Stillness


There was an exact instant when Logan first feared he might be going insane.

It was not, as one might expect, at a time when Wraith was lamely attempting to play a badly tuned guitar, or when North was doing repetitive gun tricks, or when Wade was singing candy jingles.

No, it wasn’t even one of the times when Victor was idly carving tabletop masterpieces with his claws, or when Fred was once again insisting he was in love, or when Wade was asking for the millionth time, ‘Are we there yet?’ just to annoy everyone.

In fact, the moment that Logan felt his sanity slip was almost silent, and that was the most chilling part of all, because until then, he’d been sure that Wade only ever shut up when he was asleep (and even then, he sometimes mumbled nonsense).

For a long time after Stryker had paraded Wade Wilson before them, gloating of finding the perfect final member of the team, none of them had actually seen Wade do anything.  He got secretive little slips of paper, disappeared for a few days, and came back to be patted and praised like some kind of trained dog.  He had been a simple annoyance—a kid with a big mouth who never really seemed to do anything but talk and eat junk food.  Sure, he completed any task Stryker gave him, but Logan had never been there to see it get done, and Wade’s stories of ‘twenty guys with automatic weapons—no, seriously’ had sounded like bullshit bragging.

After the fifth such story and no sign of Wade truly pulling his own weight, they’d all been fed up and complained in their own subtle ways, but Stryker had sworn up and down that Wade hadn’t been put on a team op yet because there had been no need for Wade’s ‘unique talents.’

Then came the night they’d needed to bust through a lobby in a yakuza building.  Fifty guys, half with assault rifles and half with assault rifles and swords.  Stryker’s order:  hold back, send Wade, wait until he called.  North had bet Bradley and Fred fifty bucks each Wade would be calling for help in ten minutes or less.

Because they were sturdier than the rest, Logan and Victor were willing to venture up to the doorway and watch.  Perhaps if Logan had just hung back with the others, he wouldn’t have started wondering whether he had a screw loose upstairs.

“All yours, sweetheart,” Victor jeered, as fifty guns cocked and aimed at Wade.

“Thanks, honey, but Logan’s more my type,” had been the snide rejoinder, and Logan had just rolled his eyes.

But ninety seconds later, lead and brass showered down in a jingling rain, and the five guys who’d been good enough to get in sword range were fountaining blood from the stumps of limbs and necks.  And in the midst of the dying chaos stood Wade, panting only as heavily as a jogger after his morning run, other men’s blood dripping down his face, tongue darting out as a drop hit his lip.  It was the first time any of them had seen Wade anything like out of breath.  Amid the fading motor-buzz of Wade’s heartbeat, the sound of air passing those pretty lips was the sweetest sound Logan had ever heard, and the more civilized part of him rebelled at the thought.

Wade was nothing more than some idiotic, hyperactive, motormouth little boy, he told himself.  Logan didn’t really have any particular aversion to homosexuality, but as a rule he wasn’t attracted to men, and there was really very little about Wade for any sane person to find attractive.  Pretty smiles and firm bodies were transient things, compared to the special brand of bloodthirsty psychosis that bounced around inside Wade Wilson’s brain.

But death and danger and strength were the messages passed to the animal part of Logan through his sharpened senses, and it thrilled to be in the presence of someone who could cause such mayhem.

Such mayhem…and yet, such stillness.

By the time bullets and casings and bodies had finished falling, Wade had caught his breath and stood perfectly still and calm, like a beautiful, blood-spattered statue.

“Yum,” Victor purred, and Logan growled at him instinctively.  The older feral raised an eyebrow in amusement, held his hands up and took a step back, mouth twisted in a smug, knowing smirk.  Not so civilized after all, are you? that look seemed to say.

The air was heavy with the smells of gunpowder, metal, sweat, blood, fear…  It muddled Logan’s thoughts, made him feel dizzy and sluggish and drunk and edgy all at the same time.  He shook his head and made himself start walking for the elevator.

“Come on in, kids,” Wade called, pausing to lap blood from his wrist.

And as he strode past, Logan caught an unbelievably strong whiff of adrenaline and lust, and Wade gave him just the wickedest smirk as he licked blood from his lips again.

