Note: I don't own X-men. Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?
A Whisper of Desire — The Aftermath II
He already knows, Logan
A cold feeling of stone spread throughout his body, sweat beaded on his forehead, and he had a sudden urge to vomit. Guilt pounded at his stomach and brain as though it desperately needed to get out and expose itself. He can't know. He CAN'T. Gripping the dashboard in front of him, Logan closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath.
"What's wrong?" Scott's voice came, seeming to be above Logan's head? He didn't sound very concerned.
"You ok, Gruff-n-Tuff?" Remy piped up, having awoken from the back seat of the car, poking his head between the to front seats. "Remy tinks you are looking a little green."
Logan didn't reply, but leaning back in his seat and opening his eyes, he tried to make his voice not shake. "I'm fine."
"Want me to pull over?" Scott inquired, looking at Logan through his ruby-quartz glasses. Why, so you can run over me? Logan thought bitterly. Don't blame yeh.
"I tink you should," Remy replied, patting Logan on the shoulder. "He don't strike me as the kind of guy to get car sick, but Remy don't need to be covered in Canadian chunks."
"Shut up, Gumbo, or you'll be swimmin' in yer own chunks." Logan barked at Remy, which made the younger man recoil. "Pull over, Scott!"
Surprised to hear his real name coming from Logan's mouth, Scott complied, swerving the vehicle over to the shoulder of the road.
"You really are sick!" Scott exclaimed, a little more than surprised at Logan's predicament.
"Inform the world, throw a party!" Logan snapped, swinging the passenger door open and stepping out quickly. He stood bent over, hands on his knees, for several minutes, breathing deeply and cursing himself. Mind games. He was playing mind games with me, and I played along. A wave of nausea washing over him again, he groaned. And the worst part is, I was totally oblivious. That DICK! Yet Logan knew, in the farthest regions of his mind, that he himself was the dick'. I was the one who committed the crime. Why won't he just come out and say that he knows?
"I've got some Gravol," Remy said softly, coming up behind Logan, waving a package of something in front of his face. "Cherry flavoured. It is not bad stuff."
"Fuck off, Cajun." Logan snapped, though he didn't really mean it. He knew Remy was only trying to help. But the only help Logan needed then was a bullet to the brain.
"Just trying to help."
"I know, I'm sorry. Just leave me alone, ok?"
"Ok," Remy's footsteps could be heard walking back to the car.
Standing up straight, his stomach doing a summersault, Logan turned around to see Scott looking at him, his face emotionless. Yeah, I did it. So get it over with. Though you must enjoy watching me suffer like this. But Scott just turned around and walked back to the car, opening the door to the driver's side and getting in. Logan followed, getting in the passenger side, and resting back in his seat, he let out a sigh.
"How do you feel?" Scott asked, But Scott just turned around and walked back to the car, opening the door to the driver's side and getting in. Logan followed, getting in the passenger side, and resting back in his seat, he let out a sigh.
"How do you feel?" Scott asked, peering at Logan as he started the car.
"How do you think I feel."
"I can't read minds."
"That's what I thought."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Scott demanded, his voice on edge. Wincing, Logan made no move to reply. It means I'm wondering how the fuck you know about me and Jean.
"I said, what's that supposed to mean?" Scott demanded again, this time a little louder. He removed the key from the ignition, and sitting back in his seat and looking intently at the older man.
"Fuck, Scott"
"No, fuck you, Logan."
"Whoa! Remy is missing something!" Sitting up strait, Remy sat closer to the two men in the front, intent on what was going on.
"Scott" Logan started, but the younger man cut him off.
"Innocent Logan, honourable Logan, Mister-I'm-always-right Logan. How about you listen to ME for a change. I asked you a question"
"And I don't know the fucking answer!" Logan roared at him, his blood rate rising, his anger boiling. Where the hell did he get this innocent' bullshit? I ain't innocent! Far from it!
"I think you do," Scott spoke slowly, his voice low so that Remy had to lean forward to catch it. "So why don't you just come out and answer it. What's that supposed to mean?"
Closing his eyes again, Logan breathed in heavily through his nose. His throat was so tight it hurt, and his stomach felt as though it were in a million knots. Just come out with it, shove it in his face, let him boil with the anger, let him pound you to pulp, or try anyway.
"How did you know?" Logan spoke suddenly, his voice rushing out like air from a pump. "How did you fucking know?" His last sentence came out loudly, in muted frustration, yet he could see anger mould into Scott's face.
"Know what?" Remy demanded, looking at both men in turn, clearly very confused. "Know what?"
"Get out of the car, Gumbo," Logan snapped, but Remy didn't move.
Scott only sat there for what seemed to be an eternity to Logan, before he spoke. Scott's silence made Logan feel as though he were being crushed in a vice, the life slowly being sucked out of him.
"No, he can stay. In a way, you betrayed him too." Scott's voice was hard.
"I see," Remy spoke, his voiced lowered as well, his face turning pale. "Remy ain't so sure he wants to hear anymore."
"How did you know, Scott?" Logan asked again, his voice now shaking, half in anger at himself, and half in anxiety. You really fucked up this time, Logan.
"You know what the first thing I noticed about Jean when I came back to the mansion?" Scott asked in an even lower voice. Remy groaned.
"Oh, Mon Dieu! Please tell me this isn't about Jean."
When Logan didn't reply, Scott continued.
"Her eyes, Logan. Her eyes and how she wouldn't meet mine. That's hard not to notice. It was as though I was Quasi Modo or something. The fool that every fucks over. And I couldn't help but notice how they faded over even further whenever you'd walk into a room, and once your eyes met, hers would dance to life. It was very interesting."
"Didn't know you were such an observer." Logan remarked, though regretted it. Fool. You dug your own grave. All six feel of it. Now Scott's burying you. See you in Hell!
"I attempted to make love to her that night." Scott continued, his voice now sounding dead.
"Why the games, Scott. Why play games with me?" Logan asked, but Scott didn't answer him.
"It was like having sex with a corpse. Ever try that Logan? Are you a necrophile?" Anything would be better than this conversation "She hardly responded to me, couldn't get a reaction from her. I thought she might be sick, until three nights ago."
"Why the games, Scott?" Logan asked again.
"I tried to make love to her again, but I guess I just don't have the knack that you have when fucking people." Scott's use of language was like a rock to the head for Logan. Wincing, he stared straight ahead. "But I guess I got her somewhere, because she started calling out. That's good right. I can at least get something out from her. I'm not a complete failure." Logan could see that Scott was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. Look what you've done, Logan. Sent him over the edge. Logan could see through the reflection of the glass that Remy was still very pale, looking sick himself.
"Why?" Logan tried again, his voice cracking, his throat constricting further.
"Yet there was something wrong with what she called out. I tell you, Jean screaming out Heil Hitler' would have less of an affect on me than what actually did come out of her mouth. You must be good, Logan, real good. Did you fuck her hard. Did you make her scream your name. Did it make you happy? Are you happy right now? You succeeded. I must say, I never thought you had it in you. Never thought you would sink that low." Scott's own voice cracked, telling Logan that he was on the edge. But how far off was he? "Are you proud?"
"Fuck you, Scott." Logan whispered, feeling as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest. I ain't a religious man, but God, if yer there, maybe you could kill me right now
"NO, FUCK YOU, LOGAN!" Scott almost screamed, his hands crashing down upon the steering wheel, making the horn sound viscously. "She is my wife. She is my morning and evening star." Scott breathed in heavily, and Logan almost thought it could have been a sob. "Were you thinking of me when you kissed her? Were you thinking of me when you took her clothes off?" Logan wanted to plug his ears, God, forgive me and kill me now! "Were you thinking how fun it would be for me to walk in and see you two there, how fun it would be to see me get crushed by it?"
"Scott"
Scott turned his head and jammed the key into the ignition, and turning it sharply, the car came to life. Shoving the car into gear, Scott slammed on the gas, causing to the car to jerk forward. Logan could hear Remy's slight cry of protest, and Logan himself felt severely uneasy at the car going so fast. He's going to kill us! I drove the poor bastard to insanity!
"Mind games." Scott spoke again, over the roaring engine of the car. "Mind games are fun, huh?" Scott spun the steering wheel of the car slightly, causing the car to veer almost out of control. "First you play them on the poor fucker who you screwed over, and then they spit the shit right back in your face. Didn't think poor Dead Eye could play very well, did you? Well, maybe this little game will prove you wrong. I suggest you put your seat belt on. "
Swallowing hard, feeling deathly sorry for Remy in the back, who's eyes were wide with horror, Logan strapped himself in, and gripping the dashboard, never took his eyes off the road.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us sinners
