

He wasn’t the hero she thought he was, either. All he’d done was pull some loser off her and show him he meant business when he said he wouldn’t stand seeing any guy hit a lady. Now Brandi was all doe-eyed and drinking wine around her parted lips, glistening on account of the way she kept licking them when she looked at Logan. He didn’t need enhanced senses to know the girl wanted him. Or thought she did.

When Brandi stretched out her hand, Logan just slipped his last twenty into it, gently closing her hands – her nails were fake, red, and half-ripped off – over the note. He hailed her a cab.

“Go home, darlin’,” he told her, voice gruff. “You don’t owe me anything.’”

She whispered her thanks and Logan turned back into the brisk Alberta night, turning up his collar against it.

* not weapon x

Heather smelled like fresh-cut limes and tart alcohol when she leaned against his shoulder and took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes. She’d walked in, drunk, and curled up at his side, slurring her spiel. James was never home. He might as well be married to his job and not to her.

Red hair flickered like flame in the buzzing fluorescent light above them, and Logan felt like he’d been here with her before.

“He doesn’t pay attention to me like you do,” she sobbed, and that only made Logan frown. He obsessed over Heather. He knew it, and he knew her well enough to know it was never going to be a tick in her plus column. Not when she was sober.

Right now, it was different. Right now Logan knew he could grab her and crush his mouth to hers and she’d yield under it. He knew she’d taste tangy and sweet and he’d tell her to leave her glasses on.

But when Heather collapses into bed she’s alone between the covers, and Logan takes off her shoes and pulls the quilt to her chin, and tries not to watch her fall asleep.

The next morning, he’ll talk to James and remind him a woman like Heather isn’t going to stick around when she feels unwanted.

* wolverine

The worst part about being hated and feared was the it meant lunatics loved them, the X-Men. And that was ‘loved’ in the way that made Logan tell Kitty he didn’t care how useful it was, he didn’t give a damn about the internet.

Except the good porn.

The non-Wolverine porn.

There was this couple. Art majors from ESU, all black hair dye and leather and piercings and crying tears of blood, or whatever the hell it was their band shirts said. They tracked Logan down over in Mutant Town and said they would’ve found him earlier but they got caught up watching that ‘mutant cop guy’. Then they started telling him their “concept”. Logan didn’t know what the hell they meant by that, but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with painting pictures and more about wanting attention.

They said they had a thing for is “vicious angst.” Said it spoke to them, and near as Logan could tell, they wanted to tie him down with silk scarves and “worship his tarnished flesh.”

That lousy attempt at poetry just pissed him off. He gave them a withering look as he turned away, and he had to fight the urge to pop his claws through his ears when they started pleading after him that they were just as marked by blackness as he was.

* logan

Scott’s asleep in bed with Emma, but Logan thinks he pretty much manages to look distant from her even when they’re touching, and he knows that isn’t just on account of the visor he’s wearing. Even though Logan remembers Scott wearing glasses when Jean was the one sharing his bed. Scott’s got that way about him. Untouchable when you don’t know him, and Logan knows him, pretty damn well. It doesn’t put him off.

He watches Scott sleep and he remembers why they’ve always got along. That mountain of respect. That leadership thing. Old dry jokes and that unimpressed look are somewhere in the back of his head, and Logan’s never going to think Emma’s right for him.

Logan knows he himself isn’t good for anyone. But if he could be, he thinks he’d try being good for Scott. As he perches on the edge of the bed he thinks of it and his eyes drink up the curve of Scott’s jaw. He doesn’t smile. He just.. appreciates.

Scott’s scent is sharp and familiar, and even though it’s tangled up with Emma’s, Logan knows it well enough to follow it and concentrate on it. Scott smells like something he’ll never have, and he knows that if he gets caught watching them again he’ll probably spend the rest of the week thinking he’s a duck.

A duck if he’s lucky.

He leaves the room the same way he entered it: silent and resigned, through the window.