Title: The Ghost Between Us
Author: Indigo Night
Feedback: Yes please
Summary: Warren is done filling in for some one he isn't.
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or the characters
Spoilers: For X3
Pairing: WarrenxLogan, Onesided Jean/Logan
Warnings: Slash. Character death.
Author's Note: This was written as a response to a Break Up challenge my friends and I had. Just a angsty little thing I wrote. Read, Review,
ENJOY!
"What are you thinking about?" The question was no more than a gentle brush of lips against the curve of Warren's ear as strong arms encircled him.
Logan was drowsy and tender, smelling sweetly of sweat and testosterone in the after effects of their love making. Warren breathed deeply, letting the scent fill him, trying to convince himself of how much he didn't love the feeling of being held like this, warm and contented, pillows rumpled and sheets twisted around their ankles, but the indent in the middle of the bed made perfectly to just fit their intertwined bodies.
"You," he answered truthfully. He curled his fingers around Logan's larger hand, immersing himself in the shadowed room where it was just the two of them, letting himself believe that all of this was real, one more time.
"I need to go away for a little while, just a few days."
And there it was. Warren closed his eyes, quietly quelling the lump in his throat and the sting in the corners of his eyes as that one simple statement broke the illusion and reminded him that there was no such thing as a shadowed room where it was just to two of them. He wanted to cry, he wanted to demand where and why, to refuse, to make Logan stay. But he didn't.
"When?" He asked softly, his voice giving no insight as to his inner pain.
"Tomorrow."
Warren nodded, scrunching the pillow up under his head and settling himself more comfortably into it. It had been almost five months since Logan's last trip, and foolishly he'd begun to hope that he wouldn't leave again. It happened, every so often, Logan would just disappear, sometimes for a few days, sometimes weeks, once he was gone for two and a half months. Nobody asked where he went. They didn't have to. Just like nobody asked what had happened to Jean's body. Just like nobody asked how Logan was holding up.
He wasn't holding up, he wasn't holding up well at all. Of course outwardly he seemed entirely unchanged, but Warren knew, Warren felt it, knew it. She was always there, a silent, invisible force between them. Even now, as Logan cradled him, their bodies molding perfectly together, she was there, sliding herself into every crack and crevice of the room, of their bodies, into their very pores, taunting Warren, unrelentingly pressing into him the fact that no matter how long Logan held him, it was always her Logan was privately wanting.
Warren felt that knowledge boiling inside of him, making his insides squirm and twist sickeningly, rising harder, stronger, until it became a physical heat branding him at every point his skin came in contact with Logan's. Finally, he couldn't bare it anymore.
"Hey Logan?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"Can you maybe wait until you're sober again to come back? It'd be nice for you to realize who you're actually having sex with, or at least what gender I am." The incident on Warren's mind had happened just over a year ago, Logan had returned from one of his trips in the middle of the night, drunk, and had proceeded take Warren straight to bed where he spent several hours loudly declaring how beautiful and amazing Jean was and how much he loved her, always and forever. The next morning Logan had apologized repeatedly; Warren had taken a three hour shower and never mentioned the incident again, that is, until now.
Logan opened his mouth to say something, but what Warren never found out. He had held his silence for too long, and he could hold it no longer.
"Or better yet," he continued, "Don't come back at all." Unable to stay still anymore he extricated himself from Logan's hold and hurriedly began to dress himself blindly through a film of unshed tears.
"What are you saying?" Logan's voice became gruffer, an automatic defense as he sat up, watching Warren through narrowed eyes.
"I'm not Jean, Logan." There, he'd said it, the three simple words that had hung unspoken between them for far too long. "And I never will be."
"She has nothing to do with this," he denied, as always anger flaring at the mention of her.
"You may be able to lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me," Warren snapped, "She's dead. You killed her, and you can't handle that. I'm sorry, okay, I am. I'm sorry that it was never you she chose, I'm sorry that things never worked out for you two, I'm sorry she's gone, and I'm sorry you had to do it. But you know what, it really isn't my problem, and I won't… I can't do this anymore. I will never be enough for you; we have to face up to that."
"Come back to bed, kid," Logan beckoned, like Warren was just some child throwing a tantrum and all Logan wanted to do was quiet him down and go to sleep.
"There's no room for me in that bed, it's only big enough for two." Dressed and falling apart inside Warren hesitated with his hand on the door knob. "I hope she makes you happy, I really do," he whispered sincerely, and then he left, closing the door quietly, but firmly behind him.
Warren spent the rest of the night alone in his own bed, something that hadn't happened in many months. The next morning Logan was gone before anyone had woken up. He didn't come back.