And that was the precise moment at which Logan thought to himself, My God, I’m losing my mind, because damned if Wade smirking and covered in blood wasn’t just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.  The very idea gave him a headache and made him want to hide up a tree somewhere until it went away.  Maybe he could become a hermit…yes, he’d abandon all human contact for fifty years or so; Wade was bound to have gotten himself strangled by someone less tolerant than Logan and the others by then.

Somewhere near the building’s front doors, North bitched and forked over the money he’d lost to Bradley and Fred.

“I saw that,” Victor snickered as they stepped into the solitude of the elevator.

Logan didn’t deign to answer.

“Oh, play dumb all you like, Jimmy, but nothin’ gets a predator’s blood pumping like seein’ another predator making a kill.”

“You watch too much National Geographic,” Logan grunted.

“And don’t try to tell me you haven’t seen the way that mouthy brat eyes you all the time.”

“Why would anybody make a building this tall?” Logan wondered, watching the city swiftly shrink outside the glass back of the elevator.

Victor laughed.  “Subtle, Jimmy.  Real subtle.  Nobody’d ever guess you were changing the subject.  Fine, you don’t wanna discuss it.  I can take a hint.”

Logan scoffed.

“But don’t think I’ll just leave you alone about the matter.”

Of course not.  The day Victor let something like that lie would be the day Wade swore off sugar and sharp objects.

Somewhere outside the elevator, they heard a mechanical squeal of grinding metal approach from above, pass, and rapidly vanish below.

Logan and his brother locked gazes.

“What the hell was that?” muttered Victor.

When the elevator finally arrived at the penthouse, the doors opened on blood, broken furniture…

…and stillness.

“Huh,” Victor said, dumbfounded.

“How the hell did you get up here so fast?” Logan managed.

Wade blinked, sheathed his swords.  “I kinda cheated,” he admitted.  “Y’know the other elevator?  I cut the cable.”  Then he gave a winning smile, like a child who felt he’d been particularly clever.

It was oddly endearing, even with all the bloodstains.

Logan felt he’d like to have an aspirin and a long talk with a psychiatrist.

“Weren’t we s’posed to retrieve something from this guy?” Victor asked.

Wade shrugged.  “I try not to worry about details like that when I’m having fun.  But there is a promising little safe behind that ugly painting over there.  Bet Fred could pop it open in a jiffy.”

“It’ll be a bit, since they’ll haveta wait for the only remaining elevator.  Lack of foresight on your part, kid.”

“Oh, ouch!  That’s harsh coming from somebody whose middle name is ‘Lack of Foresight.’”

“That’s not my middle name.”

“It’s not?  Huh.  Well, it should be, even if ‘Victor Lack of Foresight Creed’ doesn’t have a great ring to it.  Maybe something like ‘Victor Rabid Squirrel Creed,’ or ‘Victor Bad Manicure Creed’…”

Logan went over to the hideous abstract painting Wade had indicated, doing his best to tune out the bickering pair.  As Wade had said, there was a poorly concealed safe behind the framed monstrosity.

“Next time, kid, just clear out the first floor like you’re told and then piss off somewhere.”

“But that’d be boring.”

“So get a hobby.”

“I have a hobby:  horribly maiming people.”

“That doesn’t count; it’s your job.”

“Yeah, but I love my job.”

Swinging the painting aside, Logan began to inspect the safe.

“Get a hobby that doesn’t make a lot o’ extra work for the rest of us while taking away our stress relief.”

“Oh, sure, take all the fun out of it…  Anyway, I don’t see you getting a hobby.”

“Woodcarving ain’t a hobby?”

“…okay, so I don’t see you getting a hobby that isn’t lame.”

“You’re just sore ‘cause yer brain’s too defective to work out simple things like ‘let the guy who can pick up an APC one-handed use the elevator before ya break it.’”

“Aw, c’mon, it was an honest oversight!  Anybody coulda made it.”

“Anybody with a defective brain.”

It was no good, Logan decided.  The safe was too solid for him to even dent, and he was clueless when it came to cracking locks.  They’d just have to wait for Fred to ride the lone elevator up sixty-some floors.

“Logan’s totally on my side,” Wade suddenly declared, draping himself over Logan’s shoulder.  “He would’ve done the same thing.”

And then Logan knew he’d gone insane, because all he could think of was how nice it might be to shut Wade up with a kiss.


.End